daniel-e-mickey - Hello Poetry

The address of a melon. Table hopping water, never happy enough with it's last meal, especially after five hours. San Antonio freights full of fire pokers ashamed of how much salt they put on the skillet. it's just jello, I say, you can never have too much salt I shudder at mystic growls. Howling through eyes. Did I meet you there, or was that just another imagining? Straight back and waiting. Middle finger thumping, my feet just tapping. I sit in a two days wait, a moment passing. In the sudden it peaks, it is gone.

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Aug 18, 2013

Aug 18, 2013 at 11:16 AM UTC

daniel-e-mickey

Muttering Freights

The address of a melon. Table hopping water, never happy enough with it's last meal, especially after five hours. San Antonio freights full of fire pokers ashamed of how much salt they put on the skillet. it's just jello, I say, you can never have too much salt I shudder at mystic growls. Howling through eyes. Did I meet you there, or was that just another imagining? Straight back and waiting. Middle finger thumping, my feet just tapping. I sit in a two days wait, a moment passing. In the sudden it peaks, it is gone.

16

She stamped me, with that hug Her perfume is posted on my collar Why would she have perfume, she was running And how did it get pressed on my collar Now I have to smell her Breathing a light desire, a thin dust of gypsy magic, Every third breath. Pretty peach, I wonder if she curls flowers If not, she sure does stamp them

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Aug 16, 2013

Aug 16, 2013 at 10:41 AM UTC

daniel-e-mickey

Stamped

She stamped me, with that hug Her perfume is posted on my collar Why would she have perfume, she was running And how did it get pressed on my collar Now I have to smell her Breathing a light desire, a thin dust of gypsy magic, Every third breath. Pretty peach, I wonder if she curls flowers If not, she sure does stamp them

10

Cloud sandwich After a long day flying Invited to this rock to rest Did you call it Earth? I've Slid like silk between strata The Light Steed's earnest breath Is north of near, between the crests Of here and there Guided by centeredness Engaged to peace The Golden Fleece of allowance lets it Be Angel cradled mind release Eyebrow mountains, the crystal creek Flowing forth The Creator speaks, "Drink deeply child, be filled.” Yes, I can stick around for some stellar tea And a light shake Cloud sandwiched, I'll give you Tours of the galaxy.

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Aug 12, 2013

Aug 12, 2013 at 9:55 AM UTC

daniel-e-mickey

Cradled

Cloud sandwich After a long day flying Invited to this rock to rest Did you call it Earth? I've Slid like silk between strata The Light Steed's earnest breath Is north of near, between the crests Of here and there Guided by centeredness Engaged to peace The Golden Fleece of allowance lets it Be Angel cradled mind release Eyebrow mountains, the crystal creek Flowing forth The Creator speaks, "Drink deeply child, be filled.” Yes, I can stick around for some stellar tea And a light shake Cloud sandwiched, I'll give you Tours of the galaxy.

20

He spent hours bending himself Shape shifting through the night Before finding the image Stooping all over his hands, lost over his spectacles Neck pains. The musty apartment is lit By a kerosene lamp that's Fixed upon the book shelf in the corner. It has no lampshade Its high brown orange casts headaches And proves rotting plaster. He is saved by dawn blue Dawn blue for ****** eyes Rags hang around in groups. A cashew waits before the trash bin Books lay around, spines exposed Sleep would muster new strength, no loss. Good grains, a few oats, high oats. He feels his oats, Bent over his work Why sleep now? He'll eat a can of corn If he can get away But who has time for lighting a gas stove when there's work The work is his gas stove

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Aug 11, 2013

Aug 11, 2013 at 9:49 AM UTC

daniel-e-mickey

The Work is Enough

He spent hours bending himself Shape shifting through the night Before finding the image Stooping all over his hands, lost over his spectacles Neck pains. The musty apartment is lit By a kerosene lamp that's Fixed upon the book shelf in the corner. It has no lampshade Its high brown orange casts headaches And proves rotting plaster. He is saved by dawn blue Dawn blue for ****** eyes Rags hang around in groups. A cashew waits before the trash bin Books lay around, spines exposed Sleep would muster new strength, no loss. Good grains, a few oats, high oats. He feels his oats, Bent over his work Why sleep now? He'll eat a can of corn If he can get away But who has time for lighting a gas stove when there's work The work is his gas stove

24

My love must be a kite run Tight wrung ribbons Separate the knots in my knees Knots from wine She moves about the kitchen flicking flames off candles That wine at the table at which I sit is a good wine I think of the troubles of writing at a screen I'll consider the problem of writing in a notebook When I find that **** notebook. Speaking honestly to a tray of napkins They can't help the Merlot that's polishing the table Dark wood is well stained. She asks if I Remember the small room wine fests in my dorm My sheets came home from college dotted purple I remember. Lurking in the shadows These thoughts free themselves Releasing the inescapable passion of a zealot unheard for centuries Now, in this miniature pressing of keys a wire company will see every idea that spills out of me The pigs I hope they come to my door wearing black. Honey, your hot, don't get mad, She appears out of the smells I'm drunk, not mad, I'm spilling the Merlot We have more, dear. I love that woman right there and none other Lets jump out the window and roll through the grass Come on child, cant you see we got cliffs to catch. **** on up your hind legs and lets get to moving. Don't you know its half past seven and the turn tables grooving I like that, she says, reminds me of the pictures of you as a boy I turn to thank her but I can't find her She dissolves into the smells of the kitchen And plus, I'm gone. What is human nature unless covered by an aesthetic, who am I, if not an imposer? What poet is this, if not the first? A line of a poem is a poem in itself I'll regret this next week But, sand over rock will polish something smooth In a thousand years, no regret A mesa stands grounded In an ocean of wind Herring cries Through the morning leaves What makes them mourning? They're just a different shade green. I like that too, she says to me An Ibis will wind through a pond But is it just his wake we see, or can We really spot that bird?

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Aug 10, 2013

Aug 10, 2013 at 11:42 AM UTC

daniel-e-mickey

Flip Quick, Head Up

My love must be a kite run Tight wrung ribbons Separate the knots in my knees Knots from wine She moves about the kitchen flicking flames off candles That wine at the table at which I sit is a good wine I think of the troubles of writing at a screen I'll consider the problem of writing in a notebook When I find that **** notebook. Speaking honestly to a tray of napkins They can't help the Merlot that's polishing the table Dark wood is well stained. She asks if I Remember the small room wine fests in my dorm My sheets came home from college dotted purple I remember. Lurking in the shadows These thoughts free themselves Releasing the inescapable passion of a zealot unheard for centuries Now, in this miniature pressing of keys a wire company will see every idea that spills out of me The pigs I hope they come to my door wearing black. Honey, your hot, don't get mad, She appears out of the smells I'm drunk, not mad, I'm spilling the Merlot We have more, dear. I love that woman right there and none other Lets jump out the window and roll through the grass Come on child, cant you see we got cliffs to catch. **** on up your hind legs and lets get to moving. Don't you know its half past seven and the turn tables grooving I like that, she says, reminds me of the pictures of you as a boy I turn to thank her but I can't find her She dissolves into the smells of the kitchen And plus, I'm gone. What is human nature unless covered by an aesthetic, who am I, if not an imposer? What poet is this, if not the first? A line of a poem is a poem in itself I'll regret this next week But, sand over rock will polish something smooth In a thousand years, no regret A mesa stands grounded In an ocean of wind Herring cries Through the morning leaves What makes them mourning? They're just a different shade green. I like that too, she says to me An Ibis will wind through a pond But is it just his wake we see, or can We really spot that bird?

50

Mother worked the ten hour shift Tonight To put a plastic chicken And a string bean On the dinner table I poked it with a fork and Steam came out. When I threw it On the ground, I will swear It made a sound I haven't had meat since Christmas Mother Remember? She looked at me Red eyed These weak ten hour shift Eyes. On second thought, I can't even call them eyes They were in sockets and beady Black and red, broke and Needy Mother shoulders Colossus With a full life shift She comes home blind and Plops a plastic chicken And a string bean On the dinner table We'll stay halfway broke With these life time shifts I'm ******* hungry I haven't had meat Since Christmas

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Aug 8, 2013

Aug 8, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC

daniel-e-mickey

Halfway Broke

Mother worked the ten hour shift Tonight To put a plastic chicken And a string bean On the dinner table I poked it with a fork and Steam came out. When I threw it On the ground, I will swear It made a sound I haven't had meat since Christmas Mother Remember? She looked at me Red eyed These weak ten hour shift Eyes. On second thought, I can't even call them eyes They were in sockets and beady Black and red, broke and Needy Mother shoulders Colossus With a full life shift She comes home blind and Plops a plastic chicken And a string bean On the dinner table We'll stay halfway broke With these life time shifts I'm ******* hungry I haven't had meat Since Christmas

32

For those women in the corner making gestures I pray What is the meaning of tea for two? For the children still sleeping And that old man with shaky hands Sweeping Milk will be set out for you in the morning

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Aug 8, 2013

Aug 8, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC

daniel-e-mickey

For Those

For those women in the corner making gestures I pray What is the meaning of tea for two? For the children still sleeping And that old man with shaky hands Sweeping Milk will be set out for you in the morning

7

An idled peace in the forest breathes Every thought in itself Whole. It must be the life spirit, the ministry, Pole to pole rejoicing. The thin veil lifted, a school of Sweeping wings. Let this strange Hill of nature's suit cradle Itself. Let that child rest. My cottage beads in July's torment. I dreamed of a fair day Is why I'm here. Revolving perspective, will someone Please hand me a credible vantage point. The lens to get an even look. This ancient, contemplating Frost moon. Quiet thought. Night beats on platters. Heaves Roving breath. Dwelling in Innocence Till birth Tender eyed, forgotten. Sweet, The day will come. She, today, moves in fabulous array Of shimmering sparks. Light pale drips From her shoulders. Bare wax, the space between myself And the candle. Blow away the pride and stand straight to her. Step in stride. Give her One to look at. The sense that life esteems joyfully Hosting frenzy indeed. Vast scenes of shipwrecked landscapes. Ruins whipped by choppy dust. Heaven's heart treads alone, Through the ocean's side. The path of dew is told by the sky. Lightning takes care of what is left. The sunken lesson, Knowing night is close. Shall We bend through the lilacs weeping? Laughing?

0

Aug 8, 2013

Aug 8, 2013 at 5:49 PM UTC

daniel-e-mickey

I Can't See Anything

An idled peace in the forest breathes Every thought in itself Whole. It must be the life spirit, the ministry, Pole to pole rejoicing. The thin veil lifted, a school of Sweeping wings. Let this strange Hill of nature's suit cradle Itself. Let that child rest. My cottage beads in July's torment. I dreamed of a fair day Is why I'm here. Revolving perspective, will someone Please hand me a credible vantage point. The lens to get an even look. This ancient, contemplating Frost moon. Quiet thought. Night beats on platters. Heaves Roving breath. Dwelling in Innocence Till birth Tender eyed, forgotten. Sweet, The day will come. She, today, moves in fabulous array Of shimmering sparks. Light pale drips From her shoulders. Bare wax, the space between myself And the candle. Blow away the pride and stand straight to her. Step in stride. Give her One to look at. The sense that life esteems joyfully Hosting frenzy indeed. Vast scenes of shipwrecked landscapes. Ruins whipped by choppy dust. Heaven's heart treads alone, Through the ocean's side. The path of dew is told by the sky. Lightning takes care of what is left. The sunken lesson, Knowing night is close. Shall We bend through the lilacs weeping? Laughing?

46