Bonus Poem: This Poetry is Not for Everyone

These words aren't for everyone.
They aren't your standard party platter fair,
But the acquired taste developed over time by feeding a love and a hunger for rich, dig-in deep sounds and meaning.
I can't feed the masses, dear.
But I can try to feed the broken, the people who feel like they deserve a second bite at life but can't grasp it in their cavities. I can hold out my hand
And the few who haven't eaten of that juicy, dripping-down-your-face purpose today,
They will come pecking.
And that is why this meal is served.

Comments

Bonus Poem: Look Up!

Looking down, I read the priceless pages, Someone else, sweetly, precisely, Had written their drinkable life on. And I drank in the appreciation Of her words, one sentence at a time, A good, fresh white. Sensational, the clouds were Pouring in, filling my cup, Easing in, with a soft voice that said, "Look up!" My eyes glanced, only peeking At first, toward the sky. Those rain-bringers harnessing My irises with glee. And as if it had been there All along, the whole long while, A sparrow drifted into the Watercolor before me, soaring. It glided on the currents That were my own world, too. And we shared the view, Him up there, I, eyes lifting further now. And then the wind found itself Playing in the cottonwood's hair. And I smiled, thinking About how good it probably felt, Those wind-fingers, sifting through.

On My Honor

In the vicissitudes of life, I had started to know The downturn from the sky-high. I watched it wax, Wondering if it would wane, or rain, or snow. Instead, it was just cold, like silence. But not the silence Of respect. Nor the silence like standing in a band room in 6th grade, Instruments still, while we heard about Terror on the television, and watched the towers fall. A tragedy, it was something close to that, but less Permanent. There was hope of rising from the grave After three days or a hundred, I’d wait for you To come around. But I wasn’t the symbol to your meaning, I was just the cymbal that brought noise to your busy Mental street. Clash, bang, just atmosphere humming. Notes on a page you barely read, maybe skimmed. Swipe, like, scroll -- just another “friend” making The Honor Roll. On my honor, do I solemnly swear, To care. To carry your memory like a wound, Unforgettable and deep, oh the colors you made beneath my skin. I wanted rainbows for days. But...

Bonus Poem: Peonies in a Paper Bag

Out of the earth, stems cut, And into the glass. A spectacle, a marvel, A reminder of the Outside, placed inside. They dazzled for days And then one by one They drooped, stooped over the Cold, round edge of the Vase, reaching for the door. And she said, "It's time, These must go. They might delight a few more Days, but no! Look at this Single one limping. They must Go." And into that brown bag They were buried, without ceremony Or song, amid napkins and other plastic Horribles. And that's how I found them. Heartbroken, Ruffled like goose feathers, Waiting to be taken out Again. To feel the air, Even if it would be among The dead and uncompostables, let their feathers Rest back into the earth They were clipped from. "Let us wilt in the place We call home," they said. And I just wanted to caress One - its soft, pink goose feathers - And tell it that it was the Most beautiful thing I had Seen all day. The most beautiful refuse,...

Mad Poetry Tuesday

Search This Blog