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Hosta’s blossoms fade
Mexican Petunia spread
Cleome endures
A view out the window
Sep 17 · 46
The Gravel Pit
Few recall when the earth was scraped back
Over four score ago
To show the extensive gravel waiting to be abused

Horse pulled wagons consumed bites of earth,
One shovel-full at a time
To spit and ***** their contents
So no mud holes will grow  
Along trails black with mid-west loam

These roads carried us to and from places
To get what we did not need
For we knew how to be sustainable
Long before it became a popular movement
Long before progress discovered the quantity
Beneath the outer bones of the field across the road
A childhood memory
Jul 23 · 291
Redaction*
So often he attempts
to change words
he has said.
Words that he says later
do not mean
what they convey

There will never be
enough blotters, or erasers
or black markers to cover all
that he would amend
or alter if possible

A secret disclosed
once redacted
becomes evidence
that he desires his words  
to remain unconfirmed

A secret is a secret
only if concealed,
totally hidden
and never unearthed

Redaction is an action
to revoke or nullify
words and actions that
may or may not be undoable
Another word of the day poem.
Jul 19 · 554
Indecorous*
Dear indecorous,
Used only from time to time
The word for our day

You are exacting
Better than unbecoming
******, or ill-bred

Ungentlemanly
Incorrect, inappropriate
Unseemly, or indecent
*An adjective used to describe the behavior of our POTUS of USA
Jul 3 · 124
My Dream
I know I had a dream last night

The dream was the first thing I remembered
when I woke up

I know it was about a child
Perhaps a near baby

I was with a male friend
Though I don’t remember who

I’m sure that I was at a baseball game
Which I left before it finished

And I left the child there
With some people I met
Sitting behind me

I do recall being told by someone
Perhaps my wife

To go back and get the child

Which I was doing when I was awakened
By a noise on the street

I hope the child is okay
Do you dream?  Do you remember your dreams?
Jun 23 · 86
Assiduous *
Without the label of a teacher
Nonetheless things are pointed out
With care and diligence

Comments meticulously exacting
As though there is a sixth sense
About what is detailed

More than busy, attention is thorough
Rigor seeps from every statement
Oozing inside the listeners skull

How much perseverance can
Be understood while feeling
Crushed beneath a microscope’s slide
*A recent word of the day
Jun 9 · 458
Quibble*
One small gripe dropped
On me over our morning meal
Unusual coming from
Across the breakfast plates

Your grimace
Accentuated what was labeled
A slight beef
To begin the day
About last night
When all of our world
Was supposedly sleeping

Most of the covers
Gathered on my side
Of our sleigh bed
Tucked around me

At least this nitpick
Was something tangible
Unlike the night before
When I danced all night
With your sister
In your dreams
While you were
Left sitting
on the sidelines
*Merriam-Webster’s word for the day, June 8, 2019
May 31 · 939
Asperity*
With emotions
Protruding like spikes
On the ball of a flail

Her presence
Consumes the room

Even her voice sounds
Rough, pitted by
Adrenaline surging
Through her veins

Her mood
Is more than stern
As if bitterness
Rests around
Her heart
And all calm
Is hidden somewhere
Within her shadow
* Merriam-Webster word for the day, May 28, 2019
May 28 · 120
About Life
Mentally moving into
Where I will be
In those moments ahead
Brings anxiety and fear

Those minutes  
Of the future
Provoke doubt and unease

Similarly, the past is like
A rug stained with footprints
Of mud and grit and misdeeds
Spots best described as guilt

What peace exists resides
Here and now . . .

And in conceding that
Sadness and dark moments
Contain kernels of truth
Tuesday morning ruminations
May 7 · 129
Moment by Moment
I seldom learn about life
When walking fast along a path,
Exercise becomes the goal
Instead of understanding
Who I am, what the world is about
And why I am here

I seldom learn about myself
By reading the morning paper
instead of hearing the good morning song
Of the wren visiting
Among the feeders

I seldom learn about you
By thinking what I will tell you
Instead of hearing deeply
What you are saying and
What you are feeling while you say it

I seldom become aware
Until I feel my breath
Cascading in and out
Filling my belly and
Leaving my chest

Perhaps life is simple
When we experience it
Moment by moment
Instead of trying
To capture it
And make it ours
Morning reflections
Apr 24 · 329
Writhe*
To follow her is to
Twist and turn through life

Attempt to squirm free
And once more
her exotic scent
captivates you

At least your suffering
Is keen and intense

Every physical contortion
Only constricts her hold

Most predict despite
Numerous gyrations
The end will be catastrophic
*Merriam-Webster word for the day, April 24, 2019
Apr 14 · 81
Entitlements
To breathe
Is but one of my
Entitlements

To rise
And walk
With the ability
To change direction

To experience
Feel, gather, immerse
Myself in each event of life

So, what are my
Entitlements in life?
To breathe
To rise
To walk
To immerse
To change
If you see something beautiful, don’t just think “oh, my that is beautiful” rather experience it and its beauty.  We are enriched not by our thoughts of beauty but by our experience of being in the moment with something exquisite
Mar 16 · 139
Beneath the Shroud
So far away
The shooting
The killing

So close
The anger
The hatred

Viral scenes
Confront us
If we click
If we open our eyes

Who is our fellow traveler
If not you
Both near and far

Produce stuff
Consume it all
For tomorrow
We may die

Some gain
More and more

Others do more
With less

What does
It mean
Essential

Fluff, excess
Surrounds us

The question is
Not who is dying
Rather the question is

What is dying
Is it
The planet

Here we roam
Waiting
Beneath the shroud
Feb 18 · 154
Unmuffled Fears
Within
stirs a persistent bane

birthed
while on her Mother’s knee

Now her bones
grate against the chair
amid her rhythmic rocking
that breaks the dim silence

Images reverberate

on the back walls
of her mind

Disquietude prompts alarm

as her obsessions claw
to unearth graves

of fears

she pretends are invalid

Her desire to flee

from reminders of falsehoods

and fake passions

nags her endlessly

like unforgivable sins

haunt a cloistered sister

Neither pleas, nor prayers
quell her ruminations.
A revision, originally written in 2011
Feb 6 · 530
Phone Ring
Each time I notice
Small changes in your life
I keep them to myself

You know your smartphone
has a new ring
I don’t need to tell you

Your hair has a different tint
If I mention it
Your will ask me
Do you like it

And I would have to say
How much I love and care
About you and all that you are
Even if I don’t like your
New hair tint
And, by the way
The new phone ring —
Irritating
Why some people say I am quiet
Jan 27 · 186
My Affair with Mary
I was seduced
in Barnes & Noble,
lured to the  poetry section
next to coffee and pastries

I touched her Blue Iris,
fondled her Red Bird
and recounted why
she wakes to watch
the early sunrise

She looked better than I remembered
in a brown jacket
with a striking
emblem of a bear
on the front
She took me to her tent
near Truro
and told me of turtles, toads,
hermit *****,
and her fear
of ridding her garden
of a small harmless snake

I spill my passion
on the beach’s sand — our bed for now

Under her cover
she shares phrases,
moles, verbs,
and curves
of sweet new perceptions

We are intimate beyond belief
through her verbal kisses
which bring sweat to my palms

I’m high, hallucinating
on Mary
my drug of choice

I’m having an affair
with Mary Oliver
I am re-posting this in light of the recent death of Mary Oliver.  I miss her
Jan 15 · 361
Old Age* 3
Present
Going slowly
A good time to explore
Venture toward the unknown
Gently
*notes — The cinquain is a poem form with a strict syllabic count of 2, 4, 6, 8, 2 in five lines. Usually used to express brief thoughts or moments.
Dec 2018 · 266
Old Age* 2
William A Poppen Dec 2018
Old age *

Growing stillness

Know one day at a time

Pound the piano key’s of life

Softly
*notes — The cinquain is a poem form with a strict syllabic count of 2, 4, 6, 8, 2 in five lines. Usually used to express brief thoughts or moments.
Dec 2018 · 253
Old Age* (1)
William A Poppen Dec 2018
Old Age

What are you for?

Do life at a snail’s pace

Notice the drone of slow breathing

Wither
*notes — The cinquain is a poem form with a strict syllabic count of 2, 4, 6, 8, 2 in five lines. Usually used to express brief thoughts or moments.
Dec 2018 · 385
On Facebook
William A Poppen Dec 2018
I found your face
On Facebook
Hard to believe
I was ever there
The landscape
Is fuzzy
Through the fog
Your profile is
So faded, there are
new wrinkles
Around your mouth
Under your eyes
Wisdom lines
Gathered during our
togetherness

Your eyes still seer with
Every look, yet that look
Seeks not to find my soul
Whatever you saw
One look was enough
What you saw
was too mild, or wild
Or too jagged

Hidden in this box of memories
Are pieces of you
Musty reminders
some invigorating
some good
Mostly gone
Sometimes I write something, look at it a week or so later and then can't seem to remember why I wrote it or even what I was trying to say.  Nonetheless, here it it.
Nov 2018 · 184
Seasons Change
William A Poppen Nov 2018
Stiff west wind blows cold
A testament to winter
See the huddled wren
Shield itself along the gutter
How sudden the seasons change
A tanka, Lines one and three have 5 syllables, the others seven
Inspired by the view out the window.
Nov 2018 · 352
Good Enough
William A Poppen Nov 2018
There is time for thought
During this daily walk
There is no need to achieve
No need to count steps
Or tally blocks or miles or minutes
Leisure is on-deck
Time away from work
Time away from expectations
Time when the only eyes evaluating
The steps, the distance, the pace
Is you

Pressure mounts step by step
Shifting attention from the trees
The falling leaves, the birds,
Returning to self-centered issues
Returning to thoughts that evaluate
Judgments about the past
Become concerns for the future
Has enough been accomplished
Has enough been stored
For what is to come

Current experience happens
Yet passes by
Without appreciation
Without being savored

Being becomes anxiety
Being becomes guilt
Being becomes non-being

The question is repeated
Constantly nagging
“Why is it so hard to become
Aware of the present
And why is it so hard to stay
With the moment?”

Will life be long enough
For one to accept
That this is good-enough
That this moment
Is life and it is good enough
Being here, being now
Just sharing what seems to me to be an "eternal question"
Nov 2018 · 103
Give Me Notice
William A Poppen Nov 2018
Give me notice
For life is short
I might have more to do
Than rest on your doorstep
Hoping you will open the latch
Greet me with a smile
And suggest we spend the day
Viewing the community pond
Feeding the ducks
Cementing our bond

Give me notice
So I will not
Fall in love alone
love,
Oct 2018 · 2.2k
Survival in The Basement
William A Poppen Oct 2018
Storm winds from the west
Send us scurrying down the plank
Steps into the dank basement
Sounds become deafening as the
Skies darken

Whatever is happening
Is only visible through a four-paned
Window no larger than a newspaper

At age seven this is all new
Thunder, lightening, storms
Have come and gone
Usually starting in the west
Among growing and billowing clouds
This time the darkness is heavy
Winds blow straight yet swirl simultaneously

A look of fear unlike any he has seen before
Covers his mother’s face

His father, a man of few words and a placid personality
Forces new wrinkles upon his worried forehead

The hay barn slides across the yard
Walking as though each wall has legs
Slowly collapsing, it crumbles into the granary
Once it lands the storm begins to abate
They will survive
Slowly, step by step his father, then his mother
And finally he ascend to view what damage
Has occurred.  One view and he knows the answer
The devastation is real and substantial
Survival, storms, childhood
Sep 2018 · 195
Freshly Planted Bush
William A Poppen Sep 2018
That freshly planted bush
Dries under the afternoon sun
Filtering through an overgrown pear tree
Loaded with an unpicked harvest

Were he younger
He would climb the tree
Were he younger he would
Enter the house and kiss
The woman
Who says she loves him

That freshly planted bush
Might not make it
Through the Fall
Wilting and dying before Winter

Were he younger
The plant would not die
Were he younger
What would the plant become
Aug 2018 · 311
I Nag Myself
William A Poppen Aug 2018
Among the many things
I have learned to do
In this life
Is to “nag” myself

I nag myself
To take a walk
Because it is good for me

Exercise you know
Is good for me

I nag myself
To avoid wasting time
And I nag myself to
Take some time for myself

I nag myself about the things
I did not do
Like buy a sweet sports car
Like see that popular foreign movie
Like read the writings of the Dalai Lama
Like love others more
Like love myself more

I nag myself
To stop nagging myself
I nagged myself to post this poem.
Aug 2018 · 243
Empathy
William A Poppen Aug 2018
Let me look really intending to see

How soft and graceful your smile can be

Let me gather every furrow’s wrinkle and dip

Each purposeful twist upon your lip

Sensing every fear, anger and envy


Let me escape judgments of thee

And keep all distractions away from me

While I am collecting all of your script

Let me look, really intending to see


Summon each emotion be it sad or happy

Amass all your thoughts, goals and worry

Reflect, rephrase, without a slip

All pain, plight, dilemma, and witty quip

And in the end realize the need to let you be

Let me look, really intending to see
Jun 2018 · 310
Feelings
William A Poppen Jun 2018
Is it harder to let go of
Bad habits and addictions
Or, harder to climb over
That wall where
Feelings hide away

There is so much one can do
With feelings, stuffing them
into some bulging mental drawer
Is generally counterproductive
And learning to befriend them
Is no easy task albeit
Extremely worthwhile

Each engendered feeling
Seems as tough to hide as
A newborn puppy
In a college dormitory

Peaking over the wall
At secreted feelings
Displays piles of anger, fear, envy,
While more pleasant feelings like joy  
Fight to garner attention

Pleasant or unpleasant
Gently pet each emotion
Befriend it and it will
Give you strength
And insight into
Weathering a crisis,
Healing a relationship
Or finding your path in life
Not sure this is even a poem.  I can't seem to make it flow so I'm posting it as a stream of consciousness.
May 2018 · 421
The Way Out
William A Poppen May 2018
Late in the evening we chew over
     how to foil dilemmas and conflicts

Does resolution come from
     defending my ground

Or by being sure I establish
     your guilt

Is life like a court
     of law

Or a platform for
     debate

The answer may be
     far afield

In an arena where shared
     feelings and misperceptions
     trump facts

Where love is honest enough to yield
     a renewed commitment
Mar 2018 · 2.5k
Gathering
William A Poppen Mar 2018
Tonight is a cluster of
Recognitions, remembrances
Mostly reminiscence
Which sift in the breeze
Gusting beneath the temporary
Tarpaulin tent

Backs are slapped
Arms embraced
Smiles predominate
As shiny faces and gleaming  foreheads
Illuminated by flashing cameras
Twinkle like fireflies displaying
In a muggy June meadow

Photos pulled from stained
Billfolds move from hand to hand
Displaying glossies of babies, graduations
Weddings and “The big catch”

Relatives, friends and officials
Find their place on folded metal chairs
For a wedding ceremony

Tonight has become a gathering
Marriage planned for tonight
Mar 2018 · 363
Imprisoned Emotions
William A Poppen Mar 2018
As pen rubs against paper
What is the purpose
To illustrate, with words
All that is within

Emotions imprisoned
Have feasted on my flesh
Now released to you as
Impressions on a page

Let me send them
To you, to others

Let us see if anyone
Has the compassion
To take them in
To live with them
As I have
Embattled, alone
At war with these
Unfulfilled passions
Mar 2018 · 353
Sensing
William A Poppen Mar 2018
Walking on a river’s bank
Looking inward
I pause with fear

Turning over rocks
May not
Soothe my heart

There may be mysteries and
Fears waiting
Amid joyous realizations
Waiting in the warmth
Of the ground

Sensing what is about me
Intaking all that is
Allowed to transform
Like I’m pumping
an accordion’s bellows

Breathing in and out while
Each of my senses
Alerts me to what
Surrounds me

I want to feel those things
That are pieces of me  
But do not define me
Feb 2018 · 241
Renewal
William A Poppen Feb 2018
The sheets are cool
Upon crawling inside
Unlike your continual warmth

A lullaby soothes me
Welcoming my dreamworld
Perhaps infancy is approaching

Over forty years
Beside legs willing
To entangle

Whoever thought our nights
Would become my
Emotional sustenance
Feb 2018 · 254
Belonging
William A Poppen Feb 2018
Odd standing alone
Before becoming
One of them

Their gathering looks
Warm from the outside
Will I become singed
When leaning into the
Friction they generate
Trying to hide
From each other

Being with them feels
Like I might
Shed some armor
And give up
That loneliness
Of staying outside looking in

Each one is hard to hate
Closeup,
How long must I wait
To be noticed
How shall I  
safeguard myself
Without degrading another
Lean in, stay curious
Feb 2018 · 172
Trapped
William A Poppen Feb 2018
Each morning
the boundaries recede
Skies are still blue
Wisps of wind still stir
High noon marks an end
and a beginning
Must someone star
in a slow motion film
as a carp stirring
in the remnant floodwater
of a receding river
Trapped, alone, hopelessness,
Inspired by a line in Victoria's poem
Habitual tendencies
Jan 2018 · 317
Sullen
William A Poppen Jan 2018
Sullen is seldom
Used to describe the day

Today stillness sets heavy
Amid morning’s dew

Shadows cast by
Morning’s sun seem
Uncommonly gloomy

How long will
Debate fill my brain?

Is the day glum
Or is there a surly
Infection upon my soul?
Mornings, Mondays, Weariness
Jan 2018 · 222
Heart Speak
William A Poppen Jan 2018
Words form in the mind
Evoke from the throat
Meant from the heart
Designed to penetrate
To the soul

Words so often fall barren
To the ground

Listen to each beat of
Blood racing
Through veins
In search of
A distinctive
Journey  

Intellect emanates
From the heart

Listen, hear
Heart speaks
Heart, life
Jan 2018 · 790
Easy Road
William A Poppen Jan 2018
Sitting next to you
Feels like driving
On an easy path

Sitting in your shadow
Soothes my wounds
As an ******
Sedates life’s pains

I sit beside you
As you gather my
Responsibilities into
Your basket
And carry them for awhile

You help me understand
When to set blame aside
When to carry duty uphill
And when to let you grab
One of my hands
And pull me to your level

I sense a danger here
A bait as wispy and enchanting
As a fly fisherman's lure
Dec 2017 · 471
A Life Without Resentment
William A Poppen Dec 2017
Life Without Resentment

Nearly everyone has stored
among hardbacks and paperbacks
or dusty mental drawers
resentments, gathered incidentally
unintentionally or
by rubbing shoulders
with ingrates and other
irritating souls

Meeting her, she exudes
an excitement for what is said
while displaying an openness
a self-reliance
that disallows any acrimony
indignation or animosity

No bitterness is harbored
nor rancor secreted
among the ruins
of her disappointments

Not long-suffering
the past is forgiven and forgotten

Not apprehensive or perturbed
she treads in this moment
with the power of living in the present
no longer feeling victimized
She lives refreshed, restored
without resentment
My impression of someone I know who now seems free of resentment
Dec 2017 · 308
Removing Spent Stalks
William A Poppen Dec 2017
Brown and withered
Who could foresee
How tenuous was the
Hold on earth

Embedded deep
Surrounded by soft
loam, lightly tethered
There was slight resistance

Efforts to replace
Prove futile
Remnants of what
Once appeared to thrive

Lie gathered among
Scraps decaying
In the morning sunlight
When the weather turns cold, hosta foliage "melts" like tissue paper. Clearing away this foliage in late fall will make way for new growth.
Dec 2017 · 309
Clearness
William A Poppen Dec 2017
Like a newborn
I am stimulated
By whatever is near

Discombobulated
Things become unfathomable
I’m unable to grasp
My surroundings

What is near and
What is far?

Distractions flow
Like tattered streamers
Waving from a
Parade float heading
To the junkyard

With blurs all around
Life becomes like
Circular bands of light
Emanating from streetlights
Along a foggy riverside highway

Whenever lucidness invades
Life seems simple,
And I realize
it is simple

All that is required
Is to traverse
Layer upon layer
Of  events and missions
Difficult to accomplish
Is life complicated or simple or a combination of the two?
Oct 2017 · 231
The Appearance of Anger
William A Poppen Oct 2017
Although the landscape is level
clouds begin to bellow
in the distance

Mere wisps at first
gradually more pronounce
gray, then coal-black

Interrupted with flashes
strikes, bold and brilliant
disappearing, reappearing
each with a thunderous entry
and silently sleeking away

Where would it display
its fury and
what would be
left behind

Was it birthed of one’s own volition
Was it intended or uncontrolled
Nevertheless, left behind
is a blistered path
waiting to be healed
to spring forth
albeit slowly as a
recovering forest
after a wildfire
What does anger look like?  (A friend asked this question yesterday and it sparked this poem.)
Aug 2017 · 484
Anxiety
William A Poppen Aug 2017
A bee is flitting with my shoulder
pecking aimlessly around my ears
plotting a plan to strangle me

If the plan evolves
I fear I will become
anchored into
the depths of grief

And invaded by drips
of senselessness,  
fierce enough
that their stench
can’t be purged
with fans, perfumes
or candles

Will the enormity
of it all kindle
a fragmentation
more taxing than
trying to complete
the Rubik’s Cube
blindfolded
*http://www.recordholders.org/en/records/rubik-blindfold.html
Aug 2017 · 490
Blinkered
William A Poppen Aug 2017
Each day is
as a procession of
redundant clopping
on the ground
rhythmic sounds
that anesthetize,
mesmerize

have we become blinkered
along this trail
through life

like a steed in harness
undistracted by
glimpses of
clouds of hate
along the horizons
or seething storms
blowing in from the seas
This poem is revised in an attempt to respond to the events in Charlottesville, VA
Jun 2017 · 569
Effacement
William A Poppen Jun 2017
Self-effacement

With time names and dates
engraved on headstones
weather beneath pelting sleet and rain
to soften carefully chiseled letters

Little by little
etchings become
blurred at the edges
indistinct and unreadable

Personality features
fade daily
hidden with words
structured into facades
readily available as a cover
from those who wish
to unearth the treasures within

What a struggle to hide
to mute or soften
eccentricities into normalities
What an effort
continual concealment
behind frights and fears
as though a child
playing hide-and-go seek with others

Self-effacement becomes
a life-style of constantly
playing a game without a prize
First write in a long time.  I'm giving HelloPoetry another try
Apr 2017 · 505
Today is Not Someday
William A Poppen Apr 2017
first comes the walk
walks are required now
prescribed to ward off
effects of life

getting from here to there
taken for granted
vertical movement
now a task

next was found
the Underground
home of brews
home of seats

some soft, cushy
others wooden
yet warm, inviting
come, taste our brew

chairs, sofas
filled with chatting people
mostly women
looking into faces

illuminated screens
across coffee, latte or tea
communicating
smiles, grimaces

what is shared
humor, news
fears, fraughts, fragments
dimensions of now, the past






people rise to
pick up special steaming
drinks fresh from
the Underground

he never orders latte
standard drinks
brew of the day
fill his cup

someday
an inkling may stir
his brain, he will order
a white chocolate mocha
Apr 2017 · 244
Respect
William A Poppen Apr 2017
After forty years of marriage
he still pondered whether
she liked
his arm around
her stomach
as she awakened
in the morning
Feb 2017 · 581
Dust to Dust
William A Poppen Feb 2017
He is born amid
dust blown from
burnt and dried plains
powdered grime carried
past the James River
conveyed though arid skies
pelting window panes
penetrating cracks
and crevasses

She dampens
muslim sheets
wraps them
around his crib
catching sand
and falling chaff
like a coffee filter
captures grounds
from boiling liquid
draining into the ***

He survives
exposed to
horrors of the 1930’s
gradually he grasps
a new catastrophe
symbolized by woolen
uniforms embossed
with chevrons
and metals
for bravely killing
and destroying uncles
and cousins
committed to expanding
the **** nation

She cries
consols Granny
who frets in vain
repetitively rubbing
her hands across her knees
fearful as her native
beloved homeland
becomes scarred
war torn by
death and torture
beyond imagination.

He recalls crouching
beneath wooden school desks
practicing survival
of an unsurvivable danger
while nations
race to discover
an explosive intended  
to end all war
Jan 2017 · 524
Today’s Downpour
William A Poppen Jan 2017
Faded stains of spilled bourbon
dot the weathered nightstand’s surface
like stars speckle a clear midnight sky
Each commemorates a prop of courage
swigged to help forge another day

Bras, slips, heels and flats
pepper the soiled carpet
reflections of the many
nightly transgressions now
impediments which fleck her soul

Her frontal lobe
harbors distortions
from her past
forgiven by those who know her
forgotten by others

Rain pelts her window
rat-tat, rat-tats against the panes
compulsively splatters the door
flings open her mind
to let today’s downpour
splash away
any trace of her anguish
Blocked in inspiration I am editing previous posts here.  This work was originally called Drops of Compulsion and listed here in 2015.
Jan 2017 · 2.1k
Pipe Dream
William A Poppen Jan 2017
Illusions of skydiving in a kimono
are not nightmares that awaken her
in a sweat each night

Fantasies of floating like a drone
creep into morning daydreams

Unprepared for make-believe
no kimono hangs in her closet

Each day she stands in front
of her full-length mirror
stares at perceived imperfections
as they thicken before her eyes

Friends don’t notice
each misplaced mole
or cellulite pleading
to hide from any
audience

Co-workers notice her
post-it-note headline

“Intelligent Perfect Women
Skydives in Kimono”

affixed to the cubicle wall

Today results of
her search for kimonos
of various colors
is carefully placed in
a folder entitled skydiving
My wife wonders where the idea for this poem came from.  My answer - I have no idea.
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