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Trap

April 3, 2017 — Leave a comment

Wandering between two points

With no other exit plan

Wondering if I 

Will ever see the light of day

Again

Even though

The sun is covering the earth

In sweet golden light

I am trapped between coordinates

I put in place myself

Over time.

Rhetorical

February 20, 2017 — Leave a comment

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I can’t shake off this furious anxiety

That thwarts my breathing, to

Shallow repetitive beats,

Obscuring

My capacity

For normal thoughts,

 

And when I wondered why those

Intermittent perturbances

Should even be?

The question

Answered itself.

 

 

Image from The Odyssey Online

The Fisherman’s Jug

February 9, 2017 — Leave a comment

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The oak table in the corner, sturdy and solid,

Under the candelabra ,

In the farmhouse,

A cracked jug on top.

 

With other kitchen accruements

Laid out neatly

By the stove,

The plates and tankards

Strung on the wall,

It’s easy to ignore

The cracked jug.

 

Most visitors were apathetic

Regarding the unglazed vessel

That had been left

By an old fisherman.

 

Even the new tenants

And their friends

And families

Dismissed it

As aesthetically spoiling.

 

And the old fisherman

Who once lived there

Knew what it was like

To be ignored

And untouched

And unloved,

 

Saw the blemish on the jug

As a scar

That defined the jug

A perceptible imperfect mark.

 

So before he died

The old fisherman

Dropped a large pearl

Inside the jug

And left it there.

 

When he was gone,

And when people came by the farmhouse

They ignored the dirty old jug

Sitting alone;  like the old man

Would sit alone,

Not realizing that if they looked inside,

They would see the real beauty

The true value,

And their lives could have been changed

Forever.

And they come to tea
Uninvited
Fondling my fragile china cups
Tedious tapping of a tea spoon
On a saucer.

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Only to have my faith and peace trashed
And crumpled up
And thrown back on to the path.

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Dark Roses

January 29, 2017 — Leave a comment

Nobody knows
What it’s like
Trying to get out of a locked room
When the key is missing

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Your voices make little difference,

The wind has the power to defeat

And take away all this dire screaming

But leave blisters and scars on your feet.

 

You can dress in vaginal outfits,

Give a finger to every young cop

Throw water bottles

At barking Alsatians,

There is nothing to say you must stop.

 

Urinate on the stars and stripes if you want,

Wipe your feet or your ass on the flag,

Smash up a Starbucks

(But don’t expect to get served),

Smash up banks

(Who financed your candidate),

And shout down the scum who you hate.

 

But it won’t make any difference

I can assure you,

The bed in the attic’s still there,

The food stamps will keep on arriving,

And the wind will still blow in your hair.

 

The streets will be cleared in the morning

As sad bitter people disperse,

To the buses and trains and planes waiting,

And the undertaker driving the hearse.

 

 

 

 

 

Fool Moon

January 12, 2017 — 4 Comments

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A fool

With an iPhone,

Is delusional

If he imagines,

A snap of the moon with a minuscule shutter,

Will capture the enormity of this

Striking ornament.

It won’t, of course,

But it lets God know

I care.

And if I hadn’t seen her glow

We’d never have existed.

 

Pushy Mamas

January 12, 2017 — Leave a comment

When you shove me in the back
With your tiny fingers,
You move me forward

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Stung

January 9, 2017 — Leave a comment

A random muscly guy turned,

Lit a little by the beer and  disco lights,

Asked me, What happened to your face?

Teen boys in stained white suits

Laughed

Hard faced girls

Giggled into cupped hands.

 

Not the first time

Someone had mocked me.

Had stolen my peace of mind

Thriving on a hateful slur.

 

That evening soaking up scotch

I searched for a little  self love.

Any time it appeared

It was stung by the slur

And  died.

 

When i woke up

In the morning

They had left me,

The odd number

In the dead disco

Alone with my blackout

In a tight corner.