hazy lazy
drifting
just like a sigh in the wind
just like a puff
of luck out of reach
just like those days of dreaming
every scent
a trip
every scent
so
purposefully driven
to oblivion
-
how we love to get high
-
the old man in me
the old man in me
day dreams dailyall those around him
witness Technicolor scenes.the old man in me
putters incessantlycrafting wood doll houses
miniscule in detail.the old man in me
worries constantlyconvinced he will stand
and throw the dirt first.
-
to be in love
to be in love
is to feel shivers
of explosions beneath
your eyelids
when you close them
to your love.
-
fire in the apartment building
In one instance all
that defined your life before
disappears to ash.This ash is richly
sewn by threads, wove tight on frame –
ready to spin gold.
-
dear regina
“Dear Regina”
I stared at the letter for days
then I opened it.“Dear Regina
in rehab
a woman goes nuts in
a wheelchair,
a sober birthday – can
it last?”not for me,
a traitor reading a letter.
-
East Coast Figure
oh the cut
of an East Coast figure,
a jaw sharp, the
sawed off edges of
an Atlantic armyou can keep
your curves soft
of a Cali coast,
I’ll take my man
smoking
hard
lit by industry, sheen
by sweat.
-
untitled (poetry through your eyes) Guest Blogger, Deb Burrows
Poetry through your eyes
So eloquent, yet real
Speaking verse
In heartfelt tongue
Capturing life
In snippets
From a heart
Filled with soul*** One great big squishy thank you to today’s guest blogger Deb Burrows for her beautiful words. Deb sent this piece to me via email in response to a few poems I sent to her. Understandably, I am beyond flattered 🙂 I should also mention that Deb is one of my really fabulously awesome aunts! Enjoy, leave her encouraging comments, and contact me if you’d like to be featured here….
Advice you should take from this post: SHARE POETRY!
-
what the crop circles say
crop circles below
gaze up at
a woman and child
watching
a bright sunset, and
before the wing tilts
they realizedusk is a mirage.
-
untitled (first spring nights)
oh certain first spring nights
the tree blossoms
have this sticky sour smell
that wafts joyous
with grilled meats smokingoh inhaling, inhaling till
i’m back in a thousand memories
and you’re with meall of you are with me
oh how the sliver moon full of shadow
witnesses the
scented blindfold
take my arm, lead me
home.
-
Chicago blues woman
“I’m a womaaaann” (yeah, yeah)
she stout,
poured into black pants
and a spotlight.Small stage, growing smaller,
“I’m a womannnnn” (yeah yeah)
and the last syllable
has the same timbre,
of her hair toss
and her thighs still shaking
after a stomp.
Poetry by JC Snyder 