it is about this time, this time right here, the now,
holy friday night y’all, can i get an amen! (amen!) drink that beer (alwaysalways beer, yeah!) wooo!! play that song – excuseme – that countrysong again!!! raise them glasses, boys and ladies (yeah, one more, one more) uh, right, somethingsomething my truck yeeeeeehaaawww how are y’all feelin’ tonight!!!! (i’m heading home alone and for the first time in my life i forgot my keys) .
Washed away the sweat of my day
and now I'm squeaky clean. Out on the balcony and the Sun playing games with me if I squint I can see her halo. There's a lot to be said for saying nothing and keeping the thoughts in your head and there is much to be said about something but we sit back and listen instead.
At the touch of lips, feelings do explode. But we were still too young, how'd we really know? I guess for us, it only implodes. Kissing in secret, curious kids against each parents wishes. Because of you, I never forgot that Friday evening. (Of my first taste at French kisses)
Seven Things Spoken
Seven things spoken, three words for completion, silence, then a cracking earth and a temple veil torn in two. James E. Roethlein ©2021
Jim is the author of two books of poetry "Musing on the Cricket Game of Life Part 1 1/2" and "An Extravagant Way of Saying Nothing" both available on Amazon
Mhall46184@aol.com https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/ poeticdrivel.blogspot.com Thoughts During that Famous Light Collation on Good Friday This morning I mowed the lawn, the springtime lawn Then messed about with flowerpots and bees In this little safe space of happy green A shadow of Heaven beneath wise Plato’s oak This evening I will visit Jerusalem And follow timidly the Stations of the Cross Not wanting to be noticed by Romans or Greeks (Setting aside the fact that I am a Roman) Time stops - with faltering steps and a contrite heart A journey into the dark, and then – waiting
A poem is itself.
Body-blood wafers-wine, praises turned crucifixion, a mother's milk gone sour to boil its lamb son alive. We lament, and remember (upon this Thursday night) the actual retail price paid, the victory won from defeat. James E. Roethlein ©2021
Jim is the author of two books of poetry "Musing on the Cricket Game of Life Part 1 1\2" and "An Extravagant Way of Saying Nothing" both available on Amazon
With mixed and barbed emotions
these thick and heavy days defy physics individually grinding yet weekly whipping by But in this treacled maelstrom Friday’s unique frisson still brings a cheeky tickle
The scent of autumn
trespasses by the name of our paths--- as our paths intertwine with one another; scraping its way out to welcome the cold, but warm, and familiar wintertime.
Honey smells like a wintertime to me.
Goodbye Autumn, I guess?
It was Friday.
I did it again, but just enough to numb the pain to wake me up from a bad dream. am doin' my best ever since.. bcs I fear that one day I might not scared of the most unknown.
I wish you'd tell me.