Feb 17 Ricki T
An Unconscionable crime
To live and love without you
Sad now to realize
a slow ghost
has no claim on time
I guess you filled up
A tic on this point
A fallen to sleep limb
came back
pins and needles.
For me
A grave only
flowers to high altitudes
nose bleed trickles
proof in deep red death hue
paint to make a sad story sway
And a lengthy jilted tilted stare
dead love gives a look
Hard to bare
  Feb 5 Ricki T
I bought a thought
From the store today
Got an extra one free
They were giving them away

"Would you like a bag?"
The assistant asked
A bag for my thoughts?
"I'm fine ....I'll pass"

"Can I help you with those?"
Said a man at my car
"Those thought's look quite heavy"
"Do you know what they are?"

"Well, this one I bought"
I replied to the fellow
"But this one was free"
"The one wrapped in yellow"

He waved me goodbye
As I drove down the street
Me and my thoughts
Strapped into our seats

Soon I was home
And I sat with my thoughts
Thought of the cost
Of the thought that I bought

I opened the lid
And the screams escaped fast
Thoughts of the bullying
From an unhappy past

Thoughts of the sorrow
The heartbreak and pain
Why did I buy them?
Just to suffer again

I taped down the lid
And pushed it aside
One box remaining
The thought at my side

This thought was free
It came without cost
Wrapped in all yellow
Thick and embossed

I opened it slowly
And set the thought free
A wave of enlightenment
Rushed over me

I felt a warmth I was missing
With this special thought
The thought that was free
Not the thought that I bought

For freedom of thought
Has lifted my soul
It has alerted my senses
And quickened my goal

The best things in life
Some say they are free
Your thoughts are my freedom
Please share them with me
  Feb 5 Ricki T
He grabs from the nape of his neck
The little boy screaming loudly enough for any neighbor to hear
His sister behind him defending all she can. The phone goes dead, an all that's left is the memory. Tomorrow she will be at school with her head hung down and her eyes red and swollen. She will be fine, for the law made this. Her little brother will be hidden from sight, tucked away in his room. Hating everything about the man he will tell himself to never be. Falling asleep with tears in his eyes and his shirt collar stretched by hands that should have never been.
I hate phone calls like this
  Feb 5 Ricki T
Pagan Paul
For some it is a poetic crime
to ever use an imperfect rhyme.
As the Emperor of enunciation
I embrace differing pronunciation.
So chain not words up in a prison
let them go with their own rhythm.

© Pagan Paul (Sept 2015)
Old poem I found in a notebook, previously unpublished.
I think I wrote it for another site where there were
a lot of snobbish 'academic' poets.
Ricki T Feb 16
You’re really rather tall.
I don’t care for that much,
not really at all.
I know little about you,
though you act like a pig.
You’re kind of a prick.
Your hands are big.
They’re the size of my face.
Too bad you’re a dick
‘cause your nails are short and my panties are lace
This isn’t about anyone in particular, I just thought of the rhyme and found it kind of funny
Sometimes I write just to write

other times I can't sit still,

my body becomes shaky,

and against my very own will,

I write down my most personal thoughts,

and figures,

and illustrate my fears,

and suddenly it triggers

a waterfall of bottled up tears.
my entitled little missy,

though so happy and so free,

my silly, little sissy:

your love means so much to me.
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