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"beadily" poems
I remember creeping reverently past The yawning maw Snarling braches, overgrown foliage Sad eye sockets The defeated roof Listing drunkenly to the left The black spirals on the ground Where the fire had scored earth bare Crouched from the sanctity of the sidewalk Damp palm snaking back to Clasp tight My best friend’s hand Fear skittering up our spines We skirted past poisonous green weeds That swayed in the yard Unkempt and our eyes Darted, seeking, feral For movement in that open doorway Her shadow The witch Years pass Looking out into suburbia Manicured green boxes And cookie-cutter plans From my own cracked window My newly acquired reno, I spot a flash of moving colour From beyond the overgrown hyacinths A tousled flash of curls between the green Puzzlement ripples as Three lanky preadolescent forms Snake from the protection of my shaggy firs Thin chests taking a breath before Their whippy arms point accusing And I barely see a flash before The clutched rock leaves the Stupid-looking red headed one’s hand Crashing through my upstairs master And I hear it Witch, witch, where’s the witch? And I feel it. My eyes beadily narrow Peering over my bulbous nose Shoulders hunching Toes curl And I reach for The broom leaning next The painter’s cloth Grabbing on with knobbly fingers Hurling myself Out Of The door Their eyes widened Disbelieving As they spot me And thumbs clutched between index fingers They run Leaving me cackling Breathless While my familiar Looks up from Sunning her black self On the step.
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Sep 2, 2009
Sep 2, 2009 at 7:49 PM UTC
Childish Superstition
I remember creeping reverently past The yawning maw Snarling braches, overgrown foliage Sad eye sockets The defeated roof Listing drunkenly to the left The black spirals on the ground Where the fire had scored earth bare Crouched from the sanctity of the sidewalk Damp palm snaking back to Clasp tight My best friend’s hand Fear skittering up our spines We skirted past poisonous green weeds That swayed in the yard Unkempt and our eyes Darted, seeking, feral For movement in that open doorway Her shadow The witch Years pass Looking out into suburbia Manicured green boxes And cookie-cutter plans From my own cracked window My newly acquired reno, I spot a flash of moving colour From beyond the overgrown hyacinths A tousled flash of curls between the green Puzzlement ripples as Three lanky preadolescent forms Snake from the protection of my shaggy firs Thin chests taking a breath before Their whippy arms point accusing And I barely see a flash before The clutched rock leaves the Stupid-looking red headed one’s hand Crashing through my upstairs master And I hear it Witch, witch, where’s the witch? And I feel it. My eyes beadily narrow Peering over my bulbous nose Shoulders hunching Toes curl And I reach for The broom leaning next The painter’s cloth Grabbing on with knobbly fingers Hurling myself Out Of The door Their eyes widened Disbelieving As they spot me And thumbs clutched between index fingers They run Leaving me cackling Breathless While my familiar Looks up from Sunning her black self On the step.
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If silence were to overwhelm in quiet noise Noise to overwhelm in loud silence We would.....would we? Resume to mediocrity Squander in and out of the Hum drum notion A shallow scale of beige Quick quicksand, slow quick quick slow pace To a death by chocolate wrapped up in a silver Game plan of beige instructions You told me this before signing irrelevancy into The first line Out of the way to straightforward Mental monotony......you wrote We walked waywardly Shells scrambled underfoot To find contrast amiss  You didn't talk Of wandering off course, the Art of expression took Our lullaby We read the recipe for cement, cooked on High alert Locked one another in the eye.... beadily Chose safely, colours of beige Walled......wall to wall. Behind the shadowed brickwork
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Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC
Brickwork Silence