"brochure" poems
I don’t think you understand,
because I don’t, this wasn’t what I planned.
So I’m wondering how you can understand, when I don’t.
I won’t lose myself loving you, I won’t.
You’ve got me feeling too many different things,
got me contemplating cutting our tethered strings.
Falling in love has me tripping
over my own two feet? Maybe. All I know is I’m slipping
face first into this tangled mess
and now guilt eats at me as I slip from your arms half dressed
in the mornings when all I want is to escape,
wishing I was Wonder Woman with that red cape.
I slip away, but it hurts-
but I’ve seen it; my family, we’re cursed.
Concerning love, we’ve had no luck
I can’t lose you, so I’m labeling us a causal ****
I hear you yelling now that you know my reasons,
promising our love could survive even the coldest season.
But how can he be so sure?
Doubts plague me as I slip toward his front door,
because love didn’t come with a brochure.
I hear you figuring aloud that I don’t love you enough.
You come to the conclusion,
“if this is how you feel, then I’ll set you free”
I got in my car, driving around till the clouds were dark and the clock said three.
Your words had been like knives,
but then I started thinking about my dad’s four wives.
My brain’s all jumbled,
it’s like there was one second left, I was on the one yard line, and I fumbled.
Is the risk worth it?
Could my heart even take the hit?
When I got home, in the dark I saw you standing
my heart was demanding
that I make my way over to you
but my brain said these feelings needed to be subdued.
I heard you say “I love you too much to set you free”
It was then when I looked in your eyes, love was all I could truly see.
My scalp tingled in realization,
as I floated toward you with some type of natural gravitation.
My heart had already taken the risk, without permission
and that’s when I mumbled my belated admission;
“I love you too and I’ll take my chances,”
My brain finally conceded to your romantic advances.
But really, truth was, I’d been under an illusion
because our love had always been a foregone conclusion.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
While sitting at a café once
a boy of sorts went by.
His clothes were bright, he wore a suit
a purple, orange tie.
He looked around him while he walked
and then I caught his eye.
His hair was wild and fairly long,
his shoes were bright and new.
His face was lit up with a smile
and said “how do you do?”
He waved his hand, his giant hand,
the smile quite simply grew.
He walked on over, then he sat
down on the chair across
from me and all my company
a friend, his wife, my boss,
and handed me a brochure of
Learn how to play lacrosse.
“The name is Nathan Douglas Day
of age I am nineteen.
I have thick hair that gets quite gross
which then, I have to clean.
The knots that form, they almost dread.
You do know what I mean?
But hair is not all that I am
there’s skin and bones and thought,
but even then, that isn’t much
my weight is almost naught.
The mem’ry in my brain is small
which leaves much to be taught.
The people call me names to do
with where they know me from
like, Mugbo, or the wanderer,
or rang-rang, or Nathan,
or Nathan Douglas Day and some
don’t call me anyone.”
This speech of his, it left me shocked.
What kind of life was this,
to have more names than anyone
from this metropolis?
I was so puzzled and confused
there was something amiss.
I said “Okay…” and looked straight down
to where the pamphlet lay
and then began to read about
Lacrosse and how to play.
And Nathan snapped his fingers loud
and got a piece of cake.
A strawb’rry shake came next and then
a plate of biscuits came.
he offered them around and said
“they all taste much the same.”
We ate them all. He sat quite still.
I learned about the game.
My boss and friend were wondering,
who was this Nathan day,
this boy who came from nowhere and
sat down and seemed to stay?
They asked me with their eyes but I
did not know what to say.
Then Nathan started talking to
the wife of my good friend
he made her laugh and laugh and laugh
and laugh it didn’t end.
We all wanted to hear the joke
he wouldn’t say again.
“Lacrosse seems very difficult”
I said to stir the air.
“It is” he said “I played it once
but now, I would not dare”
I wondered then why he would hand
the pamphlets out with care.
I wondered maybe did he work
in trade from door to door.
I asked him this and his reply
it shocked me even more
“I do not hand them out” he said
“I found it on the floor.”
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 7:49 AM UTC
Disney
Like America
Looks awesome in the brochure
But feels faded and slightly forced
A bit of a letdown after the buildup
Still
Wild eyed zealots
Sacrifice their year’s savings at the altar of the mouse
A western Hajj eulogized by matching Toy Story t shirts
I really feel
I missed an important moment of cultural indoctrination
That left me insensitive
To the draw of this place.
A surprise comes though,
As instead of the expected moral superiority
I feel a sense
Of loneliness
And societal exclusion
As I watch
An old man with a silhouette of Mickey Mouse tattooed on his forearm
Happily
Buy a Bud Light for $5.95
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 8:06 PM UTC
Once I looked to the Bard for words profound;
ageless, his wisdom ran unabated.
Yet Hamlet is now ideologically unsound,
“the slings and arrows” historically Iocated.
I wept for the creature of Frankenstein,
spurned by his master, forced to roam the Earth.
But I’d been subjectively positioned in a paradigm
by Mary’s anxiety about childbirth.
I read Balzac, Hardy and Henry James
describing “worlds” which seemed quite sensible.
Now Eagleton’s exposed their bourgeois games
I find them morally reprehensible.
I dreamt of being Robinson Crusoe
or proud, fierce Hawkeye in his buckskins dressed,
but Fenimore and Defoe have to go,
they’re culturally encoded and empirically obsessed.
Inspired by Guinness, did James Joyce sit down
to see what magic flowed when he was ******
The stream of Ulysses floats Bloom-about-town
dreamthinkingnever : “I’mamodernist”.
I’d gladly give Woolf a Room of Her Own
and be one of the boys with Hemingway,
but sensitive guys leave their bulls alone
say de Beauvoir and Luce Irigaray.
No more fun with Wordsworth being daffodilly,
no simple pleasure reading Mickey Mouse;
Steamboat Willie can’t help but look silly
dissected by Foucault and Levi-Strauss.
The Bible shows intertextuality
says the two Jacques, Lacan and Derrida.
Judas, a construct of bisexuality?
The **** fixations of Herod are?
It’s got so bad I deconstruct a holiday brochure.
I can’t even **** without Roland Barthes and Ferdinand de Saussure.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
When I dusted off the counter today
I found something that was lost before
Jesus was there by the sink,
sitting down right next to the toaster
he looked at me and asked for a coaster
he and the cherubs were drinking diet soda,
and watching the ants eat my sugar
I asked him three questions
and hear what they are
why are you sitting by the toaster?
why in the hell would you want my coaster?
and
didn't I ask you to leave last summer?
Jesus said he wanted to live in my heart
first the counter
then my heart
what's next Jehova, my first born child?
yes actually he said, before he snorted and growled
I really do want your first born child
would you like a brochure for heaven?
its pretty wild there, and the bread's all unleavened
No thanks
No thanks
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 4:59 AM UTC
Political correctness has reached a brand new low
It has now reached good and evil
And has changed things down below
The devil is still the devil,
That much has not changed
But, the food is all organic
And the meat is all free range
I didn't know the changes 'till
I made a plea last week
To sell my soul for increased wealth
And other things I seek
I expected a commotion
When the devil came from hell
But, there was nothing quite so flashy
When someone...rang my bell
I answered thinking nothing much
I looked outside to check
I am wary of the Mormons
and Jehovahs on my deck
I looked outside and there I saw
A man dressed all in grey
A poll taker, election geek
Let's see what he may say
"Good day, kind sir, I come to you"
"You wanted to be rich"
I thought he isn't from no bank of mine
He said "Sir, just call me Mitch"
"Mitch", I said, "I don't know how"
"you'd know I want to sell my soul"
He told me that was why he's here
To get a deal done was his goal
I said, "why use the door bell"
"Why not the cloud of smoke"
He said "with budget cuts'
"Pyrotechnics made us broke"
"The PC folks got wind of us"
"of our tricks and double speak"
"Now, you sign away your soul to us"
"but, you can get out within the week"
"We can't go by the same old name"
"Hell is not allowed"
"We're H...E...double hockey sticks"
"Try saying that aloud"
"It doesn't have the forcefulness"
"That the other word once had"
"we can call it heck, if we're in a pinch"
"You can see, it's got quite sad"
"The contracts are all readable"
"You don't have to sign in blood"
"With *** and STD's"
"It may as well be mud"
"A soul still has some meaning"
"But, as you yourself can see"
"The devil stays at home now"
"And sends his minions out...like me"
"I have a small brochure for you"
"You have choices, please pick six"
"It's more a club, a health resort"
"In H...E...double sticks"
"I can't get out, I'm stuck for good"
"I signed my deal before"
"The PC people got us good"
"And now...we use the door"
"Please look over the contract"
"Take your time, and read it close"
"You'll find it is a real good read"
"With language, non verbose"
"If you should have some questions"
"change your mind, or want to tour"
"Just call me on my cell phone
"I'm at star66 extension 4"
"I'm sure you'll still come down to us"
"It's not so bad, you'll see"
"Just call me when you're ready"
"You've got time, now we're PC"
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
i'd avoid the sunrise,
it reminds me of you
turn off my eyes around two
stay closed, stay closed
stitched them shut with regret
(out of Elmer's, out of gas money)
did spend his twenty dollars-
compensating for more
than a broken ******
forgot about the plan b
and stuck with plan a
high alone off cheap ****
bought from a kid who's got
a house in the hamptons
i guess we're all
living less than what
the college brochure says
or maybe more,
flip the campus map over
find us alone in our beds
fitting one, two on the mattress
not two, not both
one, two
find us alone
find us alone together
stay closed, stay closed
in the morning sink to the floor
up, shower, socialize, shrivel
to the friends who promised you an in
when you only wanted an out
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 9:31 PM UTC
The staff, who are stuffed full of paper,
stapled, on white,
are to be circulated with minutes,
full of minutiae,
but only the chosen staff will receive such chaff,
intricate, in triplicate,
and the others will have to wait for memoranda,
definitely not grander,
on subjection, objection and rejection
for the weary and unwary.
The brochure on staff conduct
will be grosser,
and superannuation won't be super.
There will be no more staff resolutions,
no revolutions,
so that managers can preserve the status quo
and hasten slow.
Talent is banned,
promotion is underhand,
ass-kissing is in,
no sin,
and perks,
no jerks,
are for the executive few.
***** you.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
a person on the metro, six stops from their destination
leafing through a brochure titled How
To Get Rich Quick -
sighing in disgust,
"I was never allowed to go on the metro
when I was young," boasts the woman
sitting beside them, an accessory of
The Scene. a prop
(voice is loud and nasally, and the person - five stops - considers moving)
quick smile, polite:
which means, go away. or, at the very least, don't talk quite
so loud
okay? okay?
a softcover Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary is under the seat, discarded,
Sharpie skidding through it (four stops) at every jolt
of the train.
this is normal, all trains are jerky sometimes, and the loud woman
expresses her concerns.
an old man, older than both people,
older than anything really - coughs.
wet coughs.
the person frowns, but quietly, so
the woman and man won't notice.
(they are well-practiced in the art of subtlety)
three stops. the woman leaves
but the smell lingers
and the dictionary, having slid back
one or two rows for effect
a flock of tourists board. kids in the seats
parents hanging tiredly to safety holds
(be still be quiet keep your hands to yourself, mandy
a little boy of six clinging to the person's jacket with
sticky warm fingers)
two stops, and the boy asks why they look so sad.
what they're reading.
they have perfected the art of silence
but little boys don't understand silence.
the mother hovers in the background
sneaking ***** looks at the person,
wax smudged smile going crooked at the edges
one stop,
the boy asks where they got their hair
(my head;
he is unimpressed)
he is kicking the lonely dictionary
providing it with company,
or maybe unaware.
they leave, and the mother hisses something at them as they pass -
clutches the boy's arm.
the dictionary has been stuck on the word spectral for three days,
and the train hums to life.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
Youth is not forever.
Games don't have age limits,
Being a child is not so bad,
Everything we do has it's benefits.
There's always room for play,
Even if it can not stay.
Not everyone is ready,
To keep a job that is steady.
Growing up isn't always easy,
It comes with rules and responsibility.
Everybody looks to the future,
Hoping to find it in a brochure.
Not everyone wants to take the plunge,
Into a life that might not be fun.
Being a child is OK,
Where life is a debt, one we don't have to pay.
Growing up takes time,
A ladder which we all have to climb,
One thing's for certain,
We will all meet that curtain.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
She put too much sugar in my coffee
She knows **** well I do not care for cream
On our Anniversary she went out with the girls
She didn't even wear her wedding ring
She gave me a luggage set for Christmas
And a brochure of some towns in Mexico
She bought me a ticket on a bus to Tijuana
Just her way of saying Adios
She found another way to say goodbye
She's wearing sweet perfume I didn't buy
She wrecked my little red pick up truck
So she could watch this grown man cry
She found another way to say goodbye
She took the bed and sent me to the sofa
Said, "You sound like a saw mill when you snore"
She put my sports page on the bottom of the bird's cage
Before I got to read the latest score.....
CHORUS
Copyright Louis Brown
Dec 25, 2011
Dec 25, 2011 at 6:49 PM UTC
They nickel and dime me
So money can't find me
While debt keeps climbing
With inconvenient timing
A note reading foreclosure
Spells my doom
As a realtor's brochure
Sells my room
Poverty looms
Over my head
As everything is taken
Even the bread
And what I use to bake it
They come with a gun
Demanding that I run
They tell me I can't stay here
Police presence engenders fear
So this place I once held dear
Will no longer be near
And the bank
Maintains rank
Over the poor
Locking the door
So I hit the floor
Hatred in my core
I adopt an attitude
Of eat or be eaten
This simple platitude
Will get me beaten
Money isn't that hard to make
If that's all you're trying to do
Yet they take all they can take
Like they've got something to prove
They don't mind
Separating bees from the hive
Power is control money buys
So the rich are seen as wise
Even if they're destroying the world
Forcing families from their homes
And now the rocks they hurl
Are delivered by drones
From lethality to loans
We're stripped to the bone
And feel all alone
On a planet of exploitation
It's tough to live the full duration
When we're stuck at a bus station
Called placation
Where the wealthy do what they want
Because they have money to flaunt
Giving them status and power
To build their ivory tower
By evicting delinquents
And bombing huts
A dog-like sequence
We're treated like mutts
The cumulus accumulate
Usurping heaven's gate
Creating a second rate
Decrepit estate
For us to deflate
Into a state
Of hate
And wait
For a mate
To feel great
So our slate
Has low weight
But once it gets late
We ask for a rebate
We run for the frivolous
But that fun is insidious
And it's slowly killing us
From emptiness filling us
We withdraw into shells
Of similar mundane hells
Until the bank comes knocking
Then into the streets we're flocking
While they're progress blocking
And pistol cocking
We kneel and worship them
Begging for mercy
They're the problem's stem
Yet we wear their jersey
Which is absolute insanity
But money controls humanity
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 12:57 AM UTC
Have you ever flown first class to heartbreak island?
As I soar overseas back to loneliness looking at the body of water so emotionless the land was welcoming but this flight through disappointment seem much more homeliness...
...I didn't know that I was just on vacation though
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 2:48 PM UTC
A recipe
I wrote one of those in my head today;
some of it was half-baked,
but what is edible will say:
something about instructions,
something about parts making a whole,
something about convection,
something about mixing in a bowl,
something about dough
and something about kneading
something about confections,
something about breathing.
An epitaph
I wrote one of those in my head today;
some of it was rotten,
what wasn't will rise and say:
something about a journey,
something about fate,
something about love and
something about hate,
something about laying on a gurney
and something about decay,
something about destiny,
something about history,
then it might yawn
and lay back in its grave
A pamphlet
I wrote one of those in my head today;
some parts were mute,
others that weren't will speak and say:
something about tolerance,
something about abuse,
something about inhalants
and something about a noose.
A brochure
I wrote one of those in my head today;
some of it was fake,
but what is real will last and say:
something about a lawyer,
something about curruption,
something about justice
and how it serves a function,
something about admittance,
something about plastic surgery
and breast reduction,
and a catholic priest mumbling
something about perjury.
A eulogy
I wrote one of those in my head today;
some of it was dead,
but what was alive will stand and say:
something about a life
and something about living,
something about a wife
and something about a thing worth giving,
something about a family
and something about foes;
something about winning
and something about woes.
A book
I wrote one of those in my head today;
some of it was filth;
but what was clean will shine and say:
something about character,
something about freedom,
something about development
and something about respect
something about supplement,
something about unity,
something about revolution
and how I think the world should be.
A song
I wrote one of those in my head today;
but it was a bird and it flew away,
If all that's left is just one dying wing
it would flap around
on the ground
and try to sing:
something in near-pefect pitch
something bluesy and
about a *****
then probably something about flight
and finally something about a
bright white light.
A poem
I wrote one of those in my head today;
the lines were seeds
I planted before the cold;
some froze out, some took hold
but what remains grows bold and will say:
something about a heart,
and how you had it from the start;
something about sunlight,
and how you make it seem less bright;
something about the wet wet rain
something about willingness
and something about refrain.
Oct 16, 2011
Oct 16, 2011 at 7:12 AM UTC
~
*Wake, no wake
He dreams of obituaries
And toe tagging
Exhuming dearly departed dollars
And biting the nails
Of his cadavers
Forensically speaking
He can talk of the dead
He's one lucky stiff
Pushing up daisies
All over the yard
Of his rose cottage
This life at rainbow's end
Each day mortiferously expires
It's all there in the brochure*
~
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 8:44 AM UTC
Hey Mom,
I just wanted to tell you about the amazing day I am having. First, I woke up to water dripping on me, as if the leaky roof were trying to improve the lumpy bed by giving it a good soak- when the brochure said I “would feel closer to nature more than ever,” I didn't think it meant so literal. After salvaging some semi-dry clothes, I went outside to realize my car window had been broken into. It was dumb of me for leaving my laptop bag in the car when I got in last night, I was just so exhausted from the drive. Well, you know how I get when I get upset, so I chunked my phone, as if it was the one causing my great morning. It landed in some bushes, and after wrestling with the branches for a bit, I finally saw him. Not even ten feet away from my phone did I see the most beautiful pelican. Something about his simple eyes, looking at me with some mixture of boredom and apathy, made me realize where I was. The cool air filled my lungs, leaving smell of salt in my nose. The sand I was sitting in was warm from the sun, feeling like that cozy quilt grandma made for me years ago.
So yeah, today was an amazing day.
With Love,
Chris
Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 11:39 AM UTC
**** my energy blood and
Recycle it when you go back to your coffin every night
My empathy kills me
My empathy liberates me
I feel so weak, so very very weak
I am the strongest person I have ever known
I am everyone I have ever known
The most knowing of the strength to defend my castle but it is open to the public
I will have to warn the masses of the oncoming spread of disease
"Please take a brochure and know what you are getting yourself into"
STOP HURTING HER
Stop hurting everyone because I feel pain that isn't mine
Its easy to fake it
It's even easier to fake-out yourself
Everything you touch turns into pyrite and fools run up to it thinking they have found gold.
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 1:30 AM UTC
Holy Crap,
They Sold My Name!
No big deal, your name, your email, bought n' sold daily,
Like a baseball card, your picture and vital stats are on the internet,
Your credit card in the fine print tells you they love you much,
But the data they collect, might get credited to such and such.
You're fair game if your sign up for anything.
Now I know I am getting on in years,
Tho spry rhymes with die, I flatly deny
Any notion that
My great beyond is just around the corner!
But Holy Crap,
They Sold My Name!
Got a color brochure
Suggesting that when my travels are over,
A nice place to rest my head might be
St. Michael's Cemetery.
St. Michael's Cemetery
7202 Astoria Blvd, East Elmhurst
(718) 278-3240
Friday hours 7:00 am–5:00 pm
In case you want to check it out too...
Tho I live not in the Borough of Queens County,
My zip code but a hop, skip and jump away,
The cemetery adjacent to the Grand Central Parkway
Which is actually quite thoughtful of
The mass marketer who dreamed up this scheme
(And got paid a plentiful amount of bounty).
My kids could wave as they drive by,
On the way to LaGuardia or JFK, (airports)
And say, guilt free, they visit me regularly!
Sadly, their plot foiled,
I will be buried in
New Jersey soil,
Near to my pop, who liked the
Wide open spaces of suburbia
And shopping on Route 4,
Where the selection is great
And there is no sales tax.
But Holy Crap,
They Sold My Name,
And I am now target marketed,
Niched, pretty soon the boys from AARP
Will come calling, reminding me of the gap
Tween Medicare and the poor house!
Ok ok, grow up you say, tho your hair is full,
And not even a hint of baldness shines forth,
Nonetheless, its color is zebra striped gray,
And when someone says they got my back,
I think, please, please take it and keep it....
Oh yeah,
Dear St. Mikes
You might ask for some of your money back,
Cause this sily scribe is a member of the tribe,
Some call "those ***** (hint: it rhymes with Mikes),"
It starts with K and ends in yikes!
But thanks for thinking of me anyway.
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 5:32 PM UTC
a 'modern' school building
with 'modern' ideas
(and 95% of the pregnant
and the drop-outs and the
suicidal and the desperate
pushed under the
carpet instead of
given help)
a balanced curriculum
everything your child
needs
(except love and affection
and life skills and how
to treat other people
without behaving like
a ********
there's dozens of school clubs
the gospel choir's won
awards
(though you'll hear more of a
holy chorus of 'fucks' from the lips of the
******* goddamners)
and our school reputation is
propped up on results
(but exams mean nothing
because when you're dead
who's going to care how
much ink you scrawled in
just the right patterns on
your blank sheet of paper?)
all students are valued
equally, of course
(but definitely not by
the other students because
who wants to see that art
freak's drawings on Instagram
when he didn't even get invited
to that last big
party?)
all boys and girls are given
equal opportunity
(except when a bench needs
lifting, or they're transgender)
and our school uniform dress
code applies to everyone
(but if you're a guy and your
forearms are distracting someone
don't worry, you won't be asked
to cover them up)
all bullying is dealt with
swiftly and without prejudice
(unless the kid being bullied is
black or muslim because then
for some reason it's a whole
different story)
and all subjects here are treated
with equal merit and available
to everyone
(but if you're taking woodwork
then you're thick, or drama then you're
queer)
speaking of equality, the school's an
lgbt+ safe zone
(but don't even think about
being openly into the same ***
or someone's going to smash
your face in)
because we're a 'modern' school
with 'modern' ideas
(but if someone tries to tell you otherwise
then they're telling the
truth
and it's worth being friends with
them)
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 3:34 PM UTC
She denied the note
with a wave of her hand,
a harsh slice of the independent woman,
right there next to the bookshop stand.
I could tell, you could tell,
the whole ******* shop could tell
that this couple was very much in love.
It was the constant kisses on cheeks and
that rubbing of the palms with thumbs,
that gave their game away.
Tucked beneath wet raincoat pit,
a brochure protruded and hit
every close contact enemy.
It was a bible of new houses;
psalms of yet-to-be-wet-feet-on-new-lino-floors,
prayers of neutral-coloured-baby-room walls,
proverbs of shall-we-frame-this-poster-or-just-BluTac-it-up-and-hope-for-the-best?.
They left the shop back into the rain
to the sound of several sighs,
thank goodness for the gray
dangerous clouds of the sky.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
Hello happy hour!
I see you're now reduced
to fifteen minutes of
soft drinks and
smiling depression:
simper and wine.
check that...Sprite.
But I'll drink to
nagging doubt anyway.
Cars are now a kick.
Who knew gridlock
could offer such joyride:
the drive home each day
my ******** sabbatical.
I wrote 3 letters the other day
(the handwritten, paper kind)
and feel a little
like Jane Austen.
I think she'd like Dr. Pepper,
but not Mr. Pibb.
Too foppish.
Then there's this:
the wax and wane
of life between the bed
and the couch.
There's six degrees
of separation
through the five layers
of this reusable face mask.
Speaking of masks:
"one for the money,
two for the show,
three to make ready
and four to go."
And somehow I know
I will never breathe it in
that way again.
Random curtain calls:
I'm so starved for someone
to talk to; the mail lady
had me at "hello."
I offered her a soda.
Mail order catalogs are king.
The Saturday Night Special
from the burglar alarm brochure
was my final good buy.
Aug 29, 2020
Aug 29, 2020 at 1:03 AM UTC
Let's go somewhere far,
Somewhere where I'd hold you tight.
Hand in hand.
Wherever you'd like.
Whether train or plane.
An automobile or an boat.
Either way will be home in justification.
Journeying through each other's eyes, a different aspect of seeing things brand new.
A single step becoming wholesome
Just for the sake of getting up and getting out.
The feelings that dwell within
Escaping out.
Anywhere with you, to be perfectly honest.
Venturing abroad in living, breathing color.
Heads leaned against each other in excitement,
The comfort of toes covered in warm sand.
Sculpting each and every memory.
The sun becoming a spec in the horizon.
Exploring every wish, every dream we've found within reach.
The feel of every couch cushion.
Misplaced nickels, dimes.
Caressing the weight of weary legs.
A earth tone colored pattern.
The lobby of every room folded In the brochure of our heart.
All in the autobiography of us.
To live, to breathe in the essence of where the ocean sprays against the gleam of your shades.
The hull of yachts splashing against the oncoming waves.
The ripeness of fresh fruit served at local vendors hidden from the sun harvested by kind hands.
The only thing missing is a good pair of shoes.
Or perhaps lay here with you just a bit longer
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC
HE stroked a white cat. The cat slowly turns into a cloud. He was about to cup the cloud but the whole cloud came into his eyes. She became sleepy and fell asleep.
The cloud that had entered his eyes became cloudy outside his eyelids. He dreams about a sheet of sky that will rain. Then woke up with slightly wet eyelashes. But it was not the tears.
*HE:
Who cried in my eyes last night?*
He did not see, the cat or the cloud wanted to answer but they were stuck in a holy book that on one page of inserted a brochure course an easy way to reach the paradise that has been long past the date of its operation.
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 12:54 PM UTC
For you I am a fool,
I am a dupe and never that cool;
We don’t have similarities,
Only differences and inconsistencies.
You’re like a book of Metaphors,
While I am just a little brochure;
Your mouth was full of idioms
While mine has Ironies and Personifications.
Despite that I offered you
A friendship which for me is true;
You just frown at me in disgust
Like I’m a nobody to trust.
You and I, we’re opposite
Two different ends that never meet;
The moments that we talk and chatter
Were the times we shared to attack each other.
I now accept that I’ve never been
A friend to you, just stupid and mean;
So forget the time you knew my name
Each shouldn’t be a friend to claim.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 3:46 PM UTC