It's interesting being argued with to your face regarding getting your work on the market and published.  They are too kindly in my local poetry group at the library.



(sonnet #MMMMMCMXLIX)


La, to my face, ere from a distance' pale
Voice bits and bytes denote, some worry hence
I'll be like mousy Dickinson, as whence
They urge me publish these fraught lines' detail,
Lest after Death seals that font in betrayl,
What **! but shall these perish sans defense?!
Come, let us now observe a winking sense
Of hallowed silence, shall we?  Have I bail?
Where Shakespeare trusted he'd be loved ah, fer
Was that until this earth be done? He knew
Him cherished face to face.  Besides, in poor
'Scuse we but parse his lines or lisp the crew
Of them sans knowing Will.  I'm not loved.  You're
Appreci'tive, and my loves:  I  love y'all too.

05Oct16

among the days
that happen to be nice,
there are the ones,
when I have to a-cry,
the days of loss,
the days of bitter sorrow,
that make less pleasant the tomorrow,
and, then, I pray,
and, then, I read Shakespeare,
becoming Romeo or Hamlet, or King Lear.
  by Ivan Petryshyn, USA
Іван Іванович Петришин, США

Unrequested,
Cloaked figures surround your little bubble,
Poking and probing your armor.
You shriek every time they attempt to penetrate
And they shriek back at you, startled and confused.

Unsolicited,
They follow you around,
Picking up your footprints just after you
Mark them on the ground.
They drop petals of dead roses behind in your place
To show that in the end, you can leave behind beauty
If you so choose.

“They’re actually quite pleasant,”
You think to yourself.
You look back at them on occasion,
And they simply mumble amongst one another in a lull murmur.
Content.
Like nomads without destination in mind;
Like dreamers without expectation to find.
“I wish I could be more like them…“ you ponder.

Finally,
You’re near.
You see the edge getting closer.
The vastness of the ocean crashes against
The stone walls beneath your feet.
You wiggle your toes aloft the sharp edge,
Just enough that you can still keep your balance.
You notice in that moment the figures are finally silent.
You turn around
And with complete composure
They bow their hooded heads in sympathy,
And you realize then that your thoughts
Are not a secret to them.

Throwing your arms in the air,
You let the breeze caress your every pore.
For the first time
This nakedness doesn’t feel defenseless.

You smile at your friends
As they wave goodbye,
And fall backwards toward the water just as you would a feather down bed.
You watch the sky expand above you,
And the figures free whatever petals they have left
into the wind like doves’ feathers.

Patron: "...And can you add the diced Hamlet to that omelette?"

Waiter: "Jolly good sir, and do you know if you'll be having dessert?"

Patron: "Oh yes, I'll have a strawberry Shakespeare."

Waiter: "Brilliant, your omelette will be out before you can say 'Ides of marshmallow'."

Patron: "That was dreadful and you know it."

Waiter: "Deary me, sir."

END SCENE

Shakespeare, gazing into a waning sky,
said that her eyes were nothing like the sun.
Collins, picking fruit from trees, said that she
is not the purple wind in the orchard.

To follow this long trend of un-blazoned
poetry, I want to share with the world
that you are not the Charlie Parker jazz
jumping from the mouth of a black Phillips

radio, nor are you the paper that I
am writing this first draft on, nor
the morning coordinate geometry
that puzzled me today (or maybe you

are). Even more so, you are not the moon-
light staining trees, the stack of 18th
century British literature in the study,
your grandmother’s painting in the dining

room. Nonetheless, you are you: masterful,
opinionated, understanding; a
beloved whose beauty is better left
unmentioned in some new age poetry.

you say you never gave me aught. i find this funny, because you gave me confidence before you gave me heartache, but both of them you gave to me. i try not to sit and wonder what if? what if i was there for you when you were at your worst? would you really have loved me?

nothing but late night whispers as misterwives covers that song about wendy.
wendy grows old, her window will close, and peter will still never grow up.

ready, set, stop. we don't go anywhere, although i'd love to go everywhere there is with you. i'll be a mermaid- my hair will be wet, my soul soaked in misadventure. i'll let you duck my head under for as long as you want, and if it kills me in the process, you can swallow these jelly beans whole.

my jelly bean soul will be with your gummy bear heart, and it will be pretty.
your smile is so bright it glows in the dark- i wonder where it's gone?

this ultralight beam is carrying me home. home away from home. home away from the heartache, and away from all of the things i lost when i thought i was in love with you. i lost a part of myself. it's still over where you are. singing songs i want to forget.

i've been spinning like a record, seeing you in the city, in the red of stoplights.
i once said i'd wait for you there but i'd rather float face down in the water.

tell me a story, my dear, ill fated lover. my white dress floats in the bath water. i want you to stand next to the tub and tell me about the first time you saw me. you were a prince, and i just a girl. tell me about how you fell in love with my walk and my curled toes and my cinnamon smile. sickening spices. uniquity. grace.

biting my bottom lip, i ask if you will say hello again, blooming.
why is it that you always whisper goodbyes like autumn leaves?

you are catastrophic, and i a mad, young, silly girl. but you used to be perfect and i used to be wise, and our most promising traits are announced to the tides as i pull the drain stopper out. wait! i laugh. i put the stopper back into tub. row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream.

i’m wondering as you look at me with those empty eyes.
i wonder, if i know i have gone mad, am i mad after all?

i don’t see it in your eyes, my dear, ill fated lover. i only see death, death, death and love. you used to utter sweet words with warm breath in my ear. i’d dance for you until my back hurt and my heels were sore, until i wanted to cry and laugh, for you were so enthralled by the movements of my body. I don’t dance anymore. and your breath is cold, your words sour.

the tub overflows and i shut my eyes, although they beg to see.
will i laugh when you scream my name, saying you can’t swim?

my breathing hurts; without you i see stars.
brown eyes dilate and my warm heart boasts,
hardly focused and you’ve too many bars.
pushed away but you know that i care most

i roll over in the sheets you just spread
but you can’t even look me in the eye
so you decided love is buríed
and the idea of us must soon die

my heart is sick of putting up a fight,
ever since you held me i have foil’d.
the hardest thing is feeling very quite
of you, and with every sigh, i’m toil’d.

just know you’ll always be my beloved
and i’ll remember you wanted me removed

a.d

I do not want to talk

You turned me into an ash tray

One that is smaller than you,

But has been put to more use

I am overflowing with carcinogenic filth



However,

Now I see you are more,

Far more than an ash tray

You’re the whole apothecary



While you drown your worries

Mine fill me up

Just another tap from another’s cigarette

The ash piles up

Onto the mountain, without a fuss



I have lost the desire to dine

And whine

With you

Oh sweet and true apothecary, I worry about you

Hello, Romeo
Tip-toe, So slow
Bellow from below
Slay foe, Must go
Can't know of love though
Death glow
Such woe
You go, solo
Oh no!
Follow with fatal blow
End Show