Sonnet 46
06 July 2013
Sonnet 46
I don’t glance behind, to see who follows,
or stop to listen for echoes, they’re hollow.
I’m not your idol, don’t worship this man,
your own gifts and voice, more important than
trying to be somebody else. Trust me,
I encourage you to explore, to see
what you and you alone need to create.
It’s there, don’t despair. it’s never too late.
Don’t let them tell you how you have to write,
listen, but always know, it’s just advice.
Learn from all, but follow your heart and soul,
when it is right, you’ll know, you will just know.
Pay it forward has become a cliché,
but that’s advice I’ll willingly obey.
twice read lives
06 July 2013
twice read lives
three bookcases,
twenty-five empty shelves,
a bittersweet reminder …
boxes piled in corners,
stuffed in closets,
waiting …
sometimes,
we pass on our stories,
that is all.
all I have left
06 July 2013
all I have left
your couch, armchair,
and living room
rug, a small,
stuffed, butterscotch and
white kitten, a
solid glass bluebird
paperweight, gifts given
for Mother’s Day,
your birthday, or
Christmas, reclaimed as
mementos, a handful
of photographs, and
memories …
that’s just batty
06 July 2013
that’s just batty
It
could be,
I’m perfect,
I never sleep,
I’d almost suspect
I’m a vampire except
I’ve been staked in the heart, yet
the facts I just have to accept:
I love garlic and hate biting necks.
Swing
06 July 2013
Swing
I never cared to swoosh down slides.
Likewise, I detested the teeter totter,
mostly because I was that kid
who always got stuck dangling up in the air.
Forget the monkey bars too,
which was kind of strange considering I loved
climbing trees.
Okay, once in awhile I would indulge
the merry-go-round, proving over and over
I could outlast anyone without
puking no matter how fast it spun and spun.
But, the swings …
eleven times out of ten, that’s where I’d be,
for hours and hours,
sometimes spending so much time
swinging that I could barely walk
when I finally did get off.
I never outgrew my love for
swinging I guess, only nowadays
I disguise it slightly,
in a hammock.
Clocks
06 July 2013
Clocks
Digital ones do not tick or tock
or chime the hour like grandfather clocks,
why, I’d almost miss the old cuckoo.
(there must be a ringtone for that too?)
Remember the ones that flipped and whirred?
I had one that dripped water, absurd!
I don’t like ones that don’t make a sound,
I tried counting sheep when I lie down.
I guess I need noise, it’s too quiet,
Got a suggestion, I will try it?
Walmart might sell an old-fashioned clock,
something that ticks or something that tocks.
Sonnet 45
06 July 2013
Sonnet 45
grandma taught me to cross-stitch and crochet,
which didn’t win me many friends you see.
A boy should go outside to run and play,
get dirty and in trouble and be free.
I did all that, but still I must admit,
creating scarves and pictures I enjoyed.
But gender roles simply crushed my spirit
and something deep within me was destroyed.
I learned to play guitar and started writing,
songs could say the same things as a poem.
(but poetry too was uninviting)
I wrote, but I barely ever showed them.
I wish I would have just been myself more,
I have closed far too many open doors.
Ships
06 July 2013
Ships
Insomnia-driven waking dreams delight,
regressing to 1975, turning twelve …
Chippewa Bay, an irresistible siren call,
darkness punctuated by more stars
than I knew existed and the eyes
that blinked and slinked away far out along
a distant uncertainty …
I hid grandpa’s binoculars under my pillow,
just in case a Leviathan bellowed,
out of loneliness, or more likely, a greeting
in passing one of its kind.
Perhaps even now,
when I restlessly rise,
pad softly to my window,
and stare futilely out into that darkness,
I am still hoping to catch a glimpse
of what has passed me by,
uttering my own mournful cry.
Purple's Platitudes 