"cougars" poems
Everyday I'm falling deeper
I stalk you like a creeper, creeper
Nothing can keep me away
EnderMen better stay away
I'll travel to the Nether for you
I'd **** the EnderDragon for you
I started with 10 hearts to spare
But now I couldn't really care
The only heart that's really crucial
Is the one I give to you
I've traveled deserts, plains, and seas
Fought cougars, Ghasts, and rotting zombies
I've looted desert temples and villiages
I am nothing but a pillagar
I'll love you until I'm very old
But its as hard to find you as a stronghold
I started with 10 hunger to spare
But now I couldn't really care
If you're hungry, I know what I'd do
I'd give all my food to you
Because I love you (Minecraft)
I really do
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 1:20 PM UTC
"Do you know who the prime minister of Canada is?"
"Hmmm isn't it Tim Horton?"
Sweating, shivering, and shoveling snow,
Looking up with relief as the flakes begin to slow.
Starting our mornings with pancakes drizzled in gooey sweet syrup
And greasy, cheesy, poutine being our last meal we eat up.
We hike up a green lush mountain just to see the view
And shoot down the slopes of silvery snow and feel as if we flew.
The rascally beavers are our vandals, the loons are our song,
The cougars reminding us that we are strong.
We are Canadian, eh?
But would we really want it any other way?
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 2:17 PM UTC
The cocktail dress split hope down the screen
Letting that reoccurring dream compel me
Into memories of you
The clink of my cup
Shattered sobriety with the pain of daybreak
The ice looks like crystal but only something that will disappear and overflow your glass is standing at attention
The bar stool cracked, empty and the faux leather ripped, and torn
Cougars and MILFs strut down the bar top
Scanning tonight’s bachelors
I sit behind, for my dress is long and flannel
Heavy, hot making me sweat and stink
I run faster than a cheetah in my mind
Tearing doors and bridges apart
Speeding towards the sunrise
Attempting for the *** of gold
The cocktail drips from the table on to the floor
A puddle I will eventually slip from
Hair in my face
My ankle sundress reaped with alcohol
I stand up, look around
Towel?
But all I see is you
Walking back slowly retreating to the door
Leaving me to deal and regret the decisions
I so poorly execute
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 5:29 PM UTC
The night was over
The band was done
Time to hit the lights
Another Friday
In the books
And we only had two fights
One busted speaker
A broken chair
A proposal killed at ten
Time to close
And shut it down
Until we start again
Ashtrays full of hopes and dreams
Burned away with no success
Half filled bottles and empty glasses
Just signs of more excess
Time to clean away the night
And sweep away unanswered prayers
Wash the lipstick from where it stayed
And clean up the nights layers
Another morning
after another night
of at least ten broken hearts
where remnants of
scattered hopes
were dead before their start
An empty shell
hopelessness...tempting
once more..'have a try
where once the band
is finished up
you can all go home and cry
Ashtrays full of hopes and dreams
Burned away with no success
Half filled bottles and empty glasses
Just signs of more excess
Time to clean away the night
And sweep away unanswered prayers
Wash the lipstick from where it stayed
And clean up the nights layers
Each day starts fresh
Last night is gone
Nothing ever lasts
The beer is cold
The bar is warm
Last night is in the past
Regulars arriving
Band is tuning
The staff is in position
Fake Id's
abound tonight
with cougars on a mission
Ashtrays full of hopes and dreams
Burned away with no success
Half filled bottles and empty glasses
Just signs of more excess
Time to clean away the night
And sweep away unanswered prayers
Wash the lipstick from where it stayed
And clean up the nights layers
Ashtrays full of hopes and dreams
Burned away with no success
Half filled bottles and empty glasses
Just signs of more excess
Time to clean away the night
And sweep away unanswered prayers
Wash the lipstick from where it stayed
And clean up the nights layers
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
Against the perimeter of my childhood backyard
cluttered rows of privet hedges produced
tiny ruby berries, easily crushed if stepped on.
They always fell from the branches
in the slightest trail of wind.
Cougars prowled my playground.
My parents, hesitant to let me out alone,
planted the bushes
in the hopes the cougars would
eat the Ligustrum ovalifolium and never return.
I knew the berries were toxic
and could make me ***** more than what I consumed,
a time bomb in my stomach.
Mother said the poison could make
me shiver harder than a winter day.
When, once, I raised a berry to my lips
Mother plunged forward
and slapped it out of my fingers,
a strange mixture of anger and concern in her eyes.
I was never to pick one again.
I didn’t understand the problem
until I saw two cougars laying behind a privet—
a mama and her cub
no longer breathing in sync.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
If older women seeking youthful men are cougars according to some.
Then older men are hunters seeking youthful women to energize them.
Which isn't to be confused with a predator.
One seeking physical emotional comfort.
While the other seeking intimate needs before taking ******
You know the little blue pill that males of age brags upon.
The man like a lion seeking his next meal.
Notice the money many older males uses to attract them.
Buying them gifts of various kinds to please them.
But the cougar seekers that want male candy upon their arm.
Fall for many with endurance to satisfy them.
Bringing out that late nature of desires that been held back for many years.
Strange to say, many of us probably know people like them.
Who we could name in a moment notice?
The Hunter.
The Cougar.
Really, there's no differences between them.
They both seeking various things to keep them pleased.
The Cougar.
The Hunter.
Who only searching for thrills?
While we go only just a judging them.
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
I love my ladies in all kinds
But **** why must cougars blow my mind
I done seen alot of hot young girls and boy there fine
But as im looking at this cougar i rather have mine
Shoot i ll baptist myself in your water if that have me saved
A been a bad boy you can whip me till i behave
**** these cougar ladies is definrtly some to crave
And as a bonus you can use me as your personal *** slave
When im bad you can put it in my mouth
I mean force me till i swollow every bit
For my reward i get to **** but thats not it
As a women i know guys put you in alot of mess
So let my hands do all the talking they ll surely relive your stress
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 12:03 PM UTC
If Wishes were for fishes
All my dreams would come true
Thankfully I am fish, I know my sign
I know how to make my dream be the rewarding kind
I have dreamed
I swam upriver
I am here at the top of the United States
I am ready to plant my feet
Just about where the USA and Canada meet
I found my home, my ranch, my dream
Now let me move and fuffill my lifes' greatest dreams
The yards have gardens apples and pears
There is the sound of cows everywhere!
Miles surround us of land that we have rights to
At night the sky full of stars the only lights to look up to
Cougars and bears will be seen
But we are country women, we are keen
Montana born, country mean
Don't ya'all worry
I got this shit..all I need now is a riffle, an ax
and maybe a 4 wheeler machine ; )
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
I enjoy the word "sweet," it accurately describes the succulence of your lower lip
I wish to ****
and bite, and bruise.
"Hard" is your body, lean and tough
and assumedly rough
intense
passionate, all those lovely sensual adjectives that cheesy soft-erotica novellas
(that I "don't read")
use to describe a Man on a horse,
or in a fireman's coat, covered in soot,
saving kitties and pleasing cougars.
You are quite the male that I crave,
absolute perfection in human form that tempts and tortures my guilty thoughts and heaving breaths
so that I feel like one of those helpless heroines who swoon over a sensitive, wounded man.
But God do I want to inflict wounds on you, and lick them clean.
You have been a bad boy;
go to my room.
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 6:09 PM UTC
I f l e w too close to the sun
And fell too close to the stars
I cried the tears of the moon
As I felt the loneliness of asteroids.
I hugged the never touching trees
And kissed the lonely roses
And b r e a t h e d the air for the dying grass
And sat in the laps of the evergreen vines of ivy.
I ran with the wolves
To forget the malice feeling of the cougars
And s a n g the song of freedom with the hawks
As I let the rabbits comfort me.
I walked with the preoccupied humans
As I stared at the nervous buildings
And hugged the crying street light
Then let the cold air b i t e me
I sat a l o n e in my empty room
With the joyfully stained razor blade
And with the vain and well woven noose
Jumping off the chair as I choose.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 9:21 AM UTC
Don't come round here flirtin'
If you haven't got the game
If you can't deliver
I don't want to know your name
Sending drinks and cutesy smiles
Don't go too far round here
You'd better send at least two shots
And at least a jug of beer
You'd better bring your "A" game buddy
Cause sometimes it gets bloody
Don't leave your "A" game on the shelf
Cause you'll go home all by yourself
You'd better give as well as get
Now you're in the south
Our cougars here aren't like those up north
Our girls ...they give good mouth
They've heard it all a million times
Don't come with a cheap line
They don't drink things with flowers in
And they don't drink cheap boxed wine
You'd better bring your "A" game buddy
Cause sometimes it gets ******
Don't leave your "A" game on the shelf
Cause you'll go home all by yourself
They're barracudas in this bar
They've got teeth, and they will use 'em
So, buddy you'd best be on your game
Or you won't go home a twosome
Our women here get treated special
And son, they're mighty proud
Look at someone elses woman
And they get mighty loud
You'd better bring your "A" game buddy
Cause sometimes it gets bloody
Don't leave your "A" game on the shelf
Cause you'll go home all by yourself
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC
The band plays loudly
Well dressed rhinos and cougars
Pose and line up for action
I catch your eye and exit
You follow me and escape
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 11:41 PM UTC
Up north
The ravens are well-fed
Proud and bossy
Tail feathers two feet long.
Up north
The cougars are muscled
Prowling through yards
House cats go missing
Up north
The game grow bigger
Towering, stoic
Against beasts larger still.
Up north
The people are farther
I finally feel
That I'm plausible prey.
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 8:32 PM UTC
The weekend revellers
hand over a half-hour of toil,
of eros, of prayers in cash,
of dizzy heights, life lived
and to be lived again
as I hand over their bottled beer,
their ice and *****
their poster boy of good times
and the erasure of all day
spent watching the wheels.
Spent watching the clock
wind its endless route
to freedom.
Legs cramp,
eyes blur to focus,
and cash moves dirtied hands,
one to the other, to the other
and back again.
Back again to the dancefloor,
to the gape of sweaty arms
flailing in catharsis,
in sweet memories
of playground kisses and
lunchtime riots.
We play sweet imitation
of black-man-blues
and toast the new day
as it comes 'round the corner,
steamrollers through
into Sundays spent
with cigarette ends and
heads in buckets.
This, my origin of misery,
their open-doored appearance
to substantial existence,
to footprints of two-time
than carbon.
To commutes of whiskey sour
and wine dry,
car left in park at home,
whilst the taxis
pick up the slack.
Poisoned in the promise
of forever-youth,
the cougars cover
the same old ground,
the same old ground
every week.
I spot them in the corners,
by the doors,
in the cloakroom
and in the fire of backway passages;
the closest hope to
human touch
they'd ever dare to dream.
And the shot girls.
The shot girls kick water
in a sea of salted men,
football hooligan,
semi-political lyncher
and the neck-tattooed reality hero
who crawled in from
some bar or other,
to condemn losses with shouts
of ***** of ***** of please.
“Please, just once,
afford me a want in life”,
comes the mating call
of lads and businessmen alike,
as young female flesh passes by
their lives,
like some unfulfilled match,
kicking up sparks
but refusing to flame.
Each day I wonder
why dread exists. Why I
cling to the bedsheets,
why stories are poured
and glasses written,
why I settle for anti-living
and artificial light,
why woman is singular
and drinks are solo;
whilst all life passes by
in the excruciating hours
spent stood behind
the beer taps,
behind the barrier
that separates me
from them.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 11:59 AM UTC
I thought I’d visit the place we met
Drenched in neon, old regrets
As cougars stalk the noisesome streets
Roll out, angry sheep, sorrowful bleats
The bogan cries out to the moon
The hunchback hipsters sing of doom
The fancy dressed and terminally blessed
The puddles reflect an endless stream
Of broken hearts and wilted dreams
And the neon lights buzz proudly
Our gods, our morning stars, so loudly
Call to us like lanterns on the bows
of a thousand lost ships and broken vows
I saw you once within the sea of skin
Handsome, strong, but deep within
I knew I’d known you all my lives
As brother, lover, husband, wife
And now the caribou part their ways
To **** and fight and live their days
or perhaps to slumber, to retire
Yet I stand alone and admire
The post that held you, my darling one
Lover, absentee saint, my sun
I stare at the corner and I weep
For love itself must also sleep
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
Will be leaving soon for Orlando,
Away from the cold in Ontario.
Will I return?
I really don't know.
A wacko may secretly board my plane;
A radicalized lunatic far from sane.
Or Canada geese, heading south,
Might take our fuelled jet engines out.
Some random lightning shot from the sky
Lights up our cockpit,
And the pilots die.
The landing gear is up and stuck...
“I don't think I drank enough!”
There's mad rage on the road
Between
Orlando and St. Augustine.
There’s snub-nosed guns in too many bags,
And the pubs are teeming with cougars and *****
The Matanzas flows with gators and sharks,
I'll make note of this as my kyak embarks.
A drunken driver could do the job;
Or I get hospitalized
From being robbed.
An Early Bird bone might make me choke,
Or an errant golf ball holes out in my throat.
Perhaps nothing happens, I’m too suspect
Of the possible perils from my Florida trek.
Is it worth the risks. I’ll let you know,
When I get back to the warmth of Ontario.
Jan 11, 2025
Jan 11, 2025 at 12:03 PM UTC
My friend Greg is musically talented, a singer-like R-Kelly, and because of that he acts like a dog, around women. Who stand by fire hydrants. He plays with his instrument in front of people on the street. And sometimes, the piano too. When Greg plays, he always wears huge sunglasses. That’s because he wants to impersonate Ray Charles. Plus, it’s cheaper than doing ****** Although, he does make a lot of money and he wants to start a band. Band-Aid company. But on a serious note, Greg teaches lessons to his students. They have tiny fingers, so it’s hard for them to reach the keys. But that’s okay because they’re in his pockets. As a musician, he dresses in black clothing. Excuse me, he dresses in African-American clothing. Before shows at open mics, in front of the audience, Greg sometimes throws up. Gang signs. In all honesty, Greg gives a great performance on stage. He just pretends the audience is naked. And then he gives them five and half minutes. As his friend, before he stepped onto the stage, I told him, “break a leg.” He tells me, thank you for pushing me so hard. As he hops around on crutches. Greg’s really good playing the piano, but the audience always gives him a slow clap. But that’s what happens when you play for retards. He considers himself a feminist womanizer. He sleeps with a lot of women. But don’t worry, he always asks for consent, before he roofies your drink. I know this from experience. He’s a good friend though. Once, I was dancing with a girl and I slipped and fell to the floor. Greg rushed over to me and stuck out his hand And I was so grateful for his friendship, until he grabbed the girl’s *** But you can’t blame him, it was really dark in there, how was he supposed to know that was his sister. Greg loves Shanghai Noon. He’s a huge fan of Owen Wilson. And me. Greg thinks all Asian people look the same. When he saw the Walking Dead Season premiere, he sent a flower-basket to my parents. Greg is so charming. Like the toilet paper. His favorite sport’s team is the Chicago Cubs, his favorite women are the Chicago Cougars.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 12:45 AM UTC
Oak trees, Pine trees, Cottonwoods, and Birch
Upon these trees,
birds love to perch
Birds come in all
sizes and colors
Birds calling and chirping
with all the others
Squirrels, Rabbits,
Chipmunks, and Foxes
Scatter the grounds, burrow into holes, and sometimes boxes
Winter, Spring,
Summer, and Fall
They gather thier goodies,
to survive them all
Deer, Moose, Antelope, and Elk
Wander through fields,
woods, and corn silk
Grazing on whatever
nutrition they can find
All hunkering down in these times with thier own kind
Bears, Bobcats,
Cougars, and Wolves
Hibernation, catch prey, climb and attack, the
beautiful, wild dog packs
in droves
Deep dark caves, burrowed holes in the ground,
to wandering forests, and
great big meadows
All these predators seem to come from the shadows
Waves of lavender fields of dreams, like river beds of sand
Fields of flaxen, golden grass waiving with God's hand
Daisies, Buttercups,
Rose's, and Daffodils
Just smell thier sweet scents rise into the hills
Dreams are Wishes,
Wishes are dreams
Wildlife are the makings of everything in between
Flowers are the fragrance of life
The blue skies and
white fluffs of clouds
Take away all the strife...
Oct 6, 2024
Oct 6, 2024 at 1:30 AM UTC
I’m searching for an answer.
Surrounded by monogamists I crawl and weep,
Surrounded by dogmatists I hunger.
I’m searching for a key to unlock the doors of profanity.
I don’t want to hear something about the seasons,
Or anything about ethics.
No more flowers,
Away with the aesthetic of yore.
Give me the affairs, the filth, secret lives.
Give me the runaways, the elderly, the jokesters.
Give me the casanovas and cougars.
I search this rotten boulevard and t
All night, all night, even during the day..
I’m on the search..
I’m looking for a key to unlock the doors of profanity.
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 10:09 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
****** like my insides,
My stomach hurt,
Hanging down where I reside,
Only for what its worth,
Or maybe cause I'm standing right next to them,
And the demons fight the masses,
12:00 when they came out to play,
But dreamt of Requiem,
Can't be too careful with these things,
Finding a different purpose for these things,
And even when you think you can control these things,
I don't think you could get enough of these things,
These things,
That make you go,
Insane,
And walk into a party full of cougars,
Or go back in time,
Only to stop them from shooting matin Luther.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 12:56 AM UTC
"I, frequently, find myself ponder-
ing: what it is other people are wonder-
ing, or if they have began wander-
ing from their, once, true path in life,"
he laughed, while taking a bath,
down by the Boulder.
"&: when, precisely, did it happen?!
Yes! It is true that I have spent
many, magnificent, moons squander-
ing the wealth of my place in this space..
I consume certain substances that others
find distasteful. Yet: within the maunder-
ing, I find a very subtle peace; know-
ing that we will all, inevitably, be go-
ing to find solace in the final slumber.
Nothing we do is flawless.
-
Maybe once we're all gone:
may the 'livestock, produce, and lumber'
florish, fully, once again."
he was bowed next to the Boulder,
coughing on a cigarette of cannabis,
when he caught the crouched cougars eye.
As the joint, jittery, smolder -ed,
his mind was left in blurred bliss.
Just then: began to fly, forward -
the chiseled cougar.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
*** grabs here
Gay men there
Cougars over there
Its not just one way
Its a two way street
We could both avoid
Its never fun when the same *** grabs your ***
Try's to comb your hair
Gets in your face
Begs for a kiss
Take a man sized slap
Four times while I was talking to you
Hung up when **** was getting out of control
Yeah you dont remember that do you
Of course not
Why would you
Cougars with deeper voices than me
Saggy **** and asphyxiating perfume
You got creepy dudes
But I dont see you dealing with lesbians
Its a two way street
So before you tell me I dont or wouldn't understand
Know I'm not the average guy
I make it a mission to understand
But I'm the *******
Because you can't explain how you feel
When the opportunity arises
But dont expect an apology now
Me and you are done
So dont forget your excuse
That you don't know how to talk about your feelings
Or how to express them because you showed anger
Pretty ******* well
Its never just one way
But with you
Its always construction in the other lane
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 3:56 AM UTC
I wish the constant validation
You crave, would be taken
From the one, u think as none
Like me instead of someone makin
You falsely validate the insecurities
That plague u inside
Wanting Ethics to abide, but like
name brand clothing provides
A shelter, you cannot hide
From yourself, when you see who
You've become, who's compromised,
But tries being anyone but you
When the you. is what is true
When I say I love u, I do
Beyond infatuation from landscapin, your **** body, but the you
Who even though knows truth
Of who you are doesn't come from
Validation, she's still cravin, the attention, and needing someone
To make her feel special, even
If it's temporary and then
That's when I'm important again
Who u friend zone cuz in the end
U already had em but when
The challenge craved shows you
The real value lies in the guys who loves u even after they know you
Are a narcissistic mind ****
A playin hard to get expert
But how long before your thongs a throw back like the thong song when heard
By the youth, but outdated,
Is never insecurity or hatred
That's why 45 year old Cougars
Still need to be validated
And then I wouldn't look faded
Or as "settling" does cuz jaded
By a strangers lust, makes me value
What's worthless, but I can't hate it
When thinking about u over taken
By raging hormonal lust
I'd never get jealous like most but
Enjoy the organic rush
But still u hold back on us
I know I'm not what's expected
Doctor, lawyer, executive
But who you are I've accepted
And loved even the things most
Who find hard to love if they knew
The real u, that I know about,
The superficial girl that'll refuse
Being called that or seem shallow
So in poetics she hides
The real person that divides
The class she wants and the lies
That determine who's compromised
And who will stop and see
That constant validation from strangers means more from me
I'm not saying not to be
The ***** girl u are, cuz to me
What u do, makes me more into
You when most wouldn't like if he
Was to get involved with u,
And so I ask. A real hard question
Who really knows u,ur imperfections
And sees attributes that lets them
Know who u really are&accepts; them
Instead of those u let in
That never even knows ur shoe size
Is 9 or that u get in
****** moods, so cold that sweatin
From the fire you give off
Is what comes with a territory Lost
In sanity when it's crossed
By the emotion u toss
And hope it lands somewhere nice
So your loves an std that u can
Only hope for twice
Like siphilous tasted like liquorice
That's what u are and taste like
I know that and still love u, so love
Me like that, and I'm loyal for life
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 5:44 AM UTC
From the incrimination of the whole
they gave us a paved road to nowhere
the Victorian homeless cougars
have only recently found their hearts
(undoubtedly to the honkys)
and who escaped
for the sky
was not alive
or sopping
or green
this miserable workplace
over the edge
for butcher's lines
~was not raven black
the spoons
or forerunners
(from dazzling peninsulas)
left alone
off the center
of the parking lot
the real city
of buggy stalled wanderings
~was not flesh stained
off the front of
private beaches
stood resplendent bottoms
sprung off low ebbs
for the dark world
and our fathomless silences
trumpets and banjoes
and electric mandolins
are thrown from the solitude
ear studs
and obscurity
out of the footsteps of
spontaneous supporters
the vital blood arrayed
without moonless stasis
and desert buckets
woodlands unkempt
against the mountain run
halted plains straightened
after the catch
***** martinis
and stiff bowlers
valley the single marcher
shetlands
and peasants
see clear to the horizon
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 9:56 PM UTC
We stopped to eat at a McDonald’s after —
I’m sure the counter-girl could smell
the plastic-clean of stitches and nurses’ gloves
and medication hanging over him
while we ordered fries and burgers to fill
our guts before we made the long drive home.
And when we found a seat I thought that things
were fine. We sat there talking about the family,
until he spilled his drink and lost his ****
real bad this time, and he stood and said:
“I was alive when Carpenter’s was still
the biggest bus maker around — your grandpa
lived in Tunnelton and drove to work
across the cliff to crank them out. He smelled
like oil and the dusty river all the time,
and he used to never let your mother out
at night, because he thought that cougars
were thick around his farm. You bring her back
before the frogs are calling, he’d say, you bring her
back before the cats get at her face —
my daughter there’s worth more than your life —
she’s a queen and that’s a real queen’s face.”
He paused to **** a piece of ice and smiled,
and then he looked at all the busy people
bent up over their plastic dinner trays
looking at him, and he bit the ice and laughed.
“I never saw a cat like that. It was
the cliff that got her, and he should have watched
the river, driving by it all the time
the way he did to go and build those buses —
lots of things were rusting in the river,
and I guess the busses rusted, too. I didn’t see
a killer cat around the farm, but I saw
a thing or two that’s worse. I saw the light
they lit over her grave — you were too young
but you saw it, too: a propane thing we filled
together. You can’t buy one like that today —
today it’s all electric and plastic stakes,
and you never have to see the grave again
after you’ve planted one of those solar lights.
It stays for good. Those lamps outlast their names —
as long as the sun remembers to pay respects.
But I remember liting the little flame.
I remember how your grandpa’s face
lit up like a ghost’s, and I could see the scar
something large carved in his cheek one night
when he was hunting raccoons by the riverbank
out near the mouth of the Tunnel. It’s all
gone now — even the river’s lost the way
it used to smell like pines from on up north,
and only ghosts walk through the Tunnel — gone.
All of it. All gone. I guess he should have watched
the cliff, because it’s all gone now. All of it.
Even the buses rusted away, and there’s
no flame to mark the ghosts that’s left to stay —
all we’ve got are lights that last forever.”
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 9:10 AM UTC