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  Dec 2022 Maria Mitea
Glenn Currier
Driving home from the airport
from High Ridge Road we peered at downtown.
I told our visitor
this is the view tourists like
looking at the city from afar
or driving past its monuments.
But if you really want to see the city
you have to smell the streets the morning after
or visit Aunt Stella in her trailer.

That night we did just that
laughing with the folks
sitting on her old stuffed couch
and on rickety folding chairs
she’d fetched from the bedroom closet.

We listened to Fred
leaning over his old guitar
playing it as if it were a woman.
His voice was gravel
but when he sang falsetto
I could see him in his mother’s arms.

Stella quietly left for the kitchen
and brought back beers
and saltines and sharp cheddar cheese,
Fred still crooning softly.
We were completely mesmerized by him
and his humble country charm.

As I sat there with our visitor
I was again a boy at home with Mama
and Daddy who’d just got in from the plant
in his khaki pants and shirt  
smudges of oil on his sleeves
smelling of the day’s sweat.
  Dec 2022 Maria Mitea
Carlo C Gomez
~
Lipstick to void. She is a race against time. The beveled past a disruption in her lines of influence.

Travel is dangerous, and tonight it darkens the highway of blood vessels coursing through her extremities. She wants to be luminous and under the skin.

While Dorothy dreams of tornadoes in Kansas, she dreams of remote climbs in lesser Glasgow, of party drugs in Tokyo. How many lights does she see?

In her hair are sixty circuits. But she waits, religiously inclined on the hotel bed. She drove through ghosts to get here wearing nothing but Las Vegas.

So strange at this hour, in a city full of sleepwalkers for the taking, she now dreams she's a bulldozer, she now dreams she's alone in an empty field.

~
  Dec 2022 Maria Mitea
bones
I'm surrounded by these four walls,
My thoughts bouncing off of them;
Loud and clear.

I find comfort in these four walls,
Knowing that my cries for help never leave,
That when I wail at night no one can get to me.

I also feel trapped by these four walls,
They make me feel small,
The white colour blinding me when I come up for air each time.

But these four walls know me better than anyone else here,
They know the real me.
Because when I leave these four walls every morning,
I leave as a new me.
its been a while since I've written on this website. it feels odd to be back.
I hope this poem makes sense in some way.
  Dec 2022 Maria Mitea
rose hopkins
When I was young  and time was infinite
I was spontaneous,impulsive, impatient.
Now I am older
and life is precious
and timeless becomes time
with an end in sight.
Love becomes more visible.
I am adventurous,
pensive and patient,
riding the next dream
into a timeless future.
Today I saw an impressive colored sky
One color, deep nuance
of strange dark blue,
almost purple blue
as far as the eyes could see.
Not one  cloud in sight.
And what took my breath away,
yes I smiled ,
was a snow globe like moon.
Very rare.
A bright yellow sickle at the bottom
and a thin line shaping the globe.
Inside little yellow dots.
It was a snow globe moon.
It followed me to work at 6 am
It was my Christmas moon
and made my day.




Shell ✨🐚
How precious to feel happy just looking at nature
  Dec 2022 Maria Mitea
Carlo C Gomez
No more room for theory
Rest your head from invention
Talk to me like the sea
And I will surround you
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