not quite midnight yet the page
hustles me to suddenly note –
the catch of desperation in my throat
outside Earl’s temptous winds a beggar
on their wayward trek to Maine
clacking round my lonely legs bare lain
with echoes of a lonely man
whom outside speaks maniacal tone
“where am i going?” i couldn’t know
and the north winds of a sweet
counter-clockwise spin round, a round
saying lonely child, silence is yet a sound.
Author Archives: presssendpoetry
box of magic (haiku)
black plastic conceals
a red silk scarf… say IT loud —
poof, it disappears!
[i had a toy when i was young that taught you magic…. i just remembered it tonight for some reason]
rumors
only occasionally
do the rumors
seem to be true.
fear of clowns in Cincinatti
sidewalk steams heat
up ’round ankles exposed by
rolled-up jeans and
on this side
Ohio lets her guard
slowly down….
just enough to miss
a creeping chill
approaching-
painted
five-day beard, cigarette
smoke curls
like a menace grin
a gnarled hand lurches sudden —
and Kentucky turns away
disgusted
there is no one
left to help.
meeting jim abbott
trust yourself; release
the ball. i shook his left hand —
courage, conviction.
black tie affair (who is she?!)
tongue finding left hand
she slowly licks gold
pulls it gently with teeth
champagne on their lips
“You’re truly my one”
legs wrap ’round his convincing
while She watches the phone
she swallows his ring
spits coyly the consequence
you say in Chicago (never trust a jazz man)
you say in Chicago
you came to know
Miles Davis.
Miles Davis!
lies! you should know
you can never know
anyone
especially a jazz man
think of all that
im prov isat ion, think
of all that so lo in g!
the struggle
you don’t know
nothin bout me
you don’t know
bout growin up
hard, bout the struggle
you only know
suburban white bread
heartache- you don’t know
nothin bout it.
when he played "The Pretender"
blue crabs stroll
along the night surface
of water that before
looked just like
chocolate silk and
there is this girl,
she sits alone hood
to block the wind and
behind her two women
call woooo wooos
to Jackson Browne while
a man smokes solo
next to a prudish streetlight
the yellow beer guys
carry their loads and
there is this man
he mumbles as he walks
to work his second shift
and the boaters honk
horns in approval
holding hands and rocking
while a vast sea
sings along decades past.
[jackson browne played pier 6 in baltimore tonight.
http://www.ilike.com/artist/Jackson+Browne/track/The+Pretender ]
rainy day poetry
try a search on “rain” and see what you get……. it drips its way into so many of my poems….