"cleats" poems
I Love The Feeling Of Dirt Frosting My Skin,
And My White Pants Staining From Muck,
I Pulled Out My Old Friends Today,
My Cleats, My Glove, And My Luck,
I Slipped On My Sliding Pants,
Ones I Haven't Worn For A Season,
The Hole On My Knee Matched It's Scar,
The One I Am Most Proud Of For Many Reasons,
I Just Had To Trace The Stitches Of My Ball,
The One I Missed All Winter,
I Am So Excited To Plow Myself Between Bases,
And Re-Awaken My Inner Sprinter
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
When winter's glaze is lifted from the greens,
And cups are freshly cut, and birdies sing,
Triumphantly the stifled golfer preens
In cleats and slacks once more, and checks his swing.
This year, he vows, his head will steady be,
His weight-shift smooth, his grip and stance ideal;
And so they are, until upon the tee
Befall the old contortions of the real.
So, too, the tennis-player, torpid from
Hibernal months of television sports,
Perfects his serve and feels his knees become
Sheer muscle in their unaccustomed shorts.
Right arm relaxed, the left controls the toss,
Which shall be high, so that the racket face
Shall at a certain angle sweep across
The floated sphere with gutty strings--an ace!
The mind's eye sees it all until upon
The courts of life the faulty way we played
In other summers rolls back with the sun.
Hope springs eternally, but spring hopes fade.
5.7k
It's the lights, the crowd,
the fight, the brave,
the proud.
The two a day practices in pads in the heat without a single cloud.
Its the lines, the grass, end zones, and the field.
The offense, the defense,
The sword and the shield.
The heart, the hard work, determination, the glory.
The present that will become your kids' bedtime stories.
The storm, the during.
The euphoria after,
The before with the fear, practices and learning.
The sacred flag you wear on that helmet,
It's your cleats, your pads, and the gloves.
The tackles, the picks, the runs, TD's and the hugs.
That air that you inhale and the h2O in your cup.
That feeling of pride, knowing you'll never give up.
Cause you came to do work, and get a taste of that winning heaven,
We'll see the conclusion,
Bring out your 11.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 12:07 AM UTC
Don't you know
My mop and glow
Is brighter than
A star over Mazatlán?
I'd be more than spittin'
While you're just there sittin'
This ain't just a game
Though it be the same
When they say don't hate
The player when you're just at the gate,
I fill all the stadium seats
And provide all the player's cleats,
Yeah, you get my drift
Like after hockey left to sift
For teeth and glory
Only half the story,
Through blood and ice
I don't just play and act nice,
I am red riding hood's wolf
Watch out or you'll get a hoof
On your forehead wear it proud
The only crown you'll wear in the crowd...
APAD13 015 - © okpoet
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 2:53 AM UTC
It's like a blind man leading a poor man
He sees the cliff coming but he doesn't mind
Grateful to have company on the way down
Thinks the cloud they'll fall through will be silver lined
It's like the teenager who just gave birth to a still born accident
It hurts real bad inside
But she's grateful that if she returns all the diapers everybody bought her
She might have enough money to buy a prom dress
Thinks the pain she feels will be silver lined
It's like the boyfriend of the young girl who just gave birth to the still born child
Grabs his cleats out the closet
Grateful he still has time to get a college scholarship
Dumped her over the phone
Said he didn't like the way her ***** *** whined
Thinks adding another drop to the bucket of pain he will never feel is silver lined
It's like a young man who works at a gas station
With dreams so big he'd have to run the world to accomplish them
Grows up, gets marrieds, gets settled, and settles
Knows the only way he'll make the TV is by beating his wife
Grateful that strangers know who he is
Thinks the jail time he's serving is silver lined
It's like the grown man who has everything the boy at the gas station ever wanted
Doesn't want it, wishes he could give it back, but can't
So he buys houses, clothes, and Cadillacs
Grateful to have enough
Thinks the silver lining on his silver Cadi is silver lined
It's like the overwhelmed twenty something year old who puts a lock on her own knife drawer
Too proud to get help
Grateful that she has a boyfriend willing to take the brunt
Of all the problems she can't see past
Thinks the inconvenience of the knife drawer is silver lined
It's like the boyfriend of the overwhelmed twenty something year old
Who takes the brunt of all the problems she can't see past
Grateful he has a key to the knife drawer
Thinks the blood on the floor will be enough
To show her there's more to the world than the problems she can't see past
Thinks his mama's heartache will be silver lined
It's like the staunch republican who got laid off last year
Now he's so broke he's on unemployment, food stamps, and TANF
Grateful the democrats were in control during the great depression
Still voted for John McCain
Thinks the bumper sticker on the back of his car is silver lined
It's like the young family started by a couple kids
Who insisted on having a couple of their own
Now they're too poor to afford but too rich for assistance
Begging their government to bail them out of something that nursery rhymes got them into
Grateful their truck didn't break down again this month
Thinking raising hungry babies is silver lined
It's like a poor man leading a blind man
Who knows the cliff is coming
Knows they're going over and doesn't really mind
Grateful to finally be in the company of someone just as blind as he is
Thinking the cloud they'll fall through is silver lined.
Aug 25, 2009
Aug 25, 2009 at 7:38 PM UTC
chihauhua with cheseburgers for feet
why do u have cheeseburgers for feet
i could get it some cleats
to put on ur feet meat
and so there will be cleats on ur feet meet
and then ill feed u some beats
so u dont have to eat ur delcious cheeseburgers for feet
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 9:16 PM UTC
"From every wound there is a scar, and every scar tells a story.
A story says, I survived." - Fr. Craig Scott
**... a tribute to a fallen brother ― R.I.P Les
... you were with me every step of the way to the top**
crampon cleats tickle her bedrock
far below the frosty powder dusting;
released from where her majestic peak
parted yester night’s obstinate clouds.
the alpine atmosphere
first chilled and then plummeted
as the starlight glistened;
illuminated ice crystals sparkle
like diamonds in the rough.
I am overwhelmed
by the peaceful aura
surrounding me.
watching how
"these"
footprints
mark the snow
...arousing
a lucid,
stirring awareness
of my existence;
...inciting
a conscious moment,
extraordinarily deepening
the realization of being.
harlon rivers ... May 24th, 2013
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
when i was just a little girl
mama said, "you're the prettiest girl in the world"
and at four years old, sitting with a mirror
i batted my big green eyes, and simply believed her
for this was just something that i'd always been told
it was a fact of the world that i was beautiful
six years old, with long, blonde curls
and mama said, "you're the prettiest girl in the world"
i remembered the phrase, but doubted her words
i had no front teeth, and a voice too soft to be heard
but it must've been true, 'cause mama's don't lie
but how could it be that the prettiest girl would be so shy?
eight years old, with a baseball cap on my head
"you're the prettiest girl in the world," mama said
i looked down at my soccer jersey and cleats
"if i'm so pretty how come i have such big feet?"
but mama didn't miss a beat, she was so smart
she said, "you're prettiness shines through your great big heart"
ten years old, with a notebook and a pencil full of lead
"you're the prettiest girl in the world," mama said
i barely heard the words, and decided i was fat
pretty girls like shopping, not books and baseball bats
and the pretty girls don't need to constantly be reading
because when you see a pretty boy, a pretty girl is leading
twelve years old, and wishing i was dead
"you're the prettiest girl in the world," mama said
i knew it was a lie, and i was severely ******
if i'm so pretty then what are all these ugly scars left on my wrist?
but i nodded to my mother, and told her that i knew
maybe i was dying, but i wouldn't bring mom down, too
fourteen years old, lying in my bed
"you're the prettiest girl in the world," mama said
i knew it was a lie, but i'd made my peace with that
i'd always be a little ugly, i'd always be a little fat
i didn't look like a model, but that was okay
i never would be pretty, but who cares, anyways?
now i'm fifteen, and i'm starting to be okay
"you're the prettiest girl in the world" is what mama will say
i know i'm not the prettiest, but more importantly, i'm kind
real beauty isn't in the face, real beauty's in the mind
i'm learning to accept the hand that i've been dealt
and i'm starting to heal my heart after all the pain i've felt
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
She remembers the day the stick turned blue, “wow for **** up the spout”
He remembers her smile when she told him. Smile, really?
Then there was telling her parents, “okay we'll make this work”
Then there was telling his parents, “You threw your scholarship away for this ***** you're a dumb ***
She remembers the morning sickness
He remembers the hangovers
She felt warm inside when he said it was her choice
He felt like dying when she said she was keeping it
She framed the first ultra sound photo
He deleted his Myspace page
She noticed the day she started showing
The same day he noticed the legs on the waitress
She was snickered at behind locker doors
He quit the team
Her mom brought home baby shoes
His mom circled the classifieds
She got peanut butter cravings
He got hand gun cravings
It's a girl
It's a girl
She remembers finally talking again after four months
He remembers being cornered after 3rd period
She wanted to pick names
He wanted to hang up
She remembers their second first date
He remembers how nice she was
This could really work please kiss me goodnight
We'll see how this goes please don't kiss me
The doctors say the shadow on the ultra sound could be nothing
What if the thing on the picture is something
She prays for the health of Amelia
He begs God to do something about this
They have such a bright future ahead
He had such a bright future ahead
She goes to Goodwill for maternity clothes
He rings her up at the cash register with a kiss
She remembers buying baby clothes at the mall
He remembers how cute the onesies were
She sees him smile
Amelia...good name
She's due next week
He packs his cleats to make room for the crib
She packs to move into his house
His dad packs for a motel
She's still craving peanut butter
He's still craving the waitress
She ate peanut butter
He ate the waitress
She's in labour
He's in traffic
Hold my hand
Ouch...Okay breathe honey...ouch
There's no crying
Nice, quiet baby
Amelia's dead
I'm not a father
She cries into her shirt
He leaves the hospital
She cries into the onesies
He returns the crib to Wal Mart
She burns the ultra sound photos
He grabs his cleats
She gets a hair cut
He quits his job
She returns the diapers and shower gifts
His new Myspace says “single”
She shops for a prom dress
The waitress finds out he's seventeen
Her mom hugs her as she falls asleep
His dad pats him on the back after wind sprints
She can't stop starring at him during prom
He wonders if she went to prom
She writes Amelia in bubble letters on a piece of paper she hangs on her wall a reminder of what's important
He buys a Costco pack of condoms and tacks one to the wall a reminder of what's important
Jan 4, 2010
Jan 4, 2010 at 10:17 AM UTC
2-29-16
With zoey on my mind
Dedicated to Zoey Maryann Lynn Sowers
She has his cheeks, his nose, his chin
Her hair and ears, she gets from him
We didn’t get to see your first lost tooth
We haven't got to see you shoot hoops
We weren't there for your first scraped knee
We didn’t see your first heartbreak
I know they are there, always by your side
Just wanted you to know, how much we love you
And no matter what our love for you can never die
My niece you are, my niece you''ll be,
From here until eternity. Perhaps that’s when
We will get to see all the beauty, love, and fun
Inside of you, believe, we did try, to be a part
When we stopped getting to see you it tore us all apart
Our hearts, yearn to see your beautiful smile
Our hearts, hurt to hear of you thinking you have a defeat
When I see your face, I glow inside, with pride
Knowing that you are my niece, and what a beautiful person you are
With time, and hope, and prayer perhaps, we will see you soon, in a little while
Wish we coulda see you all dressed up for soccer, with your cleats
Some day we hope we will be able to attend,
To see your face, one day as someone's lucky bride,
We hope that you will always know, somewhere in the deep
You are and always will my first beautiful niece, I will keep
The memories I had, the pictures to show, the bits
We got to witness, and be in your life.
I hear its by your choice, to not speak,
Or look at me. It hurts I wont lie
I'm your Aunt Hope, I always will be
I hope that I am someone you will come to see
as your start the larger part of your journey
This crazy world we live in no doubt, it will be rough
I know though, what you have in you, you are tough
I guess I have to accept that I will just be the one who sits,
Who waits to see if you will ever acknowledge me.
I want you to know that through all this strife.
I am your Aunt, and will be praying.
For you to come through the other side,
Much stronger, even greater, and be able to have pride
In who you are, in what you can be,
in all this world we live in, know in your mind,
Perhaps just in mine, you will always have me,
If you need a shoulder, if you need a friend.
I would forever be there, my love for you is not pretend
My niece, you are, my niece you will be.
And I will wait patiently, and if only , to be
Just a friend, that is fine by me.
For an afterthought, my dear. You are my first niece ZOEY!
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 12:28 AM UTC
It's been drilled in every poor man's head,
by a man only slightly less poor
"money cannot buy happiness."
But I disagree!
If you say that,
You have not watched your father scream at God at 7 in the morning,
questioning His existence,
as we get kicked out of
the second house that year.
I no longer find excitement
in new places.
You've never waited for the first of the month.
Every month.
In order to eat something other than spaghetti
and dollar store hot dogs.
You've never had your power shut off for an entire month
And watch as your family rips apart,
boiling water on the stove just to bathe.
Your parents owe everyone money.
You've never worked in order to buy your cleats, yearbooks, and school supplies.
Only to have your parents take that money, too.
You can send your vibes,
and tell me to think positive.
But the world is distorted!
Our lives are only better now because my family got jobs.
Before,
I watched a bulldozer
go through the house I grew up in,
as the bank sold our home
and built an auto-parts store over dirt
I used to ride my bike on.
The last pieces of my grandmother, crumbled.
My father stayed up every night
and slept through every holiday and birthday, since.
Is that happiness?
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 12:36 PM UTC
The doctors said he'd never walk
But today he scored a run
His cleats were kicking up the chalk
As he ran from base to base
Normally he gets out
Before he even makes first base
This time both teams gave a shout
When he crossed home plate
So pay no mind to what they say
When the doctors tell you never
Keep on trying and one day
You may prove them wrong
And if you don't at least you know
You gave your baby every chance
To live a normal life and grow
To experience everything.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
Evening cleats The Bay,
As cavalcades of passive argon, sulphur on
the ogham slicks,
to treacle ways toward the seeding
cooling of the hours,...
The sleights of crimson, fringe
the bruising cower of the West, to
brightly die behind the leathered hill.
From a wrist of tallowed amethyst,
a Tiercel purls a last ellipse, and in
his sinking helix ships, the Sommes
of curdled estuaries, to brood
the closing Mill....
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 1:11 PM UTC
Two minutes. Waiting.
My heart is ready to burst.
The lanes are naked, clean,
ready to be torn up by cleats
and sweat.
Hundreds of eyes blinking and
staring.
Chatter swarmed into a calm
storm underneath this dome.
Waiting is the hardest part.
The anticipation, building.
Struggling to breathe as I
strategize.
Faster here.
Ease up here.
Go for the ****
Take him.
A vision.
It’s almost time. Everything
is clenched. Find my control.
Don’t go out too fast, find your
stride. Tail the leader.
Wait for the moment.
Step up onto the lanes.
Red and white.
My teammates looking on.
The stakes digging into my
Stomach.
Step up to your blocks.
My heart beats faster.
I want to throw up.
This is it.
On your mark.
My ankles shiver.
Adrenaline at full throttle.
I can’t lose. I can’t lose. Go.
May 23, 2011
May 23, 2011 at 7:46 AM UTC
How many Someone’s lay planked on their waist and stare aimlessly at the candle’s flame?
Who of You is daring enough to close Your eyes and in space alone, simply drive- drive away?
The same Someone’s and Who’s-of-Who’s, on occasion holler at the moon with expectation of a bark back; or is God but a prestige to fools that We allow to wear Normal on Their crummy ******* name tags?
Sometime around Christmas there is a salivating peace, sifting downward on ordinary people, whom really don’t feel like being cold, you know?
This is me, rotting away on the carpet, a blanket’s blanky for the floor, just staring through the shutters on the vent below my brow; in the reality of it, I should probably schedule a spring cleaning…not for the vent folks.
You see- and I’m trying to be as casual as I can- I’m about to ******* pass out, you know what I’m saying?
This is that incredible moment where I’m the Bob Feller of dozing off, 9 innings of shut-eye talent, but at 2 or 3 in the morning…it looks as though I’m bringing in Mariano Rivera to close it out,
I can almost smell the scraps of mowed grass, kicking up from his cleats as he jogs closer to where home is; I never really find out if he makes it to the mound…
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
She who stands there, he who leads,
Are One to which my praises plead.
I ask of you such great forgiveness,
Your face shines bright, your image livid.
Grey spots upon the Holy Moon,
Form your bust, to it I croon,
I ask again; whisper, pray and plead,
Show me a sign from sacred steed!
I toot my Gudi, crash the Gong,
And cry for Cheon-A-Ma-Chong;
I play my series in metered eights,
in line with movements of the greats.
I plot their paths in sky you see?
Your eight movements,
Eight hooves in cleats!
You breathe out the fire of the Sun,
Head held high at night as one,
The Zodiac your wings as such,
And planets, the hooves, a final touch.
Fires issue from your mouth,
Burn up the sea-water in the south…
Heavenly I hear your roaring,
and the fullness of your glory,
Your starry eyes the flux of sea;
as you swim the depths and round the tree.
Whose skull we hooked once I reminisce,
Terrible creature from the Abyss;
Oh Horse my love, construct of mind,
and she who gallops for all time,
...measures for the heaven’s seat,
Sets placement of all deities,
To you I fall upon my knees,
Hippolytian by decree,
Take me!
-take me to your Cosmic Sea!
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
You’ve got to love the little old men,
The ones in the coffee shop from three till ten,
The ones who eat cheese and read the news,
The ones who seek the finest wines to choose.
Little old men with long lost cleats,
These are the little old men in the streets.
The little old men who walk around,
Quietly humming adding some sound,
The tock, tock, tock of their cane on stone,
The tick, tock tick of their life long worn,
The little old men who oft hand out treats,
Those are the little old men in the streets.
Some little old men hunched over from war,
Remain so from the packs they bore,
Their muscles and bones ten years have been sore,
But ask them now - what were you fighting for?
The little old man will regain some youth,
Say they were fighting for love,...- freedom and truth.
"But we were young" he'll say-., "My best friend was young and he died at my feet",
Those are the little old men in the street.
With finite wisdom and finite life,
These little old men once had a wife,
And no doubt plenty of children too,
In their day, two was too few.
But age you see, has had its way,
On that younger man of the day, ...
And the little old men in the streets can't stay.
One day you'll wake up and worryingly see,
No men in the shop, no men by the sea,
A stack of newspapers bundled up tight,
And little old men nowhere in sight.
Till one day walking in the fields you find,
No tombstone, no flowers but a burial mound,
And that little old man in the streets’bin found.
Jul 31, 2011
Jul 31, 2011 at 12:43 AM UTC
A five kilometer race
Get a good pace for that
Fun run
Don't get the runs
The runs are not fun
Hon
High school puns
Running in front
Of a train
Isn't worth chewing gum
Dumb
Come on, come
That's ***** stuff
But it sure is fun
Jump the gun
I'm not ready
You're the one.
So run
Away with me
We can climb some tree
Hide up there
Breathe fresh air
Wind in your hair
Take this dare
I dare you
I dare you
Let's climb higher
Go on, faster
Don't bring your books...
No ***** looks!
You've got me hooked
We aren't stopping
No time to read
Knit a thneed
Play with a reed
Pipe
Too much hype
I don't Skype
It's laggy
Baggy
Sweats are sweet
Ripped by cleats
Tasty meat
Cook it
Boil it
Don't let it spoil it
Hit it with a rod
Cod
Isn't a game, it's a fish
I wish
You and I
Forever, we could fly
Away from these things
Dust in our eyes
Remove your disguise
Your mask
Take it off
Anything else is okay too
You
And I
Let's run.
It'll be fun!
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 10:43 AM UTC
I
Winter's fog swirling,
settling gently on the peak.
Should I,
or should I not charge the beast?
Oh, but to climb,
that serpentine road
through this thick mystical Merlinesque brume.
II
I abandon all reasoning
and don my armor
to do battle with the slithering Wyvern,
"The Pinnacle".
My silver Steed awaits me.
And in almost Ninja attire,
helmet placed,
cleats clicked and locked into pedals,
I am one with my ride.
III
Mist now's upon me.
Mist and bone cold.
I trek upward to the proving ground.
Drifting,
as always, into a trance,
a meditation,
ignoring pain as a pugilist.
Shut up legs, I say.
Shut up and give me one more day.
Prompt me not
that I am the aged Warrior,
for with every cadence I am reminded
of my fleeting days.
IV
I crawl upon the spine of the dragon,
out of my saddle and with the fullness of might,
break loose from the fetters of the mundane,
habitual world below these clouds.
V
Mist to rain,
rain to ice.
Diamond hard shards of sleet
bounce off my helmet,
peppering this snaking path towards heaven.
Crystalline obstacles
to navigate on my surly descent.
VI
I have owned this battle before you know?
Many times past.
But like a moment,
it can't be possessed.
Still this right of passage I must pursue
over and over and over
til I am no more
and my steed has been pawned.
VII
So quiet now
high above the clouds,
so alone,
so away from the world.
What solace.
Oh, to die here.
To fall and lay, looking up at these leafless trees,
on this gray Winter's day.
And to witness my last peacefilled thought.
VIII
But not today.
No, not today
for I am near the precipice.
I step up the pace and route the enemy
and laugh in deaths face.
One more stroke, and I gut the beast.
One more turn and I am exultant.
Oh Rapture,
Oh Felicity.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
[Click]
“Yo yo yo, welcome back to the Def Poetry Slam. Comin’ up on da stage next we got two favorites who certainly ain’t a favorite of each other… na mean, na mean? They’re both hear reppin’ the London, so give a big round for ‘Lord Bye-Bye, and Johnny Cleats’…
Yeah, yeah. You guys know the rules… get to it. Bye-Bye, you’re startin’”
He walks in Beauty, like the dawn
whose bright and crimson sun alights
So all of those around him fawn
and follow him into the night
Now I know why my friend Trelawn
does envy him with all his might
Oh no, I, am so sorry,
My mind has come to function
all of this, you see, is me
And while he’s got some gumption
aesthetic he, but hungry, Keats
only talent for consumption
“Ohhhhh! No he didn’t, no he di-in’t! Yo Cleats, get some traction on this and tear him away.”
Standing aloof in giant ignorance,
staring down from atop an ivory stool
Your title, then, will keep them in your dance
and little else, you shallow-swimming fool
You see, My Lord, and that is all you pageant
as simple work as that does a flask
My words, instead, are all that I imagine
Of that, My Lord, mine is the hardest task
*“Ohhh… well Round One’s gotta go to Bye-Bye, the audience has chosen, but… John? Johnny Boy? Hello? Where lies you, English Poet?… Can it be?… Can it be?… Ladies and Gentlemen… I think we have our first official **** in the ring. Must’ve been something we said. I guess it’s over. Bye-Bye… you got anything to say on your victory?”*
So, we’ll go no more a roving
as our battle was cut short
Just as I thought you would be atoning
for your lack of literary tort
I’m classically trained, John Dear
and a weakness of the meek:
It’s that you have a deathly fear
and cannot survive critique
“That’s kinda cold, dude. You and I both kno–”
[Click]
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 6:11 PM UTC
wednesday
the squeaky-shoed boy day
the extremely annoyed day
the ice cold void day.
the boy who's all teeth
smiles with the girl in the cleats
drowning in bicuspids
telling her how he 'roughed it'.
sneakers scuffing
hair fluffing
smoke puffing.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
The 4th of July.
Every American is supposed to be full of pride.
But I'm not, and do you wanna know why?
We're not really free
We've got people laying on the streets
And only caring about our treats and cleats.
Half of the people I know can't get married
And people who are alive are being buried.
Yes, it is the day we won our independence
But I'm afraid that we lost that a long time ago.
Freedom is the day when my best friend can walk down the aisle
Freedom is when we can choose our lifestyle.
People are so blind calling this country free
If we are free,
Then why aren't we allowed to be who we want to be?
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
I water the cabbages
the dog runs about mad
as I walk back and forth to the blue barrels
filling Gran’s grey watering can.
In college I learnt how to depreciate …
I wouldn’t dare do such a thing.
The caterpillars squatting on the cabbages coil
as the water rains down upon them,
followed by my thumb.
(I keep meaning to write that poem.)
19th of June; 9:45pm —
I have one more job to do
and I will do it practising a few reels.
My fingers do not need my eyes
so make myself a ****** be
in the woods where they can’t see me —
the snakes.
Years and years and years
of cleats traversing the field below
have to left pairs of ungelating snakes
slithering towards the four gates in the field.
Soon I pan to install a 5th
and this worries me,
never having hung one before; plus
what if the snakes bite me. Or worse
I succeed.
For now I fret, leering towards the bull,
I want to see him *** —
#414, she’s still not in calf.
If she repeats again, it’s goodbye for him.
But the ****** just grazing. Swishing at flies,
periodically ****** and poops.
Is my playing distracting him?
I suppose … we’re all entitled
to a night off.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 2:06 AM UTC