I went up to the counter again and the man in the red tie smiled.
“Another refill?”
Uh…yeah…yeah, another refill.
Why hasn’t that bus come?
“9 Sugars and 2 creams, right?”
Yes, uh what time is it?
“10:21”
Why isn’t the bus here yet?
I’ll take another burger. No onions extra pickles.
NO ONIONS Please.
Thank you.
What time is it?
“10:25”
Where is that bus?
It still isn’t here.
“Hello again.” Another coffee
I place the change on the counter.
There goes the dirt from my hands again.
I’m sorry, let me clean that up.
I wipe it off and more flakes come off.
“Sir, would you like another refill?”
Yes, I would. 9 sugars no cream this time.
Oh, and another burger make sure NO ONIONS.
Can you give me the time?
“It is 10:40”
I think I missed it. What day is it?
It hasn’t passed by for a while now.
Excuse me, sir.
Can you spare some change it is Christmas you know?
I’ll have a tea and another coffee.
“Refill sir?” Yes, just black.
“It’s 10:50 just so you know.”
They’re about to close. Where is that bus? Do they run today?!
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 12:35 PM UTC
To become poor
be miserable.
Chuck your shoes
into the ocean and feel
the sand in your toes.
Throw your last few sapphires
rings and ruby necklaces into
the murky green water and let them drift
away from your mind so someone
else can find them.
Give all your money to a charity
any charity
And just like that,
walk away.
Live in the streets
where rats are the size of racquetballs,
the flies are your leaders to food.
Thrive in a cardboard box that’s taped up
And covered by a tarp.
Listen to the croaks and groans
of your cardboard box as it snows
simply because you have nothing else but cold
Do this and I'll guarantee that you'll be poor.
I'll guarantee that you'll stink in writhing wrinkling clothing
and if you ever happen to be loaded again
extend your hand whether real or monetary
to those you friended in the ally. Show them
that you have the curse that gives hope.
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC
Did I ever tell you why I sleep?
I do it to pass the time between sights of you.
Every time I see you I get so tired that I have to sleep.
I call the sights of you “visits” because it feels like I’m visiting
family and I’ve stayed too long or seen their face too much.
I sleep because I’m bored
I sleep because I dream of better things.
I watch movies, TV shows, anime, and cartoons
(No, they aren’t the same)
Because to me, I love the stories that they tell.
I love to see the characters grow as people.
I love to get lost in the dreams and
chances they have between themselves.
The way people grow close and feel lonely.
It just helps.
It helps alleviate the pang
within my own head.
The pang that I don’t want to admit I have.
I’m lonely too.
I miss you between our “visits” and
Just when I want to see you again, miss you
and think I’ve finally found a kindred spirit
I get hurt by everything you say.
I can’t do a **** thing right.
So I sleep.
Because at least then I am not doing anything
but dreaming of more stories to tell.
I’m gathering things up
from these shows and dreams because
Why?
Tsk. I don’t know.
Maybe to fill up my mind with useless junk
so I feel better about myself
to feel not so useless.
The cat sleeps with me you know.
Just curls up beside me and we bond with sleep.
We meet in our dreams
in a way that sometimes I wish you and I would.
But here I am sleeping
having dreams about a spring on a mountain
that trickles slowly down into a waterfall
and here you are having another night terror.
Another clown has chased you down
or a manager from work has scolded you.
And sometimes I secretly think you think
you deserve having these nightmares.
You know, all this aside,
I still love you.
Not because of the way you look
Or what you do or don’t do to me
But because you keep me in check.
Make me a better person and that’s
Who I want to be. You are the old soul
That has been through many lifetimes
And I’m the newly minted soul curious and
Trusting all things.
We’re opposites.
I sleep.
You’re awake.
I dream.
You have nightmares.
I watch TV.
And you read enough for the both of us.
I hope this isn’t one of the things you read.
But if it is.
I love you
I always will.
Forever.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
Pen, write me a story.
Tell me about the one
where the princess gets caught
by an evil monster
and an Italian plumber
becomes her true prince.
Tell me! Tell me or better yet
write me novels and novelas
full of words worshipping
each other
in ballads of the single
soldier who marched into war
and found love at the end of March.
Describe to me the tragedy
of the long lost stories
of those who couldn't
write their stories down
because their adventures
ended prematurely by
their death or the death
of their authors.
Read me bedtime
stories, Pen! A Once Upon a time
where a dragon captured a girl
just so that he could writhe
twist and roll in his mounds
of stolen gold.
Pen tell me a joke!
Make me laugh. Make
it a long one full of
details but make it flow,
sort of like a pen in
stand-up comedy.
Show me a better world
where the leaves
linger to their Autumn colors
of yellow, reds, browns,
and everything in between
including green.
Alas, tell me pen.
A poem.
Keep it sweet.
Keep it slow.
Keep it full
of whispering words
that curve into the very
depths of where flesh meets
the soul. Please pen just one.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
Show me your fiery
yellows, blues, greens
and orange. Reveal
to me your layers
reaching for my fingers
as they trace circles
on your skin.
I need your warmth.
I need to taste it.
I need to have it.
Show me your beautiful
burning eyes and make me
shiver with your heat.
Let it radiate off your skin
and into my own.
I need your warmth.
I need to rub it.
I need it to be mine.
Show me! I beg you
on my hands and knees
as I send sweet caresses
down your outline. Show me
the meaning of a
flaming arrow and how
the pain will hurt and
the only relief will be
your warmth.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
Tell me a story Cuddlekins!
Rawr. Rawr. Grr. Rawr.
Rawr. Grr grr RAWR!!
Wow! That's a good story.
Now let me tell you
one. A story of a boy
who was so afraid of
being alone he put himself
in the most amazing adventures.
Imagine a beautiful forest
in the middle of nowhere.
Untouched. Unmutilated with.
Un-everything. This boy,
John, flew here and
laid his case down
and pulled out his violin.
His music went.
Dah. Dah. Lalalala. Doooo.
Soft. Sweet. Charming with
a twist of a faint memory
on the tip of your tongue
wanting to be known to
the world.
As he played on and on
for hours the animals
gathered around and fell
to sleep. John
inspired by his surroundings
played more and more
until there was a rustle in
the distance.
John didn't hear it
but again and again
the rustle of the leaves
grew ever closer still.
There was one animal
who wasn't sitting at
the clearing in the forest.
It was the jaguar. He awoke
and wondered
where everybody went.
They were no where to be found
As he searched for his
friends a scent caught in
his nose. It smelled of
food but an unfamiliar one.
The long lost forgotten food
that his ancestors once described.
He chased it slowly
turning every corner
hiding behind branches,
bushes, and bark.
Finally he found his prey.
He creeped slowly
and attacked.
All the animals could
say was that 'ol jagy was
at it again just a hungry
beast. Not sophisticated
or classy enough to
understand music.
You know Cuddlekins, I think
it was on that day the rest
of the animals discovered
'ol Jagy was deaf.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
I stared at you in that cage
and our eyes met. I imagined a world with you.
We had as much fun as young pups growling
at each other playfully.
You were a super nova in my life,
lighting the path before me. That was
all until your light finally faded away
like it was always meant to be.
A normal day like any other.
I went to school.
Came home.
The news delivered to me on my arrival
changed this normal day into a scar.
I went to school.
Came home.
Chased the dumb mutt with a broken mop stick.
Ran screaming and crying to a now empty room.
I wanted you back.
You were gone.
Vanished away like the carrots
you used to eat.
Crunch
Crunch
Crunch
The carrot was suddenly gone.
Memories came flooding back
as I banged against my bed thrashing,
crying, PAWS, DON'T LEAVE ME!!
Screams turned into quiet whispers.
please, don't go...
It was finally the memory of
your moist nose touching mine
and your grey fur against my skin
that brought me back to reality.
You were gone and
I couldn't change that.
At least I had one thing that
will help me remember you
forever. The holes in my shirt.
A shirt that now sits folded neatly,
in the back of my sock drawer.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
I see this world with different eyes.
Brown eyes that peer through lenses
revealing tears, colors, and even
smells that cling to clothes.
These eyes see the tears on
people's faces. They see the
looks they can't describe
with lips pursed and
eyebrows furrowed down
creating a "v".
Water leaving its trail down to their
lips as it streams constantly.
These eyes don't see a bowl.
They see a blue bowl
that upon closer inspection
I can see the tiniest of chips
and the reflection of a window
that shows the blue sky of a
sun rising against the trees.
These eyes see the smells
that cling to people's clothes.
They worth as the steam floats
and finds itself on the server's
apron and pierce my eyes as they
well up and gather tears from
left-over onion smell and an
embrace lasting two seconds too long.
You see, these eyes cannot only see
but they can smell, hear, touch,
and taste a world where I
see the frowns behind the smiles,
reflections from empty bowls, steam
coming from hot food.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 11:57 AM UTC
I hear the whispers.
Whispers of the poets
whose names I'll never remember
because all I see are the whispers
of their pens scratching the paper.
Sweetly caressing the lines
of a page so fragile
that only in numbers
it can find strength
Crashing whispers
upon your face leaving
a hand print of a slap
you had long forgotten
only to be remembered by
the warmth of a throbbing cheek.
Surfacing whispers
from the depths
of your dreams. Dreams
you lost in consciousness
of forest with leaves
that glow and where all
around the world the
falling tree is cheered on endlessly.
Unspeakable whispers
that tell you to keep writing
through the walls
in which your mind is ******
into an impasse that's impossible
yet your pen still finds its page.
Piercing whispers
that go into the very depths
of your lungs
suffocating you from
voicing but even that
won't stop your pen
because you use your hands
to speak in signs
of concepts where getting
to the point faster is a game.
Tearing, shredding whispers that
draw their swords and
scream at you to write,
to make your pen
flow like the waters
of the machines that make
the single torn page you write on
faint and stay flat.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 9:53 AM UTC
Eating. Nibbling.
A thousand times over.
On your succulent moisture
as you Drip. Drip. Drip.
I see you lying there
on glass ready
to be licked clean.
Drained of life you
will be.
I never wanted you
so I don't care
that John is enjoying you're
company now. We didn't play
as little five year old version of ourselves
at the local playground now rusted.
Not that I care but I hope
John enjoys your chocolate chips.
I hope he dunks you in milk
and smashes you with his teeth.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 1:45 PM UTC