Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
‘Twas the night before surgery,
and all through the house,
no one was stirring,
not even my spouse.

Suddenly I awoke with
such a terrible fright
“Oh, my! It’s 11:45,
and I must eat before midnight!”

So I ran for the kitchen
with nay a moment to spare,
because I cannot eat after midnight;
No way! I wouldn’t dare!

There I stood in the
middle of the room,
staring at the fridge
wondering what to consume.

Then it hit me;
“I know what to make!”
It’s fast and it’s tasty,
a BIG chocolate milkshake!

But when I turned on the blender
it made such a loud noise,
that it woke up my husband,
and it woke up our boys.

So they came in and stared at me,
much to my demise
They all looked so bewildered
as they rubbed their sleepy eyes.

Then they saw the blender
and realized what was there,
“You all might as well go back to bed,
‘cause I’m not about to share!”

I poured it into a very large glass;
I filled it to the top.
Then I drank until it was gone,
& I felt like I could pop.

One by one, the hours crept by,
as I laid awake counting sheep.
That stupid milkshake made my stomach ache,
and I couldn’t go back to sleep!

‘Twas the night before surgery,
and there in my house;
they all slept soundly,
including my spouse.
Several years ago, I had to undergo a series of surgeries, during which time I learned that my anesthesiologist had a sense of humor. So I wrote this for him to let him know that I *knew* the #1 rule: Thou shalt not eat or drink for at least 8 hours prior to general anesthesia!
constant flow...


Throwing back its strong stem
Head into the wild wind
Releasing progeny
Whirling round
All in a blur

how sweet that dance of the poppies

See them fly
In all directions
Calyx empties itself
In freeze-frame video clip
Of what really needs to be set free



constant streaming
of
sunlight*



S T, 17 July 2013
nothing like cross-pollination ...to set the ball rolling :)

nature will dictate the pace ...as rivers continue to flow
sometimes breaking banks and forging new paths
yet
always flowing :)



Sub-entry: ‘Sister Golden Hair’  - America

Songwriters: BECKLEY, GERRY

Well I tried to make it Sunday, but I got so **** depressed
That I set my sights on Monday and I got myself undressed
I ain't ready for the altar but I do agree there's times
When a woman sure can be a friend of mine

Well, I keep on thinkin' 'bout you, Sister Golden Hair surprise
And I just can't live without you; can't you see it in my eyes?
I been one poor correspondent, and I been too, too hard to find
But it doesn't mean you ain't been on my mind

Will you meet me in the middle, will you meet me in the air?
Will you love me just a little, just enough to show you care?
Well I tried to fake it, I don't mind sayin', I just can't make it

Well, I keep on thinkin' 'bout you, Sister Golden Hair surprise
And I just can't live without you; can't you see it in my eyes?
Now I been one poor correspondent, and I been too, too hard to find
But it doesn't mean you ain't been on my mind

Will you meet me in the middle, will you meet me in the air?
Will you love me just a little, just enough to show you care?
Well I tried to fake it, I don't mind sayin', I just can't make it

Doo *** doo *** ...
some rather dark nights
seems the moon's on vacation . . .

1.
Look, here comes courage
Dragging the moon in its teeth
While stars dapple in its tangled fleece
Go on, you!
Go and put the moon back up in the sky
Where it belongs

2.
Tenebrous nite falls on square
Yet a caged moon shines courageous slivers
Most haunting melodies
Then that dark figure appears
Trying to steal it away

With black birds flapping round him
Like a sombre halo over him
He slinks off into the welcoming shadows.

3.
Girl with long blonde plaits
sits on water-lily petal-pads
In the middle of a mild mere
Mauve moon lies tame in her still palms
But the wrong notes suddenly play out
Harmony not quite jacked up

4.
Elemental whirlpool explodes
As sceptred figures hunch in red dust
A flash of green sky
white elephants drown in shallow puddles
angels sit on the edge of blue teacups
while thoughts crisscross

and moon hops away
galaxial order pleased


put the moon back
where it belongs

let it hang there . . .
in the sky*




S T, 20 July 2013
Just some moon-thoughts....written a few days ago.

Wonder if the moon is hostage to our orbit ... poor satellite.
Perhaps I want everything:
the darkness that comes with every infinite fall
and the shimmering blaze of every step up.

So many live on and want nothing,
and are raised to the rank of prince
by the slippery ease of their light judgments.

But what you love to see are faces
that do work and feel thirst.

You love most of all those who need you
as they need a crowbar or a ***.

You have not grown old, and it is not too late
to dive into your increasing depths
where life calmly gives out its own secret.

Rainer Maria Rilke / The Book of the Hours
(translated by Robert Bly: German)





S T, 20 July 2013
love this poem ...so touching :)


sub: 'your eyes'

my child, my child


1.
crying beside long stalks of sugarcane
flat on the mudfloor
next to worn baskets in the corner
heart rent
never will I see your eyes
open again

your little brother watches me:
he sees his father on knees
and arms to the sky
raging in snot-rivulets and loud tears

while your mother tends to all else
she cannot afford to spill now
the other babies need to be fed and changed



2.
she carries her pain inside
as she always does
later she will scrub it out in the laundry
        and pound it in the corn
        and wring it from the wet clothes
        and sweep
fling it to the sky

*my child, my child
what did they do?
what have they given you?*



3.
I sent you off on your journey
not ever thinking that
I never would see your eyes
again

now I tear my hair
and gouge my eyes
I bare my soul
and ask...why??


4.
dried tears leave ashen lines
as a warm flood spills
fresh
hot lament on cheeks
I touch your young face
so serene ...eternally serene  

I would knee-walk eternal
on rusty nails and toxic cans
if I could see your eyes once more

but the time has come:
your mother comes to wash you
one last time


*never will I see your eyes
again

your beautiful
life-giving eyes
again*
i have a secret.
can you keep one?
you might wanna come closer,
as close as a whisper.
i speak the truth
of wonders and mystery,
but not of bliss.
i saw you in the
abyss.
you...
you...
you do not exist.
we were never introduced.
but i watched you.
beautifully.
adoringly.
in my dreams vividly.

ah.
i observed you.
like the way you drink your
coffee.
the way you sipped.
i noticed every bit of it.
how you enjoyed it.
how you stirred clockwise
with a spoon.
and like crazy, going zigzag,
with a stirrer.
its like an addiction.
my addiction?
still you.

you see i am no stalker.
im an observer.
maybe an admirer.
a lover? im not sure.
but this distance,
this rather short gap of
affection you own
but is unnoticed.
if only i can spit it out
and let it crawl towards you.
but i find it gross.
hahaha.
plain stupid.

you own me.
with every stare,
unintentional i know,
with luscious smiles,
i melt.
i get unmolded.
i morphed into something
really unknown.
oh you my trickster.
how you do that i do not know.

i hope i get the chance to
let you know.
to hold your hand,
even if it's just from a
friendly shake.
oh the joy it would bring.
days of uninterrupted daydreams and
nights of being wishful.

how you make me write
from poetry, to stories.
how you wanna make me
carve your name on
a tree.
cliche.
but still i wish you know.
how i dreamed of flying kites together.
my way of trying to reach heaven
with you. :)

but you are just a dream.
and i am still a dreamer.
i am still dreaming.
of you.
and me.
but not of you and me.
oh mournful reality.

-end-
the heart is the most deceitful thing there is.
the brain knows that.
we just find it hard to understand.
  
what we generally perceive as love is nothing
but a mere illussion of what we're missing,
what we want.

the rush of emotions we suddenly experience
is so overwhelming that we can't grasp
its true intention.

we are building false hope in ourselves,
and we feed the thought
and excitement.

when we deeply think about it,
we are just inlove with the thought
of being in love.

it's more of a feel-good trigger
we unleash if we lost that
adrenaline.

it's that fairytale ending we have in our
imaginations that waters the seed
of romance in our hearts.

sad thing is we don't live in a fairytale.
i might insist pessism in your thought,
hey i don't write your love story.

blame it all in the confusion and lies
about love and your fairytale dreams,
your ever-after might not be within reach.

love is an illussion.
a trickery even rocket scientist can't explain.
mind boggling fantasies about prince and princesses.

but there is hope. ( an accomplice)

hope that even if you don't live in a castle nor rule a kingdom
believe that someone will treat you as the princess
far better you imagined yourself.

and when that day comes you might want not stay in neverneverland.
you don't grow old there.
what's the point of i-wanna-grow-old-with-you line?

love is a dangerous and a beautiful thing to enjoy.
its like sinking in a quicksand of bliss.
or swimming in a sea of chocolatey sea of tears.

but remember that in the midst
of everything you
beLIEve
in is a
LIE.

be careful.
I got up out of bed putting on my slippers,
worn down through the years, to see what all that sound was for.
Haley was dead asleep holding tight to the pillow.

Her head kept jerkin and I remember
Mary sayin that people who ****** in there sleep was havin a bad dream.
So I laid my hand on her head
and stroked it soft
like how Mary did it to us,
and watched as she quieted down.

Again I heard the noises
and slipped out into the dark hallway to figure out what was going on.
I was always curious to know why he made those noises when he was with Mary.

I leaned against the doorway,
half hiding behind the post to get a look.
The grainy texture of the post underneath my fingers
made me careful about catchin any splinters in my fingers like usual.

Daddy was on top of Mary,
sayin out mamas name softly,
moving up and down on top of her with his eyes closed,
I could tell cause
I couldn’t see the whites of his eyes
or the redness of ‘em
seeing how he was drunk and all,
while Mary laid under him, her hand over her mouth crying.

Those tears so much like the summer rains
rolled down her cheek
catching the light of the moon
just like they did on the blades of grass.

I didn’t know what was happening,
but I knew Mary didn’t like it.

Daddy, not knowing I was there,
asked Mary in a husky voice,
scarcely above a harsh whisper,
if she didn’t like it,
and how he could remember
her speaking out to him on there wedding night
and such.
Who should I turn to
at a time when the world has lost its definition

Trying to find meaning is as fleeting
as painting on a wetted canvas

the colours bleed
STAY IN YOUR PLACE!
-is what I want to yell-

What I need now is order
and control
Next page