"christa" poems
Hi.
My name's Blair and
I'll be your instructor tonight.
Defensive driving with a class full of
Deviants.
Even the instructor had
Five Tickets
His first year and a half in San Antonio.
But, hey! We get an insurance discount.
Sometimes people get to the front
And they're not sure if
They're supposed to have a book.
What book?
You still have time before class--
Get those donuts!
Do I have the right book?
Everybody needs a pen--
If you have a fairy pen, that won't do.
Today we're going to learn about driving techniques...
Don't worry.
No matter how far off track I get,
We still get done early.
What's the real policy on pecans?
I was wondering
If you could cut the jet noise
Between, oh...about 5.30, sixish?
Split-second decisions
Spot the hazards
You're driving along 1604
And the speed limit changes to
Fifty
Overnight.
Where were the warning signs?
Is this the book?
How hard is it to drive your car if you're not in the driver's seat?
Did anybody get the donuts?
Where's the pizza he was talking about?
Why isn't he in the driver's seat?
Why am I?
Out of hundreds of architects,
Why did Newsweek ask
A nearby park resident?
Your jury isn't attorneys.
No, it's people.
Your punishment isn't
The Red Square.
No, it's--
CUT THE JETS!
WHAT BOOK IS HE TALKING ABOUT?
I WANTED PEPPERONI.
List common signs of an impaired driver.
First, he's not in the driver's seat...
Sometimes people get to the front...
Of donuts and pizza
And they're not sure
Which one should I choose?
If they're supposed to have a book.
No matter how far off track I get,
There isn't a policy for pecans.
We still get done early.
You can't stop the jets from flying.
The jury isn't attorneys.
Drive within the speed limits and
The jury is people.
Pay attention to your driving.
I found the book!
All right--class is over;
I'll see you on Thursday.
I thought we were going to have pizza.
I'll bring donuts...next time.
I was wondering...
How hard is it to steer
Your car if
You're
Not in the driver's seat...?
~Christa Elise Cannon.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
Godless Mornings
Trickle down my *******
The empty thoughts shrivel
Into a pulsating pyramid,
Blushing with ribbons of grief.
Dreams that others hear,
And I cannot see,
Spiral down towards
Shards of glass and the souls of feathers.
Bring me some thoughts
When you come back~
Thoughts of teepees
And of rain.
Bring me a cloud
To hold my tears
And place it on my wrist.
Do you not hear?
I'm asking to let go of this balloon.
Red...follows me.
Please leave--I want to see pinks.
Heavy laughter, dark and foreboding...
That doesn't sound pink.
I'm afraid in the dark...
My coiled dreams will send me to
Laughing Clowns,
Painted Smiles, and Crazed Eyes.
Move...just one finger...
The unknown entity of possession...
Breathe...Breathe...
Bushes in the background
And I pick Lollipops that are
Not Quite Ripe.
The roots are singing "Danny Boy"
And when they get to the
Snow-hushed valleys,
I am asleep
Entwined in their tentacles.
Angel's fish come to wake me...
Don't ask me how
Who's Angel?
I fly through the vents
Into your Room...
And there I shall ever Be,
A placenta protecting my Smile
The Terrible Twos never stop
What is that sound?
Wake up, Love.
I'd rather not--
It looks to be another
Godless Morning.
~christa elise cannon p------.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC
Piles of Shoes
Of Broken Glass
Of Torn Stars
And Cramped Hair
Stripes of Grey
And Heartless Wire
Rain of Ash
Puddles of Bone
Pool of Eyes
And Swimming Grace
Crumbs of Life
In Soup of Nausea
Odours of...
...What?
What...
What Never Happened...
Still...
There were
Piles of Shoes.
~christa elise cannon
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 8:25 PM UTC
Dedicated to Christa McAuliffe
New Hampshire School
teacher killed when the Challenger
Space Shuttle exploded 73 seconds
after takeoff 1986.( 25 years ago).
Christa, Christa, Christa
finally rode a
rocket ship
up to the sky
but why O why
did you have to die?
It made me cry
what are O rings?
Like Saturn's rings,
I do not know,
but I miss you so.
~
Jim Goulet
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
*december 10th 1982
1am*
sleepless in the the neurotic wastelands
she has fifty two cards
each has a face none of them are mine
but the jack of hearts is there and with her childbearing hips
they could pump out a couple of rug rats
start their own little civilization
here on the backwaters
she gives me a ride to the edge of the glades
and drops me off at a truckstop in the rain
december 10th 1982 4:22am
the salt of the earth diner on route 1
with the waitress chewing gum at the counter
staring off into the distant light of highrise miami
a sheen of sweat glistens on her deep tan
but its not as sticky or deep as her mind
thats wandering out in the Catskill mountains
looking for Johnny Appleseed
december 15th 1988 10:00am
doves take flight in the
soft white afterglow of day
with a stir of wings
and her tender lips let slip
of her longing for innermost peace
her eyes seeing nothing but
the golden glow of some distant day
some half remembered day
the time i wait for
summers sweet song
has been far too long
this is a winter world
december 15th 1993 1:00pm
leaning over the balcony rail
she shouts her smiles down
to the regular faces on the rows road
petticoats of fine linen
and her hair up
shes a sea of smiles
as they all shuffle in to see the show
Broken Bernie and his girl Christa
who snowbunnys down to the neon Florida sun
round this time of year
december 13th 1996 6:00pm
desperado's gather in the setting sun
hunger in their eyes
between the rock and hard place
and with a hard eyed thought they
move into the town
she pours him a cup of coffee
and lays a hand softly upon his shoulder
urging him to stay and leave such things
to lesser men
but he knows he must rise to the call
to do less would be treason to his nature
to do less would betray everything he has stood for
today, now
the words waiting on lips as i stumble out of sleep
make little sense at least to the waking mind
but the world makes little sense when fully awake
so this dream fragment hardy seems out of place
wearing a stove pipe hat chewing on a whales tail
and chatting with Abe Lincoln
my guess would be he wanted his hat back
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
“You can never go back,”
someone famous once said
and it’s true.
Wading out from the paddy field, I swim around
to view this piece of the past from the water.
But it has changed. Its name, its appearance.
Fifteen years on
and there is more, more of everything
but less of spirit.
Our memories stay frozen while the world
moves on.
I climb the steep stairs from the lake.
An old woman sits under a Carlsberg umbrella.
I feel foolish, but I have to know.
“Was this once called Christa’s?”
She cackles delightedly through her
betel-ravished gums
and in broken English I think she is
trying to tell me she is Christa.
I walk down the hill
past a stream of local “hello” purveyors,
but they blur behind
the gallery of faces mood-lit in my mind,
people who once meant so much
lost now in time and distance.
You can never go back.
You can only lift the lid of history.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:03 AM UTC
Silence
Deafening and
Destructive
The water begins to pour
The pitcher tips over
And down
There is a puddle on the floor
He looks at my offering with fury
Why does he turn rain into hurricanes?
Pissant.
He needs to learn how to swim.
~Christa E. Cannon
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
COME-ONS
wooing
dates
Dance Me to the End of Love
The full treatment.
impulse
IT'S A FORCE OF NATURE
find out for yourself
once you know the steps, it
starts to be fun
WHY HIDE?
how will i be paid?
It would mean the world to
ME.
bring on the boys.
~christa cannon.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
A poem for Christa
I miss you like a fish misses the sea
I need you like the Earth needs it’s trees
I hope to see you soon like the early morning light
I know this doesn’t make much sense
I guess I’m trying to say….
Christa come home.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 10:37 AM UTC