poetry – Page 22 – Press Send Poetry

going back to the beginning

poems for my new readers who may not have ventured back to the first several posts…. enjoy!

Short and Sweet (Norwegian Wood)
http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/02/short-and-sweet.html

Edits
http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/02/edits.html

Song of March (2003)
http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/02/song-of-march-2003.html

January (Outside My Parent’s House)
http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/02/january-outside-my-parents-house.html

Rows of No Smoking Lights
http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/02/rows-of-no-smoking-lights.html

apocalyptic clouds

who am i to tell you to
cheer up?

outside apocalyptic clouds
gather for a Socratic meeting
debate a prophetic vision
in fluff

when butter melts
on sidewalks
it’s a harbinger for__________

who am i say?

battlefield glory orange

oh! how my heavy bones
trudge the hall
with the defeat of
an apparition
who, in death, has
accepted a weary
soldier’s march

at 3:39 a.m. the
house instead
settles down to
a definitive rest
and basks in the
battlefield glory orange
of streetlights

yes or no? (haiku)

when you know most con-
sider it wrong; when you can’t
help yourself… choose now.

when memories are scraps

scraps of our life together
scattered on the floor
tossed repeatedly

when our life becomes
junk hoarded

each crystal figurine
seems to, in a dusty coat,
frown
and shake a finger

each newspaper, one
on another,
screams a headline of
war

when the dog sniffs out
an old banana peel

drags it along
thinking, one day, this will be
useful.

Gardenias in New Orleans

we labor
up the medium
with a speed befitting
Spanish moss
languishing
in the steam of a summer
day dripping with
Gardenia

if i should
succumb to the
scent —
some parade might
saunter by
toss beads
round my skull
round the bend
drifting
as slow as
eddies on the great
Mississippi

hit a low note (a regular ol Johnny Cash)

one un-
intended
bend and
the blinds give us
passer-bys
a distorted
view
of a man
in black
cork bottle glasses
fancing himself
a regular
ol’ Johnny
Cash
and all
around him
green house plants
choke piles
of life
as
silent chords
hit a low
note.

we become holograms

the closer i get
the more it crumbles away
the horizon
with its dark mouth
whispers
“if you cross this line
no light will escape”
you
and i then
as holograms, mouths open,
silent screams like
Munch
and our families
will go on living with us
hanging on
their walls.

like Haruki Murakami

some of our memories
like heavy silt find
a way to drop in a stream
like Haruki Murakami
might slip into a dream
chase a lost love | all
consciousness lost
in bleary
Japanese
mountains…..

glimpse

glimpse- when your eyes
tear up with want, just one
look, when your eyes
flutter like butterfly wings
and flicker with hestitation,

glance

chances taken, sigh of relief…