"hopscotching" poems
summer in the park
kids hopscotching on pavement
dad checking email
the oldest known song
carved on a lover's tombstone
- “pretty much YOLO”
digital tombstone
her face no longer ages
she is immortal
relaxed at the beach
at home - panicking mother
phone dwells in the lake
so long out of touch
childhood friends reunited
- thank god for Tinder!
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
I want to feel those feelings,
those indefinable feelings
of hopscotching
towards it,
one foot in front of the other
to experience
the maudlin aqua-eyed
moments in rain,
jeans
and midnight skirts.
Taking every step necessary
to evade black lakes
down your cheeks,
hot blood on my fingertips.
And there'd be a song,
cordial and soft
on the piano,
delicate
like carnation petals,
writing lyrics
on each other's arms
in multi-coloured ink,
letters that hop
up to our elbows.
How to feel what it's like
with another one,
opposite and the same
all at once.
Cheerful dreams,
placid days
on streets, in homes
with brown drinks,
single and un-single friends
who say 'I knew you two would...'
and to show our love
our hands would touch
and our lips would touch
and the lights would rise.
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
lovers are red
oceans are blue
i love the waters
and they love me too
the neatness of fire
the warmth of the you
the simple equations
i work out for you
the angel numeric
may fit in my stride
this kid in your presence
is hopscotching wide
this naif out of training
has nothing to do
but write little sillies
that may be for you
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 2:47 PM UTC
convincing consumers that “v” is for vineyard
not *****
no quick or easy choices
gin, tonic and a dash of restraint
mom’s advice to quit got Tumblr started
we must get rid of inefficient economic sectors
learning to give one item at a time reviving the soviet tradition
Sharing the siege mentality
cheekily hopscotching across genres
tell me how this ends
prison time was dreadful, but he sure likes the video
pain can make them feel alive
in 1949
he imagined an age of robots
at 94, still charting memory’s depths
imagining a grim past that isn't his own
semi-invisible sources of strength
milewide tornado strikes Oklahoma
2 FBI hostage rescue agents die in training exercise in sea
a genre, old and Irish,is renewed
but wait
didn't yahoo try a deal like this before
How about slow play, drugs and Phrankenwoods
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC
No milquetoast kids dare summit jungle gyms
nor dream from monkey bars suspended
o’er perilous mulches, heads filled by the sanguine
rush of juvenile enthusiasm for garden hoses
bruised knees and peanut butter sandwiches;
Only august lad or lass may escape those sandboxes
to tumble into the cavernous ball pit of emancipation,
last dino bones dug up and whirling whispers
lost soon as spoken across merry-go-round envisioning
fantastic autumn nights that promised monsters
Forsaken mud pies dry and crack, no more edible
with juice box than without, hopscotching into
sportsball cartoon boom box jumprope Sunday songs
of Jesus midwest bedtime prayers, sincerest supplication
application for wellness heaven and bully protection
We seesaw through scraps of nostalgia, frolic
into slip-sliding wet hot summer drops to mask
messy tears, swimming defiantly away from repentance
but begging a little help from God to keep the rusty
swing set chains from breaking now as we push higher
Sure, it takes some work to build a playground right,
and what sign do we have it's safely been constructed?
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 9:40 PM UTC
i.
the blinds are bars
and the window is a rotating theatre
of people, life, the grind.
ii.
i behind it;
a twisted damsel in distress,
hopscotching around the puddles of my tears.
iii.
disconnect in the age of connectivity.
a broken wire frazzled and burned.
my hair is not long enough to escape.
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 4:50 PM UTC
‘That day’, bed held, quiet, noisy in my ear,
elongated, like aeroplane entrails, skyward.
You were not embarking on any holiday I knew,
I caught your final sigh out of this life.
Cards pressed to chest, pupils tucked in.
“Is that blue or green?” you said, squinting,
your dealt cards outstretched toward me,
“Uno” you shouted, laughed, we did, you did.
Multi coloured swap shop, ripe mosaic fruits,
a smile of hearts. In the back room, fire flickering,
news parting my lips, tongued syllables locating
your body language........between proud arm rests.
Summer, warm, brown faded wooden bench
caught my skirt in its skin, splintered my hand.
Chasing, breathy, laughing, heat haze flooded
rosy cheeks.......we watched.
Hopscotching along without care; you told the
tale, you said... “Your cardy was swinging in the air”
you frantic, too frantic for weighty words,
worry warrior stamped across your forehead.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 7:55 AM UTC
Mary, Mary
Quite contrary
Egressed from the East Indies
A lost child
Grief is a long hallway
With sketches of pain
Adorning the walls
Hope is a drawer
With a hidden key
Bottled-up
Mary Lennox
Jumps rope
Out in the cold
Hopscotching
And exploring
Follows the red robin
Enters the garden
Long forsaken
Befriending life within
Evoking life without
With the one exception
Of herself
Mary had a little plan
"Might I have a bit of earth?"
To plant
And to chant
To sow
And to grow
To return a loved one
To both father and son
To open the secret garden again
And feel the inner workings
Of her heart begin
Mar 21, 2020
Mar 21, 2020 at 9:26 PM UTC
Winters decay had fallen to springs
Majestic dance and what it brings.
Like fireworks of life each blooms
Avid colour bursts forth and resumes.
Awoken bees flutter busily gathering
Nectar as hopscotching while travelling.
Gusts collect scents of summer collide
I sit quietly taking in beauty outside.
A kaleidoscope of beauty before my eyes
Watching the colours mingle my soul flies.
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 4:44 PM UTC
I'm just another madman
hopscotching the park,
and frightening away all of the birds.
But instead of those movements
which are frenzied and true,
I scare with warm intention of word.
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 7:14 PM UTC
living in fear of the allostatic load
hopscotching tire marks on a bare and open road
do we drag down this life to where life dare not go?
we are living in fear of the allostatic load.
if 'when' is an if, and 'if' is a when
then what's never happened will happen again
the one-armed men will count upwards to ten
on phantoms taken by the allostatic load.
(of hair: massage scalp, condition, brush regularly, dry gently - keep what is lost in fistfuls, dead hard protein, dead fast head spins)
when limbs give way under the allostatic load
softened up by atrophy
trapped under the debris of a broken home
familiar hands will come for me.
May 18, 2019
May 18, 2019 at 12:17 PM UTC
I have my eyes on the day that will never arrive or at least I see what I can't see that's how I survive the endless games, the hopscotching through the deserts and plains, my eyes see some distance but not far enough and it's tough here but here's where I am.
The day that will never arrive is a story that's told to the feeble and old and it keeps them from fretting about never forgetting their age.
I have a plan to escape before it's too late but not knowing when too late will be, I hesitate, play more games, find I'm locked in the cycling of chains, is this what they call the fall?
The fall is quite gentle, a soft rippling through the membranes and a full stop at the bottom or the end, it feels like a soft rain on my forehead where the love lost is not dead but stands waiting with an umbrella to hand.
I have my eyes and I see that the arrival will be a party time for old friends and the families that never end in the days that will never arrive.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC