Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Keith J Collard Jun 2019
She is thirty five,
But I see twelve,
" I love you mommy"
After being flip and raised by hell,
It's too late for love,
" Get the hell out of my house."

She told a memory,
About her dad and herself,
" Daddy please don't go behind there with her."
She doesn't tell her mother, but the truth comes out,

" He took me to see the fireworks."
In an innocent voice of twelve.
Keith J Collard Mar 2019
A thought from Frost,
"Fire or Ice* in the end?"
Fire is revenge,
Ice is cruel deep and dark,
both will come,
Like icy comets,
That heat up when breaking apart,
Not from the heavens,
But from the human heart.
*Robert Frost's poem
Keith J Collard Feb 2019
Funny thing 'bout dreams,
From whence they come?
And when they go?,
golfing with Jackie,
did not speak did not joke,
An eerie sunlight,
in the golf cart, as he drove.

Then it was night,
Where did he come from?
Now his brother and I in snow,
car broke down,
Jackie shows up to do the tow,
He did not speak, he did not joke,
" Jackie you over-dosed."
He proceeded on,
So he would not leave I did not come close,
When he came I did not know,
Amid the boundless night and endless snow.
Funny thing dreams--
" ****** Jackie say something--please!"

Then I awoke,
Only empty night and lonely snow.
Keith J Collard Feb 2019
At a bus stop,
Town well to do,
A summer so green,
And an ocean so blue,
A mere speck the battered lonely kite,
Approaching is a retired gent and wife,
The well to do, the battered kite aloft,
did not say hi, did not stop,
instead had something to hand-off,
"  For smiling"
and in my palm-- a butterscotch.
Keith J Collard Nov 2016
I am your liar and thief,
now those older brutal bullies,
bow at your feet.
Those brutal mountains,
" can I get one on the cheap?"
surely, serve me,
and tell a mountain to leap,
and it will leap.
I am your liar and your thief,
remember when you closed your eyes,
and still you could see--
those mountains slumped,
when you served them me,
inside my tent-heavenly ecstasy,
I can get you past the thorny gate,
by feeling wondrous joy when you bleed,
I am your liar, and your thief,
buy four, get the fifth for cheap,
you entered my tent--
now I enter your dreams,
you ran out of me,
hurricane season in Charlestown it seems,
one step outside my eye,
and you lose my golden beams,
remember that one time in my tent,
you closed your eyes and still you could see,
now tonight you go to sleep,
and you ran out of my golden beam,
the doctor in your dream,
was feeding you to lobsters,
and she was Chinese,
come back to me,
to your liar and your thief,
this time, they don't get the fifth for cheap,
and now you not the mountains must leap,
remember how pathetic you felt,
fed alive to lobsters,
by the female Doctor in your dreams,
stick to my dwindling golden beam,
mountains of wreckage on this Charleston street,
its just you and me,
remember when you closed your eyes and still could see?
surely if you have enough faith,
those mountains again can get the fifth for cheap,
but for now I will help you sleep,
its just you and me now on this Charleston street,
mountains sure will look like they jump,
when you are crumbling debris,

I am forever your Liar,
I am forever your thief,
I can get you past that thorny gate--
by feeling wondrous joy when you bleed.
My poems are authenticated by my typos
Keith J Collard Jun 2016
A charred , blackened, frozen thing,
a sunflower in the early spring,
bigger flower heads staring down,
at younger ones staring at frozen ground,
I so wanted this plant to animate,
like a carousel on a summer day,
but they only offered a paltry shiver,
these faces that have lasted all of winter,
a charred, blackened, frozen stalk,
a carousel in an abandoned lot,
so sad how those heads hung,
no longer turning to the warming sun.
Keith J Collard Dec 2015
There is something about the cute brunette,
With long lustrous brown hair over one shoulder,
It is like the common brown sparrow that winters over,
So rare and so mundane,
Like the surviving American chestnut tree Dutch disease has not slain.
And in the branches I look closer, in weather that numbs me,
The sparrow, fine face, elegant and comely,
The hawks would not feud with her
Lips, glossed with deadly berry of winter-juniper.
I want to  kiss her ,as if a hungry chick in winter,
And such bliss, watching talons miss,
Brown hair parted mid air chasing off hawk as she babysits.

With long boots, and chestnut hair over the shoulder,
Such a *****, a rarity--as I look closer,
this brunette beauty that winters over.
Next page