I'm talking to her
About all the things
Like it's all brand new fur,
Freshly squeezed juice
Of yesterday,
Learning how to play
Again; add a new bruise,
What tomorrow brings
Is old expectations,
But I'm still anxious
Looking at the door
Not even 59 past 4
Somehow time has become
All the more precious,
Looking forward to coming home,
Giddy like a little gnome,
Muffled greeting
Playing dumb,
Please repeat again
Making sure it isn't hallucinations,
I suppress the joy bleating
From within, no gloat
Most grateful am I then
Like an Eskimo
With a brand new coat,
If only the world could know...
© okpoet

What has nature come to?
This weather can't be true.
Don't you realize this is affected,
Mother nature is disconnected.
Where are the flowers?
When will it shower?
This very weather,
Deluded as a gnome,
This disgraceful feeling,
I would never call home.

Often, perfection is a reflection
And you are looking into a mirror
You might need to see clearer
To realize you are staring
At a glaring projection of you
And not someone in front of you.
Now you have something to do.
You get to see if illusion
Causes so much confusion
You don’t know who is who
And who is they and who is you.
Sometimes, it’s not fun to do
Because new doesn’t always mean
Best, or wonderful or fun.

It reminds of the a certain elf
Who fell in love with himself
But he was looking in a mirror.
A lady elf called to him, but
He couldn’t hear her.
He was listening to poetry
Of love and praise of beauty
And felt it was his duty
To listen in total rapture
Not realizing he was captured
By the words he heard.
He felt he had no choice.
But it was his own voice.
He was listening to himself.
Silly elf.

So, if you work in Santa’s home
And look rather like a gnome
You might be excused
When you get accused
Of falling for your reflection.
This is just a suggestion,
But it seems it never misses,
Just remember old Narcissus
And don’t follow this whim.
Don’t be like him and the lake
Loving this reflection so thoroughly
You lose touch with reality
And make a conscious decision
To fall for a warped vision.

why and how should you know?

behind beneath in between the teeth

my fingerprint whorls and whirls

under other's names and
my secret identities

a word a phrase a hatchet a blade a
pruning knife,
a confession of confusion,
relieved by my cutting saves.

my stamp secreted my ***** implanted

my style unseen yet bidden,
my name hidden, my children born
but still is my heart,
like the parent that
has given up the child.

but you love my
screamed and un screamed, and my undoing of
the doing you not see me named

nature in paces and means
admit pleasure at my scrivinings
there but for the grace of whom

but to me

for am I but the
editor
o'er my bones that
*nobody knows
nobody sees,
nobody knows,
but me^

you tread,

crunching my invisibility
to smoke and smithereens,
the pimple on the poem
lifeless turned luscious,
yet, gnome gone the next day

No. You’re doing it all wrong. This is not how it’s done.

Why would you even… forget it, I’ll just have to show you.

Listen. When you look up into the sky, those aren’t clouds that you see. Who told you that? See that one, the one that’s a little puffy in the center and has a long end. Yes. That’s a whale. And the one next to it that looks like there’s a hole in the middle, that one is a doorway. That’s where lost things are sent to.

And no, those aren’t just shades. They are spy glasses. So when you wear them at night and look out the window, you get night vision. Go. Take a peek over into the neighbor’s yard. I’m sure I saw a gnome there just last night.

Now, what have I told you about our bed sheet? You need to stack some pillows underneath and get a torch. It’s our tent. And don’t peek outside. I think I just heard a bear scrunching around out there.

Oh and you must, I repeat you must get onto a higher surface when someone screams ‘the floor is lava’. I’m not kidding, lava is red hot, and it will burn you. Jump onto the very next thing you find that’s higher. I really don’t want to get burnt.

Also, I saw what you did last night. You didn’t wish on that shooting star. And I know you think you’re too old for this, and that wishing on a meteor, as you like to call it, is absurd, but I would like to remind you, mister, wishes do come true.

So don’t let the magic inside you die.
Wish on that star and let your imagination run wild.
You will only get to be this old, once in your life.

Tired of the ways of men
Desperately I turned toward nature
I watched a butterfly ascend
Yet I'm a different nomenclature
Of a solemn glacier
Standing on my own
In an arctic cone
Not protected by the ozone
So I search for a new home
But can only find loans
My venture for my own real estate
Exposed me to the realest hate

I'm the roaming gnome
With a groaning tone
All alone
With a roaming phone
So I can't call home

My will I leave
When still I see
A killer bee
Filling me
Willingly
Its invasion's
Abrasions
Left a sensation
With a duration
Of unending inflation
On a descending station
Of no impending relation

I felt the nature
Of a desolate crater
When I met a great hater
Who told me to get straighter
So I could be a steel freighter
Carrying my load on my back
Without polluting the air
I decided to cut him some slack
Forgiving his impossible dare

I must gather grace
At a faster pace
To finish this race
Of a top notch
Hot crotch
Stopwatch
Ticking down
Into the ground
Without a sound
Or warning
Of acid rain forming
Until I see myself melting
From the savage belting
Of your death sting
You called the best thing
Like a divine blessing
Only seen after *******
Like a politician deflecting
For the constituents electing
To forego dissecting
The issue at hand
By not taking a stand

My world is crumbling
Because of you
And myself stumbling
In society's glue
As the sky is tumbling
I see I'll lose
Yet instead of rumbling
It's love I choose

Pitt
A Poem by Corset

How could anyone mistake her for a Pitt Bull?
Those soft jowls and square headed wrinkles
Sweet Mana-T,
we are the Walrus Koo Koo ka choo...

Pops with his skin on fire,
a real hair -hell-raiser

we didn't buy that white castle

no moats, no boats

no tight sunned mailman at the door
pony tailed to his ***.

what...

I'm old,
... not dead.

makes the Buddha smile
it does...

She went and got herself all
God polished, cartooned
very High and very mighty,
it's the only way to hang
incognito,
Sometimes overcome with joy,

he is writing somewhere,
like a lovers bite to the breast

black and blue

like bruising...like hickies

tickle


it makes him happy.
in return,
it makes me happy


...and weird **** just keeps
...happening...

we should talk.

No, Now I live on top of a garden,
a virtual Gnomes paradise,
the owner of this garden
is a wrinkly Lady Gaga-Gnome
centuries old
thumping up to my door at three A.M.
duct taping the bad news to the dark
of my vacuum-less door.

"You, ma'am- are breaking the rules"

She; who thinks the homeowners
association should KNOW
about my extremely "timid
hide under the bed at the
slightest movement"

This sable mini Shar pei-looking

Pitt Bull-

steel jawed Staffordshire Bull Terrier
trembling at the reflection of
her ferocious self.

Newsflash: This just in...daughter... terror stricken...out shopping for handgun.

Gnomadic   a wandering, meandering gnome
Misgnomer a female gnome
Metrognome     uses the London Underground
Gnominate   lazy gnome, idle  
Gnomad  a sane gnome
Gnoman'sland    where male gnomes reside
Gnome de guerre     see agnominous
Agnominous  a gnome with nous
Gnome de plume not a real gnome, might be a plum!
Gnome de plump An overweight gnome
Gnome more   enough already!

by Jemia

Leafy ferns and little frogs
Toads live in the garden
Weeds and grass and daffodils
And ****...I beg your pardon

Yes **** is in there from the cat
That roams around the houses
Just pick it out or grind it in
It should be full of mouses (meeces or mice)

There's ceramic figurines in there
Little deers and little dogs
To go along with little stones
And plastic little logs

But, beware  the garden gnome
A treacherous beast is he
With evil eyes and long white beard
He is plotting after thee
The garden gnome looks daffy
In his jacket and his hat
But, look deep in the gnomey eyes
And you'll see just where he's at

There's ******* blown from up the road
Candy wrappers and old tins
The neighbor kids are lazy so,
They never throw it in the bins

The cat lies sunning lazily
Beneath a summer sun of gold
With it's job of chasing meeces down
For a while, put on hold

There's ivy, climbing everywhere
And things you can not tell
They got there from the squirrels
But you keep them for the smell

But, beware  the garden gnome
A treacherous beast is he
With evil eyes and long white beard
He is plotting after thee
The garden gnome looks daffy
In his jacket and his hat
But, look deep in the gnomey eyes
And you'll see just where he's at


You tend the garden lovingly
Moving figures in and out
You never move the gnomes too much
Too much trouble, I won't doubt

You transplant flowers, move some trees
Cut the weeds back, till the soil
You head inside, the whistle blows
The kettles on the boil

While you are gone, something goes on
The gnomes attack the cat
You come back out, and wonder why
The gnome has lost his hat

yes, beware the garden gnome
A treacherous beast is he
With evil eyes and long white beard
He is plotting after thee
The garden gnome looks daffy
In his jacket and his hat
But, look deep in the gnomey eyes
And you'll see he's looking at the cat!!

The story is in Grimm’s ancient tome
Of the girl who wove straw into gold
Bamboozling the evil, gnarled gnome
With subterfuge both cunning and bold.

Sing songs of cold tea in Styrofoam
And rude brown bread, dry without butter;
She knows no carriage nor castle home
Awaits the princess in the gutter.

The dwarf chose not to concede defeat,
Rightly convinced that a deal’s a deal;
Filings and pleadings finally complete,
The circuit court to hear the appeal.

Sing songs of cold tea in Styrofoam
And rude brown bread, dry without butter;
She knows no carriage nor castle home
Awaits the princess in the gutter.

The panel’s judgment swift and direct;
The lower court had most gravely erred.
Petitioner may rightly expect
Payment plus damages, they concurred.

Sing songs of cold tea in Styrofoam
And rude brown bread, dry without butter;
She knows no carriage nor castle home
Awaits the princess in the gutter.

Bailiff took heir and inheritance,
Leaving nil which could be sold or pawned,
The king’s glances gave full evidence
The scapegoat would be a clever blonde.

Sing songs of cold tea in Styrofoam
And rude brown bread, dry without butter;
She knows no carriage nor castle home
Awaits the princess in the gutter.

There was no chance she could be returned
To her former home life in the woods
The miller’s girl, derided and spurned:
She’s a beauty, yes, but damaged goods.

Sing songs of cold tea in Styrofoam
And rude brown bread, dry without butter;
She knows no carriage nor castle home
Awaits the princess in the gutter.

A room in Amsterdam’s red-light tract
The former princess is on the game.
Still works under an implied contract;
The terms, however, not quite the same.

Sing songs of cold tea in Styrofoam
And rude brown bread, dry without butter;
She knows no carriage nor castle home
Awaits the princess in the gutter.

I walked out into my garden
and noticed that my gnome had hardened
I heard a bird that could sing
and saw a bee with a terrible sting.
My flowers smelt so nice
then I slipped on a piece of ice
into the flower patch
I reached for something to catch
I caught a glimpse of a pretty swallow
dancing in a tree so hollow
I then fell down and hurt myself.
Then I woke up and bumped my shelf
I started rolling out of bed
so I went out to my garden shed
when I got there something charged at me
then I heard a bee say "Goodbye be free".

I was looking for love
looking for a long time
I was looking for love
looking for a long time

I found the love I was looking for
He just happened to be knocking on my door
His job as an investigator
Bought him to my door

He asked a few questions
about my stolen garden gnome
Which had unexpectedly
fled from the back of my home

We conferred on the matter
of the robbery
And I could see in his eyes
that he was falling for me
The direction of our chat
changed rather rapidly
The air had the feeling
of sweet harmony

I found the love I was looking for
He just happened to be knocking on my door

In a building not concrete of origin
Near a forest we used to forage in

In the village we muck and wander
Towards the river over yonder

On the isle of sacred Avalon
There was new ground to tread upon

Amidst the brier, bog and heath
Among the thistle, needles and oak leaf

Round the timber fire we sang
Of lady luck’s mercy and lady love’s pain

We drank a drink of potent potables
Phrases spoken few of which notable

From the lambs leg we feasted
While the mystic death we cheated  

Nights never ending and those yet experienced  
We roam them on and on, ever-delirious

I’m lost in Rome,
all the roads have brought me here.
I’m searching for home,
Holding a picture of it near.
I step into the metronome,
I enter with an identity in my pockets.
I speak to the garden gnome,
He’s asking if I’d like to buy a silver locket.
At a legato tempo,
10. The metronome keeps ticking.                                                         ­       
My lips only stay chapped,
Simply because I won’t stop licking them.
“I’m looking for the Lucky Fix.
The Shaved Jaguar told me this is the place.”
The Gnome haggles me up in my face,
“Oh please, I know all the old tricks!
I now control your brain stem.
You have a long way to go! You’ve been trapped!”
At an Allegro tempo;
20. The Metronome keeps tocking.
On the stage,
The Kangaroos are still kick-boxing.
Breaking free of their cage,
The only price is to make you dance.
“I seek to barter for some potions",
They want to know, "So Why have I been cursed?”
The Hooting Owl, offers them a grand notion.
“Keeping thinking that and you might just burst.”
30.The metronome stops on the off-beat, .
“Where is the Lucky Fix?”
I began to grow impatient!
“Don’t you first need your feet?
Your priorities need to be layered bricks.
Your addiction to gratification will lead you to defeat!
You can find the matches in the Fire Station.
I know some of the tricks. That’s a good place to start.”
The Goblins are looking for the heart.
40. With a Presto Tempo
You must reset the Metronome.
TJW 2013
.

time spent, not wasted,
      out of doors tasted
     some experiences priceless,
are better
away from anything wireless
on any sunny day,
a light breeze plays,
with the leaves,
all for one and one for all
it is a free-for-fall until ... you
take a wee one for a walk
in the woods, on a path,
over a bridge and along
a stream.

What a dreamy day it was,
the crunch of leaves under-
foot, the oooohs and aaaaahs,
and various descriptors,
in a language I long forgot,
that of a fifteen month old
pink coated naturalist,
who points with fingers
                   or her fist,
who squats down to
study the million leaves
in reach, looking for the
one that needs the most help
          or a kiss to feel better,
God, You sure make beautiful
weather and a passing grade on granddaughters!
(said with tongue and cheek as she can touch more leaves
than I can take away....)

Up hill and down, by the creek and away,
up by the hairy animals that make her say,
woof-woof in mockery as they guard
                                  the yard
with the chain ink fence
then finally we turn for home
where every pole and tree within
in reach has to be touched like
it has the magical powers of a garden gnome
(let me guess, you have never heard that before)

the wind and rush of traffic at our
back as we spent the walk, not wasting
any time, for she will never be
this
young again.                       Nor will I.

My sweetheart once told me
about the passing of the moon,
how it takes an age to burn so bright,
then gone away too soon.

My father once told me
about the whisper of the wind,
how ghosts are soldiers left to die,
in brutal war's rescind.

My shaman once told me
about collective memory loss,
how it takes an age to build a kingdom,
which swiftly turns to moss.

My teacher once told me
about coincidental beauty,
how love is found in patient bliss
and custodial duty.

My pen-pal once told me
about how all of life is work,
how you must toil, toil, toil the fields,
only to end up hurt.

My mother once told me
about the truth found on the coast,
how in landlocked state, she buried thought
and missed my father the most.

My blackout friend once told me
how he re-invented sin,
how truth is but an echo of thought
and great delusion's twin.

The news anchor once told me
about the falling of the towers,
how brothers fell under the mythic spell
of dehumanising powers.

My electrician once told me
about the sounds of abandonment,
how a million memories within the halls,
are now but histories spent.

My garden gnome once told me
about God within the weather,
how we traded in moonlit ponds
for car seats made of leather.

My psychologist once told me
about living with depression,
how it takes an age to face the day
and a second for night's oppression.

My failed love agreed with this
as she turned to walk away,
and for all the words I'd written down,
I had nothing left to say.

You are my dandylion
and I wait with stealth of a summer day
for you to stop preening in the field
of high grass and green bottles.
Yes. I wait, stroke you gentle
with the ease of the summer breeze
as you sway and waltz
for the primroses and the cricket.
I watch with willful patience
like the ripening of the wild belladonna.
as you tease with your burst of yellow
for the field mouse and the garden gnome.
Yes. I will wait like summers heat
And when you are done,
And when your pretty
petals
lay
limply
at
your
roots,
I will take you gentle into my summers grasp
and with my summers breathe
blow your beautiful grey afro out unto the world to swallow.
Dandylion, pretty primping boy are you.

Sahn 6/7/2014