This cup that overflows
Does so with tears amidst the wine
Gently, I lure
Gradually I shade pain
Wishes in need of a voice
So you can breathe
In unknown protection
Footsteps echo today
Louder than any loss of direction
I let the cup overflow
Acidic taste enlightens the tongue
Burns the coiled serpent
That desires release
Hisses around my want
In your name
It shall only be vain
To let blossom grow
Where I have carefully let all decay
It is for the good
If scales fall away
I have spent too much time
Letting it all decay
To allow it to breathe again
All Rights Reserved
Drop your tears one by one
into my Life Cup of sorrows;
Let me stir it and make a
Fine drink of love,
To offer you at
nearby your bed side,
with a light smile!
call me autumn
i'll be the giant pile of crunchy red-brown leaves for you to jump in
i'll be the ugly sweater you love so much that you pull out on the first cold day
i'll be the pumpkin that you dredge out the insides of and carve a jack-o-lantern face on
call me winter
i'll be the christmas morning that greets you with a heap of presents under a twinkling tree
i'll be the warm cup of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows after you come in from the snow
i'll be the groundhog that assures you there will be an early spring to end your wintertime blues
call me spring
i'll be the umbrella you dig out of your trunk that keeps you dry in the unexpected storm
i'll be the large cup of coffee that stays up with you through all-nighter study sessions before finals
i'll be the first flower you see in bloom after a long and cold winter
call me summer
i'll be the rays of sunshine that tan your flawless skin
i'll be the cold shower you take cause that bloody air conditioner is broken again
i'll be the hammock that you lay on as you stargaze and think about all the galaxies that stream above
Mr. Coffee, who just today
Sent Margaret Thompson a bouquet
Of Birthday Lilies, green as tea,
Just shared a bit of news with me.
How odd he seems when he is near.
So daft at times, and very queer.
He told me just today a grim
And spectral spirit is haunting him.
He told me how it steals the light,
And how it keeps him up at night.
And then he said, "But I don't know
If it is friend, or it is foe."
Mr. Coffee's Ghost, says he,
Fancies his Cranberry Tea.
For he's spied it, quiet as can be,
Pour itself a cup, or three.
He suspects it fiddles with the Loo.
He's heard it flush a time, or two.
Though he figures it just wants to play
In its ectoplasmic way.
I fear, I do, our gentle friend,
May have finally met his bitter end.
That he may not see the here and now.
That he's lost touch with us somehow.
I fear his mind perhaps is spent.
And no one knows just where it went.
As though it packed its bags one shifty day
And lumbered off to Paraguay.
I fear our dear and troubled friend,
Has slipped right off the deepest end.
As though he's lost his crackers and his cheese
In tons and tons of black-eyed peas.
Or, perhaps it's but a jest? A way
To put us to the test today?
To find if we can fairly see
His little play at comedy?
He said he asked his Ghost one day
If it would kindly move away.
And it spluttered out, quite unrehearsed,
"But, truth be told, I was here first!"
Mr. Coffee says he has a Ghost
That likes to steal his raisin toast.
And when he leaves the living room,
He hears it toying with the broom,
Shaking corner cobwebs fair,
Dusting things from here to there,
And sweeping clean the Parlor screen.
Aye, it's heard, it's just not seen!
The oddish way he looked today,
He seemed just a wee bit gray .
Asking if he'll ever comprehend
If his Ghost be foe, or it be friend.
He says, "Of course the floorboards creek."
He hears the murky darkness speak.
He feels the curtains move and sigh,
As evening slowly tip-toes by.
He says, "The place is rather drafty, yes.
And it's a madhouse, I confess.
The sounds this house makes in the rain
Are never easy to explain"
This Ghost will turn the heater so far down
All it gets is cold.
And then tap tap tap the attic wall
Whenever it feels extra bold.
It will shadow every little room
With a phantasmic potpourri
This spooky little specter
Mr. Coffee cannot see.
This spiteful spook, it flickers lights,
To express it's ectoplasmic rights!
It rings the doorbell in a way each day
That scares the neighbor kids away
He'll spot a restless shadow dance,
Whenever he nods half a glance.
And Mr. Coffee feels he's in the right to stay,
And does not want to move away.
So, Mr. Coffee has a Ghost
A fair bit ghoulish of a Host,
Who thinks itself a China Rose,
And keeps poor Coffee on his toes.
Reminding him most every day,
His Ghost will never move away.
And in this Peculiar Poltergeist's parlay,
His Spectral Specter's here to say.
Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler
"The Helicon of too many poets is not a hill
crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses
and the Graces, but an old, mouldering house,
full of gloom and haunted by ghosts."
-Henry Wadsworth Longfello
all i need is
a good cup of tea,
(moroccan mint is preferred)
a lengthy classic,
(the catcher in the rye is preferred)
a dog by my side,
(a westie is preferred)
and a love in my heart
(a boy is optional)
so I sit back and laugh
and sit back
and crush down this sack
ol hippie dude dropped off
call it 1976
when life was good and gas was cheap
I'm not doing the life you wanted me to live
but I'm tryin to go show biz money
a couple commas
a cup of honey
cuz I raged to hard last night
my lover she says jay jus chill
why you always wanna go
I go baby your words are too good for a couple dollars in the air
(strippers always have the best love advice)
but I'm already a 100 dollas short and my god son gots daycare next week
his fathers a good guy but also a dead beat
so I run I tie my shoes
and dig them toes into the earth
and dart outta
In my absence
My mind has been doing back-flips,
back-spins and hand-springs.
They really should be called head-springs.'
Off a spring board I began vaulting.
Trying to spin, tumble, turn des pairs
of thoughts stuck in the landing area
Threw a little french in there for ya.
Grasping at hysteria asymmetrically with sanity
must be stronger than anxiety. Like a glass coat, it blankets me
however you can see to the core, translucent rings of a tree.
Walking the balance beam
between life and suicide sporadically.
Being pushed on both sides by a jet stream
Surviving is a pipe dream because we are all dying.
Once again I am on the floor. However,
I am implored to look forward by poetic neighbors.
All I gotta do is knock on their door and they'll gladly give me a cup of esprit de corps.
More french, Au revoir
Mummy what's for breakfast?
My tummy starts to ramble
Can you hear?
Hurry mom!! Soon I will have gas..
and gas is trouble... trouble...
Oh my poor child...
Come in the kitchen..
Pass me the Gardenia bread...
all i need is 8 slices of bread
a cup of low fat milk
one fresh egg
3 tablespoonful of brown sugar
and a pinch of salt..
Walla here's the mixer,
mix it well my child..
Now help me put the slices in a tin
A dash of cinnamon, in every slices
and here we are raisins on the top...
Help mummy with steamer now dear
everything is set....
In less than 20 minutes..
We will get your tummy settled....
Breakkfast! Rise and Shine!!!!
I bit into the apple’s core one last time before
tossing it out the window. It was just before sunrise
and I was the only car traveling down the misty road
at this early hour in the morning.
5:47 and I hadn’t had my first cup of coffee. I was still
invigorated, restless at best. Sleep had run miles from
me this past eve and all I could do was act in response
to it’s disappearance.
I made my way through the curves and foothills,
pulled forward by the sweet smell of a fresh rain.
After all, it was the first dawn that the sun grew
his color, climbing the source of the sky.
My tires rumbled along the gravel as I slowed to
a still. I was greeted by lyrical birds: red bellied,
brown, and blue. The soft grass felt damp under my
toes, but it was cooling, comforting.
I could smell the sweet hay which was so skillfully
being churned to mulch by anxious, hunger stricken
horses. Whinnies bellowed in rhythm from
the depths of the stable.
I tightened the saddle around her silk coated barrel
and latched the supple leather to her muzzle. She was
hypnotized too, I could sense it. That early morning fresh
leapt forward, exerting her muscles into a gallop.
We ran as one contingent soul stamped with the power
of a strong spirit. The subtle breeze that tickled my nose,
now fiercely pulled at my attire, blowing breathes of
chilled mist down my skin.
My eyes watered as I filled the space between us with joy
and bounteous laughter. Those few seconds—we slowed down.
They become moments of eternity. We were both free. Her
breathes came in strokes, fogging our trail.
We raced against time to meet the sun. Hurling through the
trees we exhausted all innocence. Leisurely breaking from
the strenuous expenditure of energy we waded through
the clear creek. It soothed.
Greeted by the harmonious rays which shined
through the tree tops, we un-mounted. My legs
unsure at the stillness of the ground. I sat on
a tree stump, she grazed.
Our eyes became fixated on the reflection the water
mirrored back at us. Her eyes pierced the depths of the
pond’s surface and so did mine, and meeting us in the
middle was the sun, filling the gap between our faces.
You were my all.
My whole world, the only thing I looked forward to in the morning.
We were so alike you were so into sports .
Like football we are both on teams.
You also like soccor.
These past few nights I have sat down watching the soccor world cup thinking about you each time germany made a goal I thought about “I wonder if I would ever see you make a goal and I have. you made it to highschool.
You have moved on to a better place. I havent I am living in the past thinking about you and all the time we spent together and the times that should have happened.
But its all gone now.
Im in a deep dark hole full of despair.