2 Fiction : 1 Fact

Hello There

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 21:17:00 -0400

Two parts fiction
One part fact
Will what you see
Be what you get
I’m sort of a rhymer
Not quite a poet
Hello there
Have we met

"Poetry is life distilled."

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 21:10:50 -0400

“Poetry is life distilled.”

- Gwendolyn Brooks

This Dreadful Quietude

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 21:08:57 -0400

Here I lay in the dead of the night
All is calm and all is still
I toss and turn beneath the sheets
And count the seconds till

Sleep takes over flesh and bones
So I won’t be here all alone
Wide awake and listening
To my screams, violent and shrill

A Love Song

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 21:08:00 -0400

Write me a song
It needn’t rhyme
It needn’t be long
Just something that
I can hum along
Write me a love song

Glued to His Phone

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 21:08:00 -0400

We were out at the mall near home
His eyes glued to his phone
His body was there
His mind, elsewhere and
His soul was free to roam

We were out at the mall near home
Which he calls the Women’s Zone
But I’ll come with you, dear
Wait for you in this chair
When you’re done, we will go home

We were out at the mall near home
Past the cakes and ice cream cones
Within minutes, I hear
ENOUGH OF WHAT’S HERE!
LET’S SCOOT AND LET’S GO HOME!

From the mall we were headed home
Baffled by the sudden change of tone
I started to tear
A familiar scene appears
And I awoke in my bed at home

Sleep

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 21:07:00 -0400

These are the hours of waking dreams
When silent screams are
A recurring theme
Or so it seems

These are the hours of trepidation
The longer the wait
The greater the apprehension
That it just might not happen

Peculiar Spring

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 21:07:00 -0400

Peculiar Spring
Seeps through my skin
Invades my soul
And garrotes me within

Unhurried strangulation
My spirit weakens
A rush of horror
At the sight of the Warden

He’s cloaked in death
Speaks with decaying breath
“It’s all foredoomed
I’m threading this path”

Limbs frozen stiff
Hasten, flee … if
Death travels swiftly
Radiating a putrid whiff

A nipping hoarfrost
Spring slays those embossed
Come Summer, come
Before I completely exhaust

This peculiar Spring
Its nature - bristling
Beneath a flaccid quiescence
I’m being garroted within

Lickety Split

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 21:06:36 -0400

It’s eleven a.m.
I’m in yesterday’s slip
And I awake to the sound of the dog licking his lips

He’s in the room
At the edge of the bed
With an unobstructed view of my delectable head

I follow his stare
Which travels down my hips
His stomach churns and his saliva drips

Suffice it to say
If he’s not swiftly fed
Yours truly here will soon be dead

"To be a poet is a condition, not a profession."

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 21:06:03 -0400

“To be a poet is a condition, not a profession.”

- Robert Frost

Truth be Told - A Poem by a Siamese Cat

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 21:05:00 -0400

Maybe yes
Or maybe no
But most of the time
I do not know
A bathmat from a litter box
Let alone what the future holds

What’s the worst
And what is best
To put it quite frankly
I couldn’t care less
I’m asleep most of the day
And eating or grooming the rest

Slightly more
Or slightly less
Truth be told
I think it’s all B.S.
I have to take another nap now
So leave me out of your sordid mess

Dear Friday

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 21:04:15 -0400

I meant to write a rhyme for you
The day you came around
But I had so many things to do
Too caught up to expound
Why I didn’t write that rhyme for you
When Saturday came around
But by then you’d left without a clue
And could no longer be found

Poem #48

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 21:03:37 -0400

Poem number forty-eight
Does practically nothing to abate
The current unemployment rate
Or the budget deficit of this state

Poem number forty-eight
Incites no reactions at any rate
Is neither a subject of public debate
Nor a reflection of the people’s psychological state

Poem number forty-eight
Carries absolutely no moral weight
It doesn’t shed light or illuminate
Or trigger one’s desire to contemplate

Poem number forty-eight
Really isn’t all that great
Because I’ve nothing to update
I guess you will just have to wait

How It Feels Like

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 21:03:00 -0400

Dark are the days
Bright are the nights
I can’t stay awake
I cannot sleep tight
I lie here and wonder
How it’s going to be like
When the dawn breaks

My head’s in a maze
Oh, how I hate the bright
I’m baking a cake
At eleven at night
I sit here and ponder
How it’s going to be like
When the night wakes

"The only problem with Haiku is that you just get started and then"

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 21:02:00 -0400

“The only problem
with Haiku is that you just
get started and then”

- Roger McGough

Smoke Rises

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 21:01:13 -0400

In one swift and sudden moment
When red phosphorus meets with friction
A hundred brilliant sparks fly
A hundred radiant convictions

In reverence and consecration
They give rise to an ignition
Of a flame that quickly dies
But not before it gently lies

On the tip of smoldering leaves
Inches from her tired sleeves
Aged with years of toil and sweat
Yet never once a faint word of regret

But as the stalk of leaves burns slowly
Does she ever think life would be
Better if he’d never left her side
If she were someone else’s bride

As the smoke fills up the air
Does it lift away her cares
Does it hypnotize her gently
And caress her thin grey hair

And when all the leaves are spent
Will her worldly woes descent
Upon her soul yet once again
The world will never know
For she will never comment

Full On, Downright

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 21:00:29 -0400

Half a breath held
The other half pacing
Your fists are clenched
Your neck muscles, tightening
You become lightheaded
As your heart starts racing
Less carbon dioxide
Sends a million thoughts flying

Then you realize
You’re no longer holding
The other half breath
That you were repressing
You enlist help from your stomach
While your chest is heaving
Now you’re
FULL ON
DOWNRIGHT
HYPERVENTILATING

And as your heart pounds
Your eyes, rapidly blinking
Your mind’s befuddled
By all that’s happening
That you totally lose track
Of what you were thinking
Except how to stop
Yourself from hyperventilating

From a Neighbor's Perspective

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 20:57:36 -0400

Strange things happen in the house next door
The charming little one with country decor
And a darling kitchen with wallpaper galore
That once was vacant and now no more

Strange things happen in the house next door
Loud thuds and footsteps on their wooden floor
Opening cabinets and slamming drawers
In the morning at half past four

Strange things happen in the house next door
That neither logic nor normalcy can account for
I wish it were empty just like before
‘Cause I don’t sleep well anymore

It Doesn't Take Very Much

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 20:52:16 -0400

It begins with just a kind word
Softly spoken like a gentle touch
Words that made the heart stir
Like “I adore” and such

If the heart realizes that
You love it very much
You need not go much further
To get the heart to budge

With each and every whisper
Let the heart be its own judge
It will inch a little closer
If it feels your kind word’s nudge

"A poem is never finished, only abandoned."

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 20:33:43 -0400

“A poem is never finished, only abandoned.”

- Paul Valéry

More Poetry

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 00:01:00 -0400

More Poetry:

Thank you for stopping by and sampling my poetry & rhymes! Please click on the link above to visit the complete and current collection.