7.9k · Jun 2014
Attraction
William A Poppen Jun 2014

She fascinates men
like a fused corolla whorl
attracts birds and bees

7.0k · Feb 2016
Night Lights
William A Poppen Feb 2016

I was told when six
lighted smokes show up for miles
during a blackout

Toward home, Christmas eve
lighted candles on tree bough
pierce through dark windows

Moonlight can become
bright enough to cast shadows
beneath my movements

6.7k · Nov 2012
Will He Write About Me?
William A Poppen Nov 2012

She heard that he’s a poet
and wondered if he would write a poem
about her.

A wave of her
shoulder length strands of pleasure
should flag down nearly any man
with an ounce of testosterone.
She wondered if she had a poem in her hair.

She spoke a few soft words
layered with one of her smiles,
the kind most guys adore
because they don’t know if it means
to come closer or to leave her alone.
Perhaps a poem rested in her smile.

If she had cleavage like Jayne Mansfield
surely he would
form lines about her in his mind
and feel compelled to tell the world
how she captured his lust.
She wished for breasts with a poem in her cleavage.

She touched him.
He seemed open to her arm around his waist.
A poet felt like any other man.
She pressed closer;
perhaps he sensed a poem
in the warmth of her lean figure.

Later in bed,
he stayed close, their legs entangled
unlike anything she could remember.
She wondered if there had been a poem
in her loins.

She wished she smoked
and noticed that he didn’t.
Perhaps if they shared a cigarette
he would be enticed by the drift of the smoke from her lips.
Was there a poem in her sensual exhaling?

He seems so Hemingway,
mysterious, yet open to each moment.
Her mind played his movements
like a video tape recorder.
She wondered if she should write a poem about him?
Was there a poem in this experience?

6.7k · Aug 2015
Steps to Rejection
William A Poppen Aug 2015

There must be a next step --
all middle steps appear broken

Spit out like a used razor blade
sitting with ass cheeks
barely on stone steps
face burning beneath the acne
swelling across the cheek,
It must have been her pimples
why else would anyone reject her?

6.0k · Jan 1
Contain My Soul

I wonder
how our great creator
built a vessel
strong enough
to contain my soul?

Each day my spirit fights
against my skin with violent
jolts as a young bird
seeking exit from a cage.

Unfettered psyche
free from me
bounces among clouds
rolls through deserts,
climbs volcanic ridges
migrates with birds in flight.

Curious instincts guide
my vital force inside and out
like honey bees
scour zinnias in full bloom.

Dare I release my spirit today?

Free spirit, soul,
4.8k · May 2014
Inequality
William A Poppen May 2014

To disguise our sin of greed
We debate philosophies
And justify our economies

Our sins cannot be covered
By shouting explanations

2.6k · May 2014
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot
William A Poppen May 2014

* “Except for needs I can pack everything I have 
into my old black sea-bag.”   *

"I wish I had written that line,
I said loud enough for him to hear."

He shuffled around in his stool
and raised his cup to get  
hit with a refill.

Frustration wiggle I call it,
you know like when your dad
couldn’t let you struggle with a puzzle.

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot
announced his irritation
"Where have you been,
swimming shallow side?"

"I stated swatting away needs
like mosquitoes on sweat
when I was seven."

He peered past his coffee,
furrowed his brow
and rubbed his tongue
over his lower lip.

"Whiskey Tango Foxtrot,
why do you keep saying that, I asked"

"Guess you’ve never been in the military.
College man I reckin,
fancy degrees
and you don't know Alpha Zulu?"

From Alpha Zulu by Gary Lilley

Alpha Zulu in the NATO phonetic alphabet
2.5k · Dec 2014
Anger Steeps
William A Poppen Dec 2014

Dishes clang loud against the sink
Metal spoons bang white ceramic 
   Anger defies lifelong contract
Sacred and sealed with tears and tact
   Adhesive is this stone of hurt
Lumped solidly within her throat 
   No easy atonement comes forth
Nor minor distraction does soothe   
   Her rant gathers no audience
No recall of what stoked this fire

A revision of "Anger in the Kitchen" Written in eight syllable lines.
2.5k · Jul 2015
Did You Miss Me?
William A Poppen Jul 2015

I returned home

on Palm Sunday

to find knockout roses

behind my brick mailbox

parading their first blossoms of spring.

I found candytuft

faded to green,

safeguarding scattered sprinkles of white

for me to view one more day.

Fallen pink petals from dogwood trees

fluttered through a whimsical ballet

to entertain me on a ballroom floor

of Kentucky bluegrass.

Dogwoods, azalea, and periwinkle are different.
Something happened 
while I was away,
while I snapped photographs

of starfish captured by the sand

when evening tide

quickly rolled out to sea.


Blossoms opened

as other petals
faded and fell.

Fresh blossoms flowered

and youthful buds now greet the sun.
Did you care that I was gone

in the midst of your glory

to savor other beauties
different joys --
did you even miss me?

. . .  upon returning from spring vacation to the beach
2.3k · Dec 2013
Inequality
William A Poppen Dec 2013

To disguise our sin of greed
We debate philosophies
And justify our economies

Our sins remain uncovered
Despite our explanations

2.2k · Jun 2014
Fear of Authenticity*
William A Poppen Jun 2014

A sigh signals some sort of disclosure.
– glancing over his eyeglass frames
at the slow downward tilt of her chest
her gingham blouse rises again
as she inhales energy for her words,
words intended to clarify or confuse,
he does not know.
His own exhale and a frowning brow
signal that he is listening-
to judge whether her statement
is real or fancy.
Her words a mercury for her mood
no gauge left as he guesses
seeking to understand her,
to crawl through her veins like a virus,
to know her every desire,
every expectation, even every fear.
He is adrift in his own flaws,
unable to grasp precisely her feelings, her expressions.
His distrust is great whether of himself or of her.
Salt honesty with caprice and tasty fare is spoiled.
Gripping the arm of his chair,
muscles straining to lurch forward,
he escapes toward the door
leaving her words
to fill the hollow behind him.
Tomorrow he may choose valor,
today the fear of authenticity scares him to his den.

"Man, perhaps alone of all living forms, is capable of being one thing and seeming from his actions and talk to be something else." Sidney M. Jourard, The Transparent Self.
*This is a revision of a previous draft.
2.1k · Nov 2015
Do Peace
William A Poppen Nov 2015

We know what peace is
And we know how to do war
Now, let us do peace

Inspired by The DalaiLama
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/dalai-lama-terrorism_564b8975e4b045bf3df16e75

Also inspired by Rev. Rob Giesslmann
in a sermon where he said.  "I pray for the time when we stop praying for peace and start doing peace.
1.9k · May 2014
No Need to Mow this Spring
William A Poppen May 2014

No sickle bar churns
repetitiously clanging two notes
while grasshoppers and field mice
scurry to survive the blade

Now yellow bulldozers with humongous tires
roar like thunder in a rainstorm and
scrape away black loam leaving
clay as red as fresh beets

There is no funeral for the hay meadow
that is dead and put to rest
without a tombstone

I am open to suggestions for a better title.
1.9k · May 2013
The Gathering
William A Poppen May 2013

Perhaps they expect a pool
offerings of rare coffee
from Ethiopia

Instead of
a view of hydrangea
plus pale ale in mugs

Conversation entails
irrelevant niceties
of trivial events

Smiles exchanged
chairs rearranged
subtlety reigns

Another chance
to touch humanity
willfully aborted

1.9k · Aug 2014
Contain My Soul
William A Poppen Aug 2014

I wonder
how our great creator
built a vessel
strong enough
to contain my soul?

My soul fights each day
against my skin with jolts
violent as a young bird
seeking exit from a cage.

My unfettered soul,
free from me, would
bounce among clouds,
roll through deserts,
climb volcanic ridges
and migrate with birds in flight.

Curious instincts would guide
my vital force inside and out
like honey bees
scouring zinnias in full bloom.

I wonder, should I release my spirit today?

1.9k · Aug 2016
August Breeze
William A Poppen Aug 2016

Some days
the wind blows in
gentle massaging gusts

Today a temporary
wisp rushes
through the tall
oak leaf hydrangea
pushing the brown and green
branches dressed for August
to wave at me through the window

Saying no more
it dances away
like a ruby throated
hummingbird seeking
it's nectar

wind, august, breeze, hummingbird
1.8k · Nov 2014
Do I Love Her?
William A Poppen Nov 2014

Standing before her
on one foot,
as though surveying
a Renoir,
he is overwhelmed by splashes
of red from her nails,
her lips.
Shifting to level
he is entranced
by her blue, twinkling eyes,

His gaze is one of awe.
Uncritical he hears
her hair sweep
across her shoulder,
as rustling wind blown
across West Texas
fields of barley.

Her words
cool his bare toes
as though dipped in
Box Elder creek’ s flow through
rocks, eddies and fallen limbs.

Her moves
have the grace of cirrus skies,
he thinks
this is my picnic spot,
my settling spot
fit to build a cabin.

Then he knows,
love is here.

1.8k · Sep 2014
Dead Tree in the Forest
William A Poppen Sep 2014

Stark among the lush of youth

tall, unashamed

no leaves twirl downward

no fertile blanket of rot

to feed saplings

fresh with green sprigs.

Many seasons

they have tasted your sustenance.

Do they regard your wisdom

whispered in the mountain breeze?

Do they believe tales told of

life on the hill,

of cycles of torrents, droughts,

penetrating frosts and mountains

of drifted snow?

Do they devour the lore

falling among the leaves?

1.8k · Jun 2014
Fear of Delusion
William A Poppen Jun 2014

His mouth puckers to the side,
his brow furrows when aware
an assumption crawls around
in the wormwood of his mind.
  
Every  misconception,
unrecognized at first
swells within, until
his error bolts forth
like lighting on the prairie
breaks the swelter of
a summer day.

Meditations sooth his disquiet ,
perplexed by her perfection
he searches for scars in blossoms,
and defects in tree leaves.  His mouth
grows dry as he mumbles
"there is no perfection."
If he finds a flaw
upon her cheek,
or a birthmark
on her shoulder
will his love fade?

Eyes staring ahead,
his mind in a trance,
he ruminates phrases
" stay open," "remain tolerant"  
wait for flowers to bloom,
rains to come and
her to remain
incomprehensible.

1.7k · Jan 2014
Tranquility
William A Poppen Jan 2014

She never noticed
books of poetry.
Her life was busy
with empathy
for those troubled
from pains scratched
on psyches from
neglect, abuse
or sacraments to fallen Gods.

She seldom heard music
except when,
heartsick from lost love,
she wallowed in vain misery
or during her youth when
hit parades blasted from
solid state radios
in dashboards, or from
jukeboxes flashing
come hither.

She thought little of flowers
nor paused to note scents,
shades or grace on
stems of green.  Her head
was busy with
important matters,
day-to-day grinding
away on work or play.

Now alone,
she absorbs whiteness from
clouds,  motion from birds,
or fragrance from flowers
with senses dulled by
age, injury or illness.
She sifts through her
day looking for
fresh tranquility.

1.7k · Oct 2013
Texture
William A Poppen Oct 2013

Find the small of her back
Feel for the round, the ridge
Notice smooth never varies
Find the texture
Along the shoulder
Overwhelmed and
engrossed
As you explore
warmth, texture
the moment of
a hug that says
good morning

1.6k · May 2012
Soft Silence
William A Poppen May 2012

Knee joints pop
With sounds of aging
As his haunches settle
Into the resilience of hemp.
He is seeking a soft silence,
Reverence for universal truths
And a communion with the
Silence of the moment.

Thoughts bounce through his mind
Like static on a distant radio station.
Memories of past silences come  
Like a prairie wind.  

Soft silence settles around him
While his mind tries to forget
What harshness silence has nourished
During his lifetime.

1.5k · Nov 2012
Exotic Omelet
William A Poppen Nov 2012

Your unique omelets
Fascinate me. Like your sex
Always exotic

1.5k · Nov 2012
Wrinkle-free Love
William A Poppen Nov 2012

Bed sheets labeled wrinkle-free,
skin stroked
with lotions from
bottles stamped,
“reduces age-lines.”

Crevasses form
and crows’ feet caress eyelids;
folds spread
as little rivers
from her mouth.

New lotions,
more massaging
feed her desire
for perfection. Her glance
catches flaws others ignore.

Love falls short.
Heat from her lover’s body
cools her palms;
fetid kisses barely
brush her lips.

Wrinkle free love;
another misnomer.

1.4k · Mar 2014
Camellia
William A Poppen Mar 2014

I settle near the Camellia  
as good fortune  
surrounds me.  

I wonder
how does  luck grow
leisurely around me?

I can't  recall pushing
a  lucky seed into moist dirt
of  a weathered slip pot.

Many friends and siblings feel
battle fallout as Zeus and Hades
hurl bolts of catastrophe at them.

Life is unfair.
Meek brothers and sisters will you
inherit the earth or misfortune?

Mishap, misadventure and calamity
do you lurk around the next bend
of my fair weather journey?


.

Critical comments appreciated
1.4k · Nov 2013
Flinty Endurance
William A Poppen Nov 2013

I felt an unusual twinge in my neck
as I turned toward you.

Heavy breathing signaled morning sleep
as my arm reached across your palpitating belly.

These casual cuddles, typical of the start of our day
emit a warmth unlike sunrays or furnace heat.

No use to wake you or tease apart your legs
for seldom do we play.

That may come after morning news is devoured,
bananas peeled and different morning hungers eased.  

Now i rise to consume small pellets of brown, pink,
grey and white chemicals compounded to keep me alive.

There is a stillness downstairs with greetings from a well-worn chair
contoured to support my soul.

Blades whirl overhead churning a breeze
my face accepts upon my forehead.

Now is my time of meditation, my attempt to
listen to whatever god pervades this universe.

There will be no answers, no jolts of insight or revelations,
only small particles of peace to cover my disquiet.

You will lumber down steps with effort accentuated by creaks
and moans that are more pronounced each day.

Our lips will touch confirming both obligation and willingness
to walk beside each other.

I wonder if you think there could be more?  
Could each gaze toward one another be longer?  

Could I unbutton myself enough to see or would you scold me
for such an unrepressed display?

1.4k · Jan 2013
Walking Through Minefields*
William A Poppen Jan 2013

At sunrise the dew melts into nothing
and the field loses its silver glow
while retaining a tranquility
unbecoming of most minefields.

Brushing his face against
heavy denim material
the curious son hears his father's words,
Soon you will walk across
this field. I will educate you
to step here and step there,
to avoid the hidden dangers
beneath the grassy slopes
and native flowers.


Trust flows from innocent eyes,
uncreased by worry
or the wear of fear,
as the son requests,
Why are there mines among
the lavender and milkweed?

Because the fox must be hunted,
and the deer harvested
as food for our hungry ambitions.
These mines are triggered
by those who justify their sport
as signs of bravery and courage.

At times crazed men ignite the mines
as a show of their rage.  They kill
others among us, even children.

What if there were no mines?
We must keep our freedom,
freedom to walk anywhere,
to say anything
and to plant mines in the field
despite their dangers.

The eye of the eagle
will guide you each
step amid the lavender
and coneflowers until
you are safely to the other side.


Glancing upward, gazing ahead
the boy shares his wonder,
Will I continue to plant mines in the fields
for my children to walk?

A heavy masculine voice
cracks the north wind

If I train you well, . . .
If I train you well.


(with Eddie Eagle)
http://eddieeagle.nra.org/
(information about the Eddie Eagle GunSafe Program of the National Rifle Association,  
Eddie Eagle is a registered trademark of the NRA

1.3k · Nov 2012
Abandoned in Detroit
William A Poppen Nov 2012

There are walls waiting,

crumbling

as pockmarks of decay

beside sidewalks

along motor cities’ streets.

There are terminal

and forsaken structures

colonized

with ungrateful squirrels

that abandon

attics for creaking kitchens

with corroded sinks.

Un-shoveled snow melts

slow on walkways

unfamiliar with worn heels

or rubber soles.

There are forlorn relics

patient and waiting

for us to join them.

1.3k · Apr 2014
How to be a Counselor
William A Poppen Apr 2014

Reflect, reflect, reflect
Trust yourself and trust your client
Accept those you counsel
If you don't know what to say, smile
Finish on time
Don't talk too much
Show your joy
Hide your judgments
Try to work yourself out of a job
Love yourself
Clarify, clarify, clarify
Stomp out erroneous thinking
Keep Kleenex handy

Not really a poem but some thoughts on the art of helping.
1.3k · Nov 2014
Politics
William A Poppen Nov 2014

Flickering blast forth
"It is broken.  It needs fixing"
We know, we broke it

1.2k · Oct 2013
I'm Having an Affair
William A Poppen Oct 2013

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 crabs,
and her fear
of ridding her garden
a small harmless snake.

I spill my passion
on the ground — our bed for now — beside her.
Under her cover
she shares phrases,
moles, verbs,
and curves
of sweet new perceptions.

We are intimate beyond belief.
Her verbal kisses
bring sweat to my palms.
I’m high, hallucinating
on Mary
my drug of choice.

I’m having an affair
with Mary Oliver.

1.2k · Apr 2014
Spring Rain
William A Poppen Apr 2014

The orange fire of morning sky
blazes through birthing branches
green with sprigs of spring.  

Wrens announce their intentions
to live this day as a breeze from the west
kicks buds of oak-leaf  hydrangeas toward the sky.

A grey bank of clouds fights to claim territory.
Soft pit pats, pit pat across patios, sidewalks and roof-top shingles
forewarn the burst arriving against the earth.  

Rain, beloved by some
disfavored by others,
becomes relentless.

Bolts, sharp and direct,
provoke clouds to participate
in the deluge.

Rain, beloved by some
disfavored by others,
shifts gears to softness.

Rain, beloved by some
disfavored by others,
owns the day.

1.2k · Feb 2013
Two Bluebirds
William A Poppen Feb 2013

Bluebirds, matching set
Follow along as I hike
Flitting on phone lines

1.2k · May 2015
Amid Madness
William A Poppen May 2015

There is just enough morning sunlight
filtering through the english laurel
for aging eyes to capture the purple tint
of carnations blooming
in the front of the rocks
jutting toward the porch

Night-time had been colorless
in the midst of a celebration
announced by a sign signaling
an event in the main ballroom

With a loud voice
a long-named minister
toyed with religion
and flirted with comedy
before the silverware
clanged against the china

Boredom captured the moment
in the middle of the clatter and chatter
Even stunning silks and satins
around bodacious behinds
failed to entertain

Now perhaps the oldest in the crowd
he carefully quenches each desire
to know the delicacies of the evening
with the efforts of survival.  He was slowly
dying in the madness of the crowd

My wife commented on this poem with "Obviously you didn't have a good time."
William A Poppen Mar 2014

Like the oak leaf hydrangea bud in May,
like the squirrels infest backyard  bird feeders ,
and like the train whistle echoes in the hollow
rolling through white pines and serviceberry branches,
her trust, in the shape of soft smiles and morning kisses,
permeates his every breath .

A short free style poem in search of a title.  Please suggest one.
1.2k · Dec 2015
Skirt so Yellow and Bright
William A Poppen Dec 2015

Skirt so yellow and bright

Eyes blue and wide,

with lips pursed right.

“Where is your joy,” she sighs?

Cotton shows years of wear

still flows yellow,  and bright.

Her lean body craves to share

him hard and yielding tonight.

After she threw the bridal wreath

their joy spilled like carpenter’s glue.

No longer did they sample from beneath

yellow skirt and sweater taut and blue.

Her scent is a flower named dangerous,

so he struggles, pulls away; all the while

wanting his graying head to rest

upon her breast and relish the joy in her smile.

William A Poppen Mar 2014

In the fog of war
Decisions are made in haste

In the dew of night
Misinformation prevails

In the heat of noon
Soldiers await their orders

In the day’s tumult
Dead bodies drape the landscape

In the daze of war
Mistakes are often concealed

After the war’s fog
May the truth be ascertained

In the dew of peace

* Hilary Clinton, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton commented on the deadly assault on a U.S. diplomatic mission in Libya, saying she's responsible for the security of American diplomatic outposts.  She used the term "in the fog of war" in her comments. Hilary's comment prompted the poem which I present here.  Comments are appreciated both pro or con.  The poem was originally written as sets of haiku.  I changed these to alternating lines of 5 and 7 syllabi, a form that as far as I know does not exist.
1.1k · May 2012
Morning Mist
William A Poppen May 2012

Her brow furrows
 hard
as if etched on flint

deepens gradually

as his heels click

in cadence toward the door.

She feels unworthy of his love

but knows he will return.



When love comes like a mist in the night

accept it as a nourishing dew.
Know that mornings may

present a threat of rain
to capture the mist

only to send showers later.



No one earns love,

love comes to be consumed

like grass absorbs

the offering of the morning.

Revised, 7/2/2014
1.0k · Feb 2014
Traces
William A Poppen Feb 2014

Scarves. high collars,
or extra mascara
hide the brownish-purple
disfigurement wrapped
around her throat.

Part of her being
is scarred with
remnant traces
inflicted from traumatic
scenes endured
during his rage.  

Horrific echoes
careen around her brain
like video clips replaying
the self-hatred he
spilled upon her.

His crazed lashes
struck her
bone deep.  
Musty smells
from those moments
linger among her nostril mucus.

She carries on
distracted with moments
near tranquil music
or beside still brooks
and squawking crows.

Each day she captures
views of sunrise
and sunset while chanting
mantras to unknown gods
striving to complete
her forgiveness.

1.0k · Nov 2012
White Dots on Pink
William A Poppen Nov 2012

Pink polka dot dress

Nagging image so dreamy

Excitement prevails

1.0k · Jun 2014
Until the Spring Unwinds
William A Poppen Jun 2014

Together amid greenery and blossoms
they stand shoulder to shoulder, narrow eyed
and fixated upon bursts of golden daylily.

More than spring mingles in the mist
more than heat flows between them
mystery envelops them

There was the first time she held a clock
a miniature spring operated swiss piece
forbidden, still she opened the back

Movement, synchronized with sound, churned
tick, tick, tock, tock, steady clicks
worked the hands notch after notch

Would she let what was between them
work without her fingers, incited by catlike curiosity,
prying open the back of him

Stare at his insides, his tick, tick, tock, tock
until she sees him as a machine
turning until the spring unwinds?

1.0k · Jun 2015
Some Days
William A Poppen Jun 2015

Some afternoons are sublime
beyond scripting
splendid blue colors the sky
and my lover's lips
taste like dripping honey

Some nights I hear the mantle
clock tick and music sounds
sweeter than it has since
those nights in New Orleans

Some mornings are like those artists paint
of sunshine shimmering on the water
my darling's presence seems
like a celebration without
the need of a parade

Some days are unique
love is easily earned
I can sit near my beloved
and watch love grow

963 · Jan 8
Pipe Dream

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.
960 · Jun 2013
Orange Sky
William A Poppen Jun 2013

It is one of those strange evenings
when orange clouds fill the sky.
It is an end of the day
when showers bring out
newspaper umbrellas
as people race to their cars
with an arm full of groceries.

A girl with wide hips and
soulful eyes walks her dog
unaware of my presence and
without notice of the blazing sky.

To her, I am transparent
as I stand on one leg
like a seagull perched
on a post in sea breeze
with a smile wide in hope
her eyes will find me
aching for her to ache for
me.

957 · Jun 2014
Torrents
William A Poppen Jun 2014

She swells
from her anger
until blue rivers
flow down her legs
as distinct
as though traced
by a tattoo artist.
He toils, resisting
temptations to apply
the balm that soothes
her soul, she boils
from residue
that falls
on her trail
as they walk together
through her daze.
Resentments sweep
across their fertile minds
caught among this labyrinth
of dreams, desires and fears.
They weather persistent
torrential storms  
pelting their being.

948 · Aug 2013
Insanity
William A Poppen Aug 2013

Light surrounds
people, flowers, even
oysters on the half-shell.
Invaded by auras
unnoticed by others
I gather emanations
from fixtures, furniture,
and glances
toward your silhouette.
No object
radiates surrounding rainbows
nor disperses an essence
brighter than what
drops from the ringlets
cascading around your neck
when my insanity peaks.

931 · Nov 2013
Hiking Cumberland Trail*
William A Poppen Nov 2013

Snap, crack, snap -- twigs break underneath
Each burst is music fed deep into her heart
Balmy air blows crisp across her cheek
A kiss as sweet as a daughter's caress
Pride inhaled with each labored breath
Seventeen miles of inclines and slopes
Over fallen trees and swollen creeks
Intentional steps, stitches of success sewn into
the blanket of her soul as she
wanders along the path of her
journey to renewal

*  http://www.cumberlandtrailraces.com/HOME.html
916 · Nov 2013
Tea for Breakfast
William A Poppen Nov 2013

Bored to death with eyes cast upward
she drifts by his sprawling legs
like fog rolling in from the sea

Newspapers clutter the breakfast nook
his ink-stained fingers clutch ceramic
birthday cup — last year’s surprise

Today the cup, the tea, his only distractions
The sweep of her garment
grazes his back unnoticed.

She’ll pour the final cup of breakfast tea
and settle into her longings,
empty as her teapot.

915 · Mar 2013
Our Trees
William A Poppen Mar 2013

The Bradford Pear died

Our children left home

The Maple out back

Is a nuisance

The Star Magnolia

Blooms early this spring

901 · Apr 2013
Sweet Redemption
William A Poppen Apr 2013

You run through the left turn
U-turn to make a right
On 85 to home
Fighting constant deluge
Until first time in days
Sunshine mixes ahead
Mountains display beauty
Green on green and yellow
Undulating valleys
peaks pressed by rolling fog
Sifting white above creeks
Flushing nature's cleansing
If only rain carries sins
to the depths of south seas
leaving sweet redemption
sifted along the banks

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