Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Where Shelter Aug 25
lay this body down, where shelter is..


maybe you’ve been here, HP, awhile,
faintly remember the nook of poetry,
the four old soldier chairs, worn to a gray shade indescribable,
facing the merge of the river and the bay, lookin out southwest,
today, in nearly summer over Sunday best,
wearing a new old navy lime t-shirt,
ancient Champion grey cotton flannel shorts,
summer uniform of the generation that went boom and bust

as the sun escapes through apertures of now and then,
interrupting the partly cloudy forecast,
lazy me risking an end of summer skin reddening chastisement,
but life without danger, no life at all, especially poetry danger

the windy breezes jabbering quite excitedly,
deep in conversation with the waves
that loudly enough are washing the shore,
beneath my feet sitting in the poets nook

the gulls are squeaking their point of view,
at will, saying to me,
who asked you poet?

discussing they, the day, when the humans will be leaving,
they tell day and season by the degree of temperature reductions,
knowing full well it harbors hints that our departure sooner,
till next we poetry nook

the Adirondack chairs, with no cushions, are now described
as “scratchy,” by the Wendy of my life,
two and something granddaughter, who returns next weekend,
with new insights and open to opportunities to “use her words”
to teach me anew how to see the loveliness that is my blessing

sometimes a human takes an inventory of life’s stuff,
the ex and in-terior terrain, wades through the moraine
that his glacier has dragged behind, the coarse detritus of his course,
de icing/deciding what to keep, what stone skip throw into the bay

I could sail from our dock to the Atlantic,
meet you over a pint or a pinot, or head down to the Panama Canal,
north to Portland or Seattle, cruise the Willamette,
go as far as Vancouver,
before the spring winter runoff,
show you my shock, the shock of well past gray,
now the white feather of my head, signifying...old warrior, as it
falls over my forehead, a new signature of my ever changing body,
the city doormen see, shocked, now call me honorifically “abuelo”

read a story from a harvard doctor who believes living past 75,
makes little sense, cause we use up more resources
than we could ever add back

no, not saying go die, but give up the meds,
the artifices to extend life
once you pass past the inflection where you’re nothing but a taker,
which maybe explains why wrote a dozen poems this weekend,
trying to expel what resources I can add to the world before I

lay this body down

the cloud bank covering the southern fork of long island,
thickly viscous like fresh honeybee secretions, after which,
some will

lay their body down

next weekend is labor day, and maybe I’ll labor more,
disgorging poems too long and too varied, perchance you will
enjoy one or two, as we both be closer to the day when labor ceases,
and we can unhurriedly

lay this body down, sheltered at last

from wind waves and gulls jabbering,
the alternating current of cloud and sun


B D Caissie Aug 24
Childlike days of yore unencumbered with the guilt of sin.

Hardship has trapped youth under years of thick skin.

Memories have fallen like scattered skittle pins.

Much to the chagrin of the hidden child within.
Robert Aug 19
I wanted to write a poem today
but all I can think of is you
B D Caissie Aug 17
When I was a child for fun I used to pretend to have super strength when crushing crackers in my soup...
Huh! Turns out it’s still as fun as I remember.
Young at heart
look at
who ponder
life and see
no meaning

i look
at them
and wonder
if its God they're
only memeing

but if they think
it's stupid to seek
in this world-
some meaning

it's even stupider
to think and wonder
why this world
has no meaning


no one saw
no one heard
no one knows

the Big Bang

none can see
none can tell
none can testify

the island with
only one man

to its meaning
blind to its

would i bother
crying over
i cant understand

the abyss might be deep
the abyss might be shallow

jump into and find out

i can't lose-
for thou not a sin

can't gain-
neither is it a win

you can't lose or win-
crumble or withstand

can't lose or win-
to an enemy I cant understand

can't raise a sword or staff
to an enemy i don't have
stop this existential,
Rick and Morty,

it ain't deep
to assume
if you don't know

(an none of us ever will)

the true depth of the abyss
Invisible Aug 8
A heavy feeling on my chest,
Almost like the pressure of water.
The pressure of sinking.
Then I'm drowning.
In my anxiety.
I begin breathing rapidly.
Short breaths.
Because I can't take it in.
I can't take in the oxygen.
It feels like it just bounces,
Back up.
I feel something.
Something like fear,
But not really.
It takes a while,
But then it hits.
I'm panicking.
That's what I feel.

And it scares the crap out of me.
Ironic. I'm scared of panicking.
I get panic attacks. They aren't so bad, don't leave too much damage, but I was also told to not ignore them.
Seanathon Aug 7
You — And your quiet glow — Make me feel like a serene ripple. Like a blessed wish on a prior day.

You — And all that every human eye has seen — Scatter rippling white lights, all across this distant horizon of me.

May the shadow of the this glorious moon fall gently on a world of peace.
Crego Aug 3
We parted ways
like two strangers
crossing the street.
Next page