Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
if you don’t know by now,
going to early mass is not my thing,
as I am one of those peeps of the tribe
that for your sins, died and then, again, some more

‘bout 6:00am, exchanging messages with
my fellow Indians (nooo, I’m not Indian) poets
on mundane subjects like tradition, grandchildren,
nagging wives, profits, revenues and earnings, expenses
(of that, more later)

now that we are living on the isle-no-elation,
the distractions are numerous though varied,
so I find myself unloading the dishwasher,
chopping, peeling, red, yellow peppers, cucumbers

then to a puzzle I am sent, how to fit in two
big cases of water into a Manhattan-sized
closet which shall we say, with largesse, isn’t
large-esse, comes pre-crammed from urban foraging

which means it’s coffee prep time so more
cleansing of yet another device, which happily
annoys by providing step by step, non-negotiable demands,
what me, just another human pretense machine, must execute

ménage a trois, three poems are pre-forming in
a mind that says concentrate, please don’t slice a fingertip,
but if you must, that romanesque nose, certainly
could use a trimming, if you are so energized & inclined

and it’s Sundae morning and I deliver the coffee,
making the route I’ve been plying for many morn,
this one is black, this one is oat milk, extra hot,
this one is awake, cause she’s giggling at **** emojis

oh yes indeed, a liturgical motet, a prayer to a lord,
I’ve never seen, but who insists on interrupting me,
when the mood is upon him, as if we humans were his own
coffee machine toys, don’t forget to make him herbal tea

and you say this is not a poem, and you whine,
overly long, and I laugh and say please, please,
don’t read it, I’ve got plenty others that garnered
accolades of multiple thousands and love this one better

feeling so holy, feeling so hollywood, my tasks nearly
completed, return to bed, when the nagging begins,
what have I forgotten, ****, my own coffee hides,
in the microwave and by now needs a reheating twice

and while I must off to write of Indian traditions,^
the gains and losses of grandchildren, grandmothers,
a new debate rages, how shall I end this morning-prayer,
and
I offer myself
three choices,
in a language I speak in the original,
Hallelujah, Amen, and Selah.


8:49am
Manhattan Island
May 17
2020
Tori Schall Mar 13
There is nothing like waking up exhausted.
You want to go back to sleep, but you can't.
You aren't sure if you were asleep to begin with.
You had laid in bed for so long in a half-asleep haze
that you can't be sure whether you finally slipped into your dreams or not.

But going by how miserable you feel,
trying to force tired limbs out of bed
while your eyes want to close for just a little while longer,
You can only assume the answer.

What time did you wake up anyway?
3 or 4 in the morning?
What time did you go to bed?
9 O'clock?
You should feel less tired,
but the reality is that you took three hours of tossing and turning,
praying for sleep,
before finally slipping into it for just a few
scarce moments before you're
jerking back away at some ungodly hour
just to spend the next two trying to fade away again.

And then you have to get up.
Adham Hassan Feb 18
I put to thee labors to mine love finally achieve
To thy heart I not to be a name demand,
Not to face the oblivious waves, not to be brief,
Dare not to mine soul erase as thy waves treat the poor sand,
I want to pierce thy shell I want to be a thief,
But mine barriers to thy trials will still stand.
*
I am not a little Satan nor am I a saint,
I was to thy pilgrims their miserable end,
Only I deserve to have thy pearly hand,
As mine winds go mad to thy smile, they faint,
But to thy ship, they won't help nor find thee any land
Use thy heart, thou might notice mine scent.

To thy doubts, thou wish they are right,
But I am not a one able to say.
Maybe if thou art in mine near sight,
mine thoughts of thee may reach the day.
Keep hiding mine sun, but no use it's so bright,
To mine love, thy hope is tracing a leaked ray.


Since I am no Prometheus, I will let thee freeze
Find thy fire and to mine labors do not cease
*
I will do no more and to mine affairs I will head,
Thus, thy trails do never reach an end,
Never reach mine light, nor to thee will I bend,
Not even with thy smile, no more heart shred.
Amanda Jan 15
Your early heat nudging my back
The coldness floods this impatient day
Made brittle in the breaking Dawn
Soften when the biting wind blows ice away
About waking up to a cold day in a warm bed next to my soulmate
Mrs A Dec 2019
I feel like I've held my breath my whole life whilst waiting for you to arrive.

The velvet smoothness of your voice, dancing into my ears and setting fireworks off inside my whole body,


The moment we had our first conversation I knew.

I knew as much as I do now, for you are just you and I am just me.

Nothing is planned to make this a us or we.

But I know my soul aches for you, my heart hasn't beat the same since that moment we talked.

As I lay in bed hopelessly waiting by the phone, longing for you to reach out.. Somehow I know one day you will be tucked up right beside me. To grow old.. To hold forevermore and to never face a day alone again.


How I wish I could fast forward to your arms, to smell the sweet smell of the nook of your next. For now.

I will wait


Because I've waited my whole life so far not breathing. Now filled with breath I can wait a liitle more
Love before it happens
September Roses Jun 2019
Strangers on the subway
Who I never met and never will
Say, "hey, martha", like they're hailing a taxi
And I say, "hey" back, because, I am martha.
The lights go out in the tunnels, because, the conductor thinks it's funny and,
Three murders happened in that time but, no one cared
And the conductor still does it.
That train after 1 am
The grey and green one that smokes and used to have a future,
That was, good at writing or something in high school, but, never made it to college, you know the one.
That train rolls up and its five minutes late, but it's always five minutes late so no one complains,
And I stub my toe on the way in, I forgot to, mind the gap, and
A strange stranger bumps into me,
They say, "watch where you're going Sal"
And I say
"Sorry"
Because, I'm Sal,
And we all get on and no one says a word, and most of the passengers are rodents
But maybe some are marsupials
I dont know the difference.
And we sit in there for ten minutes maybe, avoiding eye contact like it's the plague,
Excepting, of course, those few that make eye contact the whole ride, like you're interesting or, appetising, or, they're blind and those are actually glass eyes that just happen to be looking your way.
And, when the train starts it lurches, it belches down the cars, because it, doesnt think anyone can hear it because its five meters underground and, no one could hear anything from down there.
And as we sit and we ride the silence turns to music, like the lack of even rustling, or bustling, or conversation to a friend, becomes the sound of collective recognition, often purposefully ignored, that no one on that train is going.
The train moves, but they dont, and, even though their stop is right around the corner, no one on that bench will ever find their corner piece, or land that gig, or get the girl, or save the day
Because in the looming washed out morning,
They're all just, simply, nothing more than, strangers, on the subway.
Poetic T Nov 2019
The early bird
    Doesn't catch the
                   Worm.

Because the worm
   Isn't stupid!

It's still fast asleep...




    I'm going back to bed....
LLillis Nov 2019
Green leaves lay surprised
Hurried out so frostily–
With no chance to change!
The first snow hit Toronto and many of the trees weren’t prepared for it. A thick blanket of green leaves dotted with ice now covers most of the parks and lawns. It reminded me of being rushed out by a fire alarm in the middle of the night.
Erian Rose Oct 2019
Snowflakes glistened in the evening snow
Is it already Christmas?

Trees blanketed in the white powder
People all around walking hand-in-hand
While snowballs soared over the gentle sun

Icicles hung in a shimmery glaze
Candycorn turning to candy canes
holiday wrapping hitting the shelves
And stores decked out in reds and greens

Is it already Christmas?
Your crystal eyes gleam under the mistletoe
I couldn't help but smile and hope
That this is true

Is it already Christmas?
Next page