Purple's Platitudes

nothing but words …

famous last words

09 August 2013

famous last words

 

eighteen years,

too long to some, not long enough

for others. Ten page letters,

in the beginning, sometimes more,

we never seemed to have enough

time to say all we wished to say.

As days and months became years,

our words changed.

I don’t blame you, any more than I

accept the blame entirely. Things

just changed. We changed.

Words of future, so inexhaustible

in the beginning, became

words of the moment, sometimes

nothing more than what had to be said.

But, of all we ever wrote or spoke,

your famous last words are the ones

which still echo the loudest,

the longest in my memory:

"I love you, but I just can’t live with you."

And now …

there are nothing but words.

 

(written for Kellie Elmore’s FWF )

9 August, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment

my Bathsheba

09 August 2013

my Bathsheba

 

oh she’s such a pretty one, a pretty one,

what you doing up on that roof

Bathsheba

Don’t you know I am the king, I am the king

I can have almost anything Bathsheba

 

I know what I like when I see it,

send hubby off to fight, I’ll decree it

soon you will be mine,

mine mine mine i yi woo

 

my my my my Bathsheba

 

take another bath for me, a bath for me

show me what I want to see, Bathsheba

you will be my only love, my only love

and we’ll have lots of sons Bathsheba

 

I know what I like when I see it,

I think you had it planned, I believe it

but now that you are mine,

mine mine mine i yi woo

 

my my my my Bathsheba

9 August, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment

move it

09 August 2013

Move It

 

(with a nod to MJ and Weird Al and a special mention for Aurora Morealist for the inspiration, who is moving it, but definitely doesn’t need to for any of the reasons mentioned below)

 

you aren’t the biggest loser,

but you’re getting close,

you can’t tie your sneakers

and you need new clothes

you couldn’t bend over

to touch your toes,

you better move it

just move it.

 

you used to do yoga

like a pretzel, man

why you let yourself go

I just don’t understand

don’t you think it’s time

you came up with a plan

to move it,

just move it?

 

Move it, move it,

get up off the couch and do it

you don’t have to be a triathlete

just move your arms,

just move your feet,

just move it,

just move it.

 

Just a little stretch

we can start off slow,

not everyone can be

like Iron Man you know,

but you’ll be surprised

how good you will feel,

I wanna see you sweat,

and I wanna hear you squeal

so move it,

just move it.

 

I’m thinking you need somebody

to kick your ass

it won’t be hard to find

since it’s so damn fat

you think you had it tough

in Marine boot camp

you better move it.

Just Move it.

9 August, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment

second letter serenade

09 August 2013

 

second letter serenade

 

falling, ever so gently, out of the

above, raindrops sing like hammered dulcimer

scraping half-haunted melodies from the inside out.

Eddies of sighs, envious eyes, and supplicating

petitions devour only the obvious, never the subtle.

If illusory, why preach the Gospel of choice

again to an unrepentant soul? “Kill ’em all,”

shouts the zealout, appearing spiritual, but who

rides for his own glory, nothing else. You and

I, Judge and Jury, quid pro quo with wicked smiles,

skeins of truth unraveling in tangled potentialities.

Almost pot holders, scarves, or blankets constantly

ameliorated, one stitch at a time.

 

A nervous tick mars a foolproof disguise, thieves

honor only their own, where trust is too great a commodity.

Appearances become more prized than substance,

squelching even one’s deepest desire for revelation.

Irrelevant masquerades, cleverness at charades, we dance

assuaged of guilt by mindless conformity.

Attitude, audaciousness proves legal tender,

surreptitiously we barter selling our souls and

everything we possess, whenever we feel that

twinge of somehow not keeping up with …

Except we never learn, well most of us anyway,

dying a little more each passing moment. despite

azure skies, children’s laughter, and other forgotten joys.

9 August, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

on account of

09 August 2013

 

on account of

 

plans

called off

once again

on account of

rain

9 August, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

myopic

09 August 2013

myopic

 

moth flutters

against my window,

seeking

light,

 

while I sit

looking out into

darkness.

9 August, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment