Frank Corbett

Frank Corbett Jan 2013

Ants

Ants in formation on a sidewalk,
carrying shreds in their maws,
and releasing it for their brethren to appreciate,
in the cramped tunnels beyond sun's light,
where it is consumed forthright,
unquestioningly and rapidly,
a fervor denying taste or thought,
only frantic static coming from the queen,
to usher in more dirt and leaves,
replacing those yesterday,
dry and forgotten.

Frank Corbett Jan 2013

Skidposh

Concrete barriers along a stretch of highway,
separating congested lanes and open road,
they're sitting ducks in a stagnant pond,
losing pieces of themselves to the parasites underneath,
the ones they can't see,
but they can feel it,
as much as they try to ignore it,
it's there,
but it simply takes time and energy to ascend, so the wings become useless,
and surviving off of pond-**** becomes routine.
The man who diverged and hit the barrier was called insane,
he was trying to ramp it,
but was shot down.

The title is nonsense. Writer's block!

Frank Corbett Jan 2013

Oak

Once I saw an old tree
with a knot bulging in the bark,
so I tried to hack it off
with an axe,
to no avail.

The bark had been removed,
but no wood was shown,
only a tumor-like growth,
caused by a careless insect no doubt,
that realized it would not be a suitable home.

I showed my father the growth,
hoping he could save it,
cut out the bad,
so it would no longer plague the oak,
so it could be normal again.

He would not.
To do so would **** the tree.

Frank Corbett Jan 2013

I

These pages are filling faster and faster.
I feel as though I'm headed for another disaster,
ways that I'll ruin everything,
and the fights that first light will bring,
I'm afraid and man enough to admit it,
these emotions are a drug and I'm scared to quit it,
because being normal makes me uncomfortable,
in a place where I traded bald spots for stubble,
following my dreams shouldn't be this hard,
but I'm lost in thoughts of playing in the yard,
I'm failing mom, dad and keri,
I've lost my sisters trust and they no longer hear me,
this is depression and anxiety,
fearing truth, and that everyone lies to me,
so I unload on pages and text files,
everyone's laughing like hyenas or smiling like crocodiles,
so tear me apart and shave my beard,
rip open my chest and drown it with beer,
Just Like I do.
Just Like I do.
Just Like I do.
Just Like I do.
Just Like I do.
Just Like I do.
Instead of a loved one in my dreams,
I only get rhyme schemes.

Frank Corbett Jan 2013

Niche

You'll fit right in,
on this set of lines,
set next to the others,
scribbles refined,
a poem of being,
simply to be,
physical ink,
written by me,
you sit here so cozy,
you fit with no hitch,
you've found before me,
your own little niche.

Frank Corbett Jan 2013

Individual

If the dead could walk,
and steel could fly,
the boats would flock,
and all would die.

Not all men deserve to live,
not all men can take,
survivors of ruin are the ones who give,
or leave shells in their wake.

The wastes consist of lost gifts,
whose meanings assigned by choice,
and what we lose in this lift,
warrants every heretic a voice.

Frank Corbett Jan 2013

Watching

I've created this thing,
it's teeth of alabaster,
an uneven ring,
of watchful disaster.

It's staring at me,
from the sliding glass door,
while cold creeps onto my toes,
from the cracked white tile floor.

Purple skies of snowfall,
overloading bald trees,
makes this horror seem small,
though even now it cannot freeze.