"chaise" poems
Inspired by a vintage ****** postcard from the 1920s - 30s:
The Muse sits resplendent
caressed in sepia tones and pastel cream
gilded with the glaze of a bygone era
her silk Charleston negligee
worn proud like a vintage ornament
perched on an aesthetically pleasing
shapely pert insolent *****
blossomed with tiny beads of sweat
the heat of such anticipation
entices the pearls of the ******
to pamper and pleasure their perversions
etched as if in a radiance of candlelight
the flickering limbs pulse their bloom
nimble fingers of dancing shadows
cupping the feline curves of a chaise longue
the purposefully out of place set piece
the fantasy of a gentleman's reading room
caked in casked sherry
and Nat Sherman cigar infused aromas
her elegant pose sumptuous reclining
elbow length satin gloves
sensually wrapped in wanton desire
two fingers clasp a Sorbranie Black Russian
smoked like a sultry gypsy
with a fervent demeanour
from a silver opera cigarette holder
beckoning with the cats eyes of mischief
over Pinced nez eyeglasses
with a fascination imbibed
in the praxis of passion
the peach skin of refulgent youth
directs the viewer downwards, slowly
survey each contour of olive skin
and stroke every hidden cleft of fabric
to glimpse the nubile thighs of grace
leading the eye to the arch of an ankle
slipped like a fitted glove
nestled in the cleavage of her calf
and the chastity of future wonderment
the forgotten photograph
captures a period in time
the memories of the muse
now in motionless existence
a demure allure forever frozen
once lost, but now
never forgotten
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC
HALF A POUND OF INSOMNIA WITH A LARGE DOLLOP OF TIREDNESS ON TOP
Sleep lies languidly
upon the chaise longue.
I sit uncomfortably in
an old wicker chair.
We stare at each other.
Say - nothing.
Neither of us
blinks.
I have counted exactly
two thousand and 2....3. . .
sheep.
They fill up the room
with a loud baaing.
There is no grass in the room.
But I am more awake
than ever.
Sleep and I
do not see eye to eye.
Sleep annoyed by now
goes to the window
where even the moon is
dreaming.
A hill
long gone.
Trees snore
their breath rustling their leaves.
"Why do I always
have this trouble with you?"
Sleep snaps
without looking at me.
I try to change
the subject.
"I didn't know you
could manifest like this?"
I venture for the sake
of the argument.
"Oh no...now you've gone
and trapped me in a poem!"
In the early hours
of the coming day
even Sleep
falls asleep.
I yawn
exaggeratedly .
Hum KLF's
"It's three am eternal!"
Each of the now 2000 and 4...5
join in
with a tuneless
baaing.
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 5:06 AM UTC
"See they come, post haste from Thanet"
See they come, post haste from Thanet,
Lovely couple, side by side;
They've left behind them Richard Kennet
With the Parents of the Bride!
Canterbury they have passed through;
Next succeeded Stamford-bridge;
Chilham village they came fast through;
Now they've mounted yonder ridge.
Down the hill they're swift proceeding,
Now they skirt the Park around;
Lo! The Cattle sweetly feeding
Scamper, startled at the sound!
Run, my Brothers, to the Pier gate!
Throw it open, very wide!
Let it not be said that we're late
In welcoming my Uncle's Bride!
To the house the chaise advances;
Now it stops—They're here, they're here!
How d'ye do, my Uncle Francis?
How does do your Lady dear?
3.7k
Oh! Mr. Best, you're very bad
And all the world shall know it;
Your base behaviour shall be sung
By me, a tunefull Poet. —
You used to go to Harrowgate
Each summer as it came,
And why I pray should you refuse
To go this year the same? —
The way's as plain, the road's as smooth,
The Posting not increased;
You're scarcely stouter than you were,
Not younger Sir at least. —
If e'er the waters were of use
Why now their use forego?
You may not live another year,
All's mortal here below.—
It is your duty Mr Best
To give your health repair.
Vain else your Richard's pills will be,
And vain your Consort's care.
But yet a nobler Duty calls
You now towards the North.
Arise ennobled—as Escort
Of Martha Lloyd stand forth.
She wants your aid—she honours you
With a distinguished call.
Stand forth to be the friend of her
Who is the friend of all.—
Take her, and wonder at your luck,
In having such a Trust.
Her converse sensible and sweet
Will banish heat and dust.—
So short she'll make the journey seem
You'll bid the Chaise stand still.
T'will be like driving at full speed
From Newb'ry to Speen hill.—
Convey her safe to Morton's wife
And I'll forget the past,
And write some verses in your praise
As finely and as fast.
But if you still refuse to go
I'll never let your rest,
Buy haunt you with reproachful song
Oh! wicked Mr. Best! —
3.7k
My French Gem
The Rose tickler
finely handwritten
The movie part gave
her the sign life
crossed over gem
French kiss the morning
The burst of Kaleidoscope Sun
Double touched but forbidden
On the Cheetah necklace chase
The French Lieutenant
her body and lips moonstruck
On her chaise
To get over it another work of art
that got more attention
To revive her from drowning in
the gem scattered like a
benevolent
blue splat philanthropic
Looking more into his unknown
diving suit mixed
with envy green how she got mixed into
the stranger of Poison Ivy
Her love didn't show all her
attributes God spiritually well
She went to the pastry heart
how it flaked all
over like crystals
He was patiently sitting but got persuaded
That little gem of the lounge
Her firey gem was the canary
that got his tongue
Her gem stands taller
The crafted lines of quality in the
Pillars
"Le Bonheur De Vivre Gem-Art"
French kiss went inside the darker side of the painting
He's transformed.
Shape heart delicate uniform.
"Parisians on a mission
A kiss is a serious manner
LOVE" Gem birth opens her
He modifies her rainbow
Artwork of brush yellow
twinset platter hello fellow
the essence beloved to follow
So worth her wait being watched
By the crystal rock, he loved her
going up in spirit or she falls for him
The gem to be it
Magical modernly gem -fit clock.
See through hands meditation harp.
Lebonheur De Vivre fine art sharp.
Lips movement beyond hearts.
Le-bonheur De Vivre gem arts.
Artesian heels tapping boots.
Fall for Autumn love cahoots.
Beloved, divinely he's the healer.
The picture spoke she's the winner.
Wilderness he glides kisses prints.
Pushing her waves hints.
Everlasting one thought he's guessing?
Art never part beautify stem.
Eyes so genuine he's her gem.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 9:26 AM UTC
Don't wait, because life goes faster
than you think and worrying will
never change the outcome so enjoy
life now because this is not a rehearsal.
Time goes on so whatever your
going to do, you had better do it
knowing that to live is the rarest thing
in the world as most people just exist
and that is all.
Every morning that you wake up you
have two choices and that is to
continue to sleep with your dreams
or to wake up and chaise them.
In the blink of an eye everything can
and will change because nothing
ever stays the same in the game of life
and every time that we embrace a
memory we meet again with those
we love and those we have loved.
We worry about tomorrow like it
was promised and we wonder
why that if time is infinite, why
is there never enough of it?
Accept the sweet and the bitter
along with the joys and the sorrows
that enter into your life everyday
because tomorrow isn't guaranteed
so stay patient and accept your
journey knowing that some walks
you have to take alone.
Jon York
2016
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 8:37 PM UTC
Whoaa, why so blunt, harsh hard-hearted heathen,
hear me out...
chase the dragonfly as it weaves trails to places
you have never dreamed...
or have you?
pick the cherry tomato right off your vine
brush it off and bite down and let the juices
stream,
down your granite chin.
In your life were you ever gentle,
I mean soft with kindness,
in love with blindness,
if you held your hand out would
all the *animals long to be
close to you*
or would you be all alone
through decades of cultivated fear
and evaporated tears,
from the heat of your raging anger
your looks like daggers,
skip down the aisles of grocery stores,
even when you are with friends of yours,
have a sock fight and be willing to lose,
sit on some shady chaise somewhere as
the sun sets and just drink in all that
is around, no needs no wants,
no haunts as the skeletons return to
their closets and leave you to be free
to laugh to cry to share to pry
your hands off the greed that chokes
every breath that could have been full
of
life
oh be gentle friend be gentle
their is enough spirits of malice
that yours, your spirit need not
be numbered among them,
oh gentle giant not by stature
not by might but by how God
sees you within His sight and
sings over you,
gentle humble friend if
we had the time to break bread
instead of speed records or
hearts misled by, "that is how we are wired."
Gentle
you can still be a man of courage,
you are a man of strength
you are a gentle man
©DWE072013
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
Lounging in a chaise
Soaking up warm rays
Peaches and cream
Hills of soft green
Come closer and whisper
"You are my living dream"
Sipping on devotion doesn't fill me up
Pour another drink into my cup
Sugar sweet beverage
The right amount of leverage
When the taste stays on your tongue
Lemon twisted love affair
Never did I have a care
Gonna leave you high and dry
This time I won't be the one to cry
Carnival lights and
Forbidden nights
Ruthless and reckless
Take me out for a drive
Dripping ice cream
"You are my daring delight"
Sipping on devotion doesn't fill me up
Pour another drink into my cup
Sugar sweet beverage
The right amount of leverage
When the taste stays on your tongue
Lemon twisted love affair
Never did I have a care
Gonna leave you high and dry
This time I won't be the one to cry
Stomach clenched into a fist
Pucker up for a sour kiss
No one to give you a warning
Pursued another the next morning
Bitter words inflict raw pain
"Your misery is my gain"
Lemon twisted love affair
Never did I have a care
Gonna leave you high and dry
Shriveled heart awaits to die
I won't be the one to cry
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 3:34 PM UTC
the haze of summer hung in the air
blurring the lines between our bodies
buried in the white sheets
on the three-season patio day bed
where i learned how
your body felt when i moved my hand across the light skin of your torso
and no matter how warm the temperatures got
i'd still wrap my arms tight around you
like you were a towel in need of wringing
we shared iced tea
siting in the chaise lounges
the sun setting a crimson outside our window
you told me of the time you landed yourself out on the street
strumming your guitar for money
until you finally found your footing
when i came and took you in
which is where we found ourselves on this porch into the early hours
summer haze billowing the curtains as a breeze rolls in
the night the only illumination in your eyes
you revealed to me that you were in love with me
the idea of what i had become to you
and how you love the sound of my voice at two in the morning
scratching the surface of your rough facade
breaking into something that was seemingly impenetrable
you meant the world
to someone so little and unimportant
that as the fall came and went
and winter set in
your imprint on this bed still lingers
even though your feet left my threshold
too many days ago
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 1:03 AM UTC
Eve held two cigarettes in her lips and lit them. She passed one to Mark, beside her on the chaise. Thomas was with Delilah in the bedchamber getting a few lessons in life. They were making noises like a slaughterhouse as Mark tried to focus his thoughts.
He left the couch and went to the phone, dialing Satan’s office. Eve watching him with heavy lids, her arm stretched across the curved backboard. She inhaled forcefully, making thick clouds that obscured her face, then her head, and then the whole couch. He was watching her too, wondering what she was up to as Satan picked up the line.
“Yeh?” said the devil.
“Satan, Mark. We’ve got to talk.”
Satan was silent for a moment, then said sharply, “Look, they’ve got wire-taps.
Why don’t you come over here? We can talk in person. It’s safer then taking a chance on them listening.”
Mark thought that was smart, but if they were listening they’d already gotten an earful, but he had to take that chance.
He hung up the phone and fanned the air with his hands. The girl was gone.
He heard chuckling from the bedchamber and realized there were more voices than before, loudly squealing and giggling. He heard Thomas moaning in utter delight and decided to leave him there. As far as Thomas was concerned, Purgatory never felt so good.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC
In a rare moment of serenity,
Is where I suddenly find myself.
Unusually, no one seems interested
In whatever I am busy with.
I am finally alone....by the sea...
I sit back on my chaise lounge, I close my eyes.
The music of the wind blowing
Sends me drifting.....
Takes me to a secluded place.
In its midst stands a big house,
Its high concrete walls, impenetrable,
Like those of a castle,
With all its trappings and imperfections.
Upon its portals, I hesitated....then stopped.
They were all so familiar,
The house, the door, the windows,
The curtains, too....
My stomach started acting up...
I was sweating as I remembered...
It was where I once lived,
A life full of restrictions...
Imprisoned was I
Within its walls of silence...
Filled with dread,
I quickly gasped for air...
All set to flee from those cold scary walls
That terrified me so....
I turned to run,
But I couldn't take the first step,
My feet were frozen, like those of a statue.........
I couldn't move at all, when.....
Suddenly,
Thunder roared, lightning flashed...
A strong wind blew, and the rains came
At the same time...
Raindrops and some dry leaves
Started falling on my face,
Like confetti from above....
They tickled my nose, and
I sneezed back to reality,
Away from that nightmare of long ago...
I blinked a few times as
A wave splashed against the shore, and
Brought a taste of salt to my lips.
My past, these new beginnings and
Second chances that surround me now.....
All these things made me realize that
Nothing stays forever.....
Permanent is not at all permanent.....
Only GOD is........
I am now calm as the sea in summer....
Still alone....undisturbed....
In a rare moment of serenity....
Sally
Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
Sonnet.
Dans la salle à manger brune, que parfumait
Une odeur de vernis et de fruits, à mon aise
Je ramassais un plat de je ne sais quel met
Belge, et je m'épatais dans mon immense chaise.
En mangeant, j'écoutais l'horloge, - heureux et coi.
La cuisine s'ouvrit avec une bouffée,
- Et la servante vint, je ne sais pas pourquoi,
Fichu moitié défait, malinement coiffée
Et, tout en promenant son petit doigt tremblant
Sur sa joue, un velours de pêche rose et blanc,
En faisant, de sa lèvre enfantine, une moue,
Elle arrangeait les plats, près de moi, pour m'aiser ;
- Puis, comme ça, - bien sûr, pour avoir un baiser, -
Tout bas : " Sens donc, j'ai pris 'une' froid sur la joue..."
1.5k
Il avait de très beaux yeux
Il était haut
Il avait un joli sourire
Il s’est assis sur une chaise dans la classe vide.
Il a été prés de moi
Nous avons parlé un peu
Il m’a dit quelque chose
Il était si mignon
Que je n’ai pas prêté attention.
Je n’ai pas su son prénom
Il ne m’a pas regardé de la même manière que je l’ai vu
Il est parti
Je voulais le revoir
J‘ai pensé à lui tous les jours
Je l'ai revu un jour
J‘étais très heureuse
Il est resté la même personne
Il avait les mêmes yeux
Mais ils ne m’ont pas regardé.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
Laying naked on the chaise longue
and the artist's taking so long
to get the colours mixed.
I have fixed myself a pose
looking quite good
without wearing any clothes
then Picasso starts to paint.
The lights are strong
I perspire
the artist murmurs
'I'm on fire'
and late so very late Picasso takes a break
and I can stand and stretch
I fetch a cup of water
take one crafty look behind the canvas
and I am slaughtered.
I thought this guy could paint
but that ain't me
he's painted monsters rising from a sea
with blackened eyes
and skin of verdigris.
If this guy could paint by numbers
he wouldn't get past number three.
Look at what he's done to me.
I'm getting dressed and going home.
Tomorrow
I shall have a bone
to pick with him.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 4:10 AM UTC
My love has been left sitting too long/it has fermented into loneliness/nobody wants to be the last one standing/to be the last kid picked in gym class/it creates disappointment.
Emptiness wraps me in its cold embrace/There used to be more of us/but one by one they were picked off/Falling into the snare of an intimate relationship/I am merely a placeholder until they get the ones they will spend forever with/and that was ok...at least I thought it was.../
I had my cat/but now she is gone/The one constant thing in my life/I come home expecting to see her there/on my bed/laying in the sun/on the chaise with her favorite blanket/I said goodbye on a Thursday/and packed up all her things four days later/The reminder was too painful/And yet I have pictures of her everywhere/because I need her presence/Loneliness was never so bad because I was never alone/until now.
So yes I am growing bitter towards the idea of boyfriends./Boyfriends become priority/You become less of one/Maybe when I get one it will be different/But I have vowed never to forget who was there for me/but right now in this moment/I am sick of being abandoned/of being alone/Of grieving what I have lost and what I don't have.
Mar 8, 2023
Mar 8, 2023 at 12:50 AM UTC
So I'm drinking the red wine
I had those cut-up peaches
Soaking, fermenting in for 3 days.
A nice summer evening buzz,
Just back from my evening walk
Within the gates of my over-55
Lunatic Asylum.
On my rear porch in Hemetucky,
I chaise lounge the hours,
Listening to the mourning dove
Nesting in the bottlebrush bush.
I know she's there, having
Fired thru my duck blind,
My latest weapon of choice,
My new-fangled Flex Hose,
It expands when turned on.
Which got me thinking that the
Flex Hose inventor guy must have
Whacked off a lot as a teenager.
An Alex Portnoy protege, perhaps,
If familiar with Roth's book.
Portnoy's Complaint:
Most of us read it;
Some of us lived it.
It is pointless to speculate.
12 ft. Flexible Water Hose with
Nozzle-flxh-25 (4-00268...Home Depot
www.homedepot.com/p/12-ft-Flexible...
Hose-with.../204818892/The Home Depot
Rating: 1.8 - 14 reviews - $19.97 - In stock
"The Flexible hose automatically expands with water flow and contracts back to its original shape for storage. Lightweight and durable. The Flexible Hose will ..."
(That's right, a commercial right in the
Middle of the ******* poem.
This Poet refusing to die in the gutter,
Having finally figured out how to
MAKE POETRY PAY.)
But I digress.
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 2:16 AM UTC
The furnished souls
Adorned with mahogany
Luxurious pieces in every corner
Eau de parfum, the finest from France
Does not allure the senses
The settees, chaise lounges and recliners
Standing there, forlorn, awaiting guests
The ornate crystal chandeliers adorn the ceilings
Trying to illuminate the gloominess
The flooring of Makrana marble on the floors
As if there is a puzzle to be solved
It looks quizzically at the incoherent footsteps
Of the infrequent visitors, not even interested
Mansion filled with embellishments
Yet there are no worthy inhabitants
The Swarovski crystal curtains, veils the outside world
That waits, without any expectations or superfluities
To furnish the soul with love
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 9:23 AM UTC
To all the ungrateful ******
that felt me up on the back seat
in some unknown parking lot
because you wouldn't spring
for a real date
Perhaps your waiting for me
to bled my angst onto this page
Pffft
Don't wait!
If you've decimated me
into tiny parts
where slot A no longer fits
for your tiny part B
you don't deserve to be carried,
vaunted upon a poetic chaise
it's a pathetic waste
of my Joie de vivre
I can't read another word
of *You were my one and only
until you left me
so I'm just going to keep
writing about
how good I was for him
and how he doesn't deserve me*
Because He doesn't care!
He's down and *****
on the back seat
in another unknown parking lot
with another faceless name
for him, it's freaking hot
So stop spilling your life's blood
upon an empty page
Pick up, move on
Discover life after ungrateful ******
Write something that will live longer
than just your age
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
The figure lurks behind my lidded eyes:
His back is all a-hunch and he is mad
With thoughts of you. But often when he lies
He dreams as slender silver as you had.
Your beauty haunts the belfry of my head
And Shakespeare’s darkened lady’s takes a glare.
The sun was Rosaline and I was dead
The day I searched for you and found you there.
The river ran too quick against our days.
My love for you, which never found its wife,
Heard clear those words you said upon the chaise.
The words, "I could not do", which were your knife.
So here am I with no chance to rephrase;
You wounded me with words. I took your life.
Mar 5, 2011
Mar 5, 2011 at 8:16 AM UTC
Like the night that flows in arrows
And the raven that flies in skies
She comes to me in a chaise
Pulled by the great white wolf
Aimee, my love, you are
the door between pleasure and pain
You fold me in shawl of lies
And stab my heart with truth
You came here like a salamander from the fire
Your siblings are **** and Nyx,
Melt in my arms like dew on leaves
Whisper and say you'll never leave
But the archer killed the raven
And wolf barks outside, in forest,
You have to go, you kiss my neck,
Send me to sleep, although
You know I'll wake up crying
Your hair is unseen in night
The eyes are tears of fire
Your skin is made from brightest stars
And you're dressed with moonrays
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC
There was a picture
you once took
of the moment
that forever changed my life
Of the virtual you
and the virtual me
becoming virtual we
on a chaise-longue in paradise
You showed it me later
though I never had a copy
now the evidence is gone
yet the image remains
It's etched there forever
in the centre of me
and you once wondered
if it was just about the chase
But those doubts were misplaced
it was never the chaise
for me you see
it was all about the longue
Cynthia Pauline Jones, 30/8/13
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 7:05 AM UTC
~Castle in the Sky~
In the summer of my days,
I sit alone on a chaise in the bedroom.
Clothes draped,
Books as cue,
And my chest heavy from my burdens.
How will this all end?
The inevitable question.
Deemed to be alone forever?
I dare not to consider this.
Suppose, is to assume I’ve lost heart.
For not is my will to strive for passion.
He’s somewhere I have not looked.
I agreed to be found
But stuck in a labyrinth to test my fate.
At the door he awaits to seize me
And share me with no other.
I am aware of the existence of love.
The love that is already all around me;
Yet it does not come easy.
The sun strikes the afternoon position.
I lie upon my chaise and fall into slumber
Like a potion has been ingested.
My lover calls to me,
In my castle in the sky.
I try to run to him,
The fog is too thick
I cannot be seen.
I move to the sweet sound of his voice.
There is a gate in the mists.
I cannot gain access.
I try and fall.
Though I persist.
I yearn to be with him.
I must find him
He ought to reveal his identity.
I see a vague figure,
Far beyond the gate.
I cry out to him
Pleading to let me in.
My heart pounds so hard
It leaves ringing in my ears.
My veins pulsate with adrenaline
My stomach hatching butterflies.
He starts toward me
“Yes!” I think,
Soon he’ll be revealed to me.
As he ascends from the entrance hall,
I begin to be pulled back.
Quickly blinded and yanked away.
“No!” I scream,
But he doesn’t seem to hear me.
I try to grab onto the gate,
My hands slipping,
I cannot take hold.
He is becoming farther and further away.
And then my eyes open.
It is then,
I realize it was just a dream.
He is lost to me
Forever.
Out of breath I seize the glass.
Gasping,
I take a sip
Then smash it against the fireplace.
With my head in my hands
I look up;
Panting and yearning
To be free.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 2:08 PM UTC
meanwhile,
back at the ranch,
.....or hacienda or suburban condo,
the young suburban ma'am
was weeping, 'n cryingn 'n sobbing,
having thrown herself down on her
soft, velvet covered chaise lounge.
"where are you Manly Cowboy?"
she wept
"wherefore did thou go?"
"whyfore have you doth forsaken me so?"
"in my hour of need?"
Boo hoo hoo hoo
the wailing was reaching a rather
intense volume,
so much so,
that,
soon,
there was a knock at the door.
wiping her tears from her
bright red swollen eyes and cheeks,
with her delicately embroidered
handkerchief,
her long white gosling robed gown
trailing her as,
she went to the door.
opening it,
what did she see?
but standing there,
there stood,
the,
most,
handsome, tall,
muscular man
of a manly plumber
she had ever seen.
said he,
"i couldn't but help to be
overhearing
your pitiful wails.
and i thought you might
need some help.
anything i can do to
assist you ma'am?"
WELL...
thought she,
this is the best iimprovement
in many a long day,
since the Manly Cowboy
had gone away.
"yes, you can" replied she
"would you like to come in
and take a cup of tea
with me?"
......not so fast,
we're not done
with this one.
"certainly, i would" replied he,
"and, well, ma'am, if it isn't any
trouble for you,
i'd really prefer something
a little stronger,
per chance, do you have
any beer?"
"why yes i do." says she
"cold?" asks he
"as a snowball in hell." she replied
the manly plumber strode in,
his tools jangling about
his firm hips and strong legs.
excusing herself,
she went to the kitchen and
opened up two beers.
pouring one in a tall glass,
over ice,
she poured an eighth of the other
into another
and finished filling it up
by adding warm water
from the tap.
she did this to prevent herself
from getting too tipsy
as she was dehydrated from
all of her crying.
out she walked,
two tall glasses
in hand,
she handed one to him
and looked over the other.
the first shy smile
her sweet face
had seen in a while,
began creeping up.
since,
now? who had gone???
the manly cowboy
lying on his back
of some foriegn land,
looked up and
saw a star twinkling
high in the sky,
and he smiled.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 12:27 PM UTC
*Georgia Sun relaxes in the fifth house
Hummers circle Florida sky from my shaded chaise
Blue Jays and Brown Thrashers lounge the
ripened Fig Trees , shadows walk the vegetable
gardens , nightshades ardent for cool , rainy reprieve
Crows muster high atop centurion Oaks
Bluebirds and Sparrows work the grass like -
two old time blokes as the ice melts away in -
a frosty *** and Coke* ......
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 12:26 PM UTC