but what does it mean
21 July 2013
but what does it mean?
Witty, gritty, raw, and real,
poetry should make me feel,
wordy, nerdy, has its place,
sometimes leather, sometimes lace.
Nudely, rudely, I don’t care,
something just has to be there.
The point is, that when it’s true,
poetry should speak to you.
teeter totter
21 July 2013
teeter totter
I
know, it’s
nothing new,
we all have them,
good days and bad days.
Today’s a little left
of center, and not quite right,
but I’ve had worse, I won’t complain.
these ups and downs should balance out, when
Life’s just an endless teeter totter game.
yesterday
20 July 2013
yesterday
sometimes fondly, but
we’d like to forget sometimes
or wish to go back.
It can be remembered, but
never changed, nor returned to.
fireworks
20 July 2013
fireworks
colors against night
with thunderous murmurings
glory fades quickly
when we remember
20 July 2013
when we remember
I miss the days of rising with the sun,
or more likely, before the day’s begun
to venture forth, explore the hills and woods,
and spend the day in Nature when I could,
Where every living thing was worth my time,
and every conquered rise was worth the climb,
no destination, just out to explore,
to get away, commune, and breathe once more.
Birds, fox and squirrel, deer, and sometimes bear,
were usually indifferent to me there,
turkey, pheasant, quail, often startled me,
as they interrupted my reverie.
The beaver pond that kept me entertained,
thicker pines that sheltered me if it rained,
flora which challenged me to guess their names,
a timeless joy for which I’m unashamed.
I lost something, those days are done for me,
but I have a lifetime of memories,
I miss it, yes, but remembering still
renews my spirit, my soul is refilled.
lipstick
20 July 2013
lipstick
her lipstick was red,
the kind of red that would
make a bull charge from
an acre away,
the kind of lipstick that
made Moses and the burning bush
seem like a dim nightlight,
and her lips,
her lips were full, the kind
of lips that never needed
to say a word,
electric lips that almost made you
want to go to Sunday school,
even though deep down inside
you knew somehow, they
only spoke dirty lies, as if
that really mattered.
Her compulsion was chronic,
to say the words, to play
the games, to inspire every
possible fantasy …
She was a bomb,
always ticking down
to an unfulfilled detonation.
She was an oasis, yes, for a
desert-weary, dying of thirst
lonely nomad, but what is worse,
is she was cold, cruel,
forever out of reach, and
the kind of woman who would not
even validate your parking
when she spurned your sincerest
words and lustful intentions
with a playful laugh,
a devilish smile,
and that final teasing send off
as she blew you a kiss
from those unforgettable
lips and sauntered away …
Purple's Platitudes 