"limped" poems
T'was the night before Christmas
And with everything done
The kids were all dreaming
Of Christmas Day fun
The tree was completed
We had wrapped all the toys
When from the basement below
We heard a faint noise
I sprung from the couch
Took off down the stairs
On my way through the kitchen
I tripped on two chairs
I slid down the staircase
To the base of my house
And there with my shortbreads
Was a ****** great mouse
My wife followed close
And then she let out a shriek
She saw me and the mouse
And she started to freak
He nibbled the cookie
and he ran past my nose
right down my torso
Then he stopped at my toes
My wife was still screaming
The mouse didn't care
He continued his running
On under the stairs
I crawled to my workshop
Grabbed the first thing I found
A mallet for pounding
That mouse in the ground
I limped to the staircase
And I swung at the wall
I again lost my balance
And again, I did fall
I put two holes in the riser
Two more in the tread
I was gonna keep swinging
Till that mouse was dead
I broke the one lightbulb
That lit up the room
Now I was worried
I couldn't see...found the broom
I stepped on one end
Squared my self in the sack
I then heard a noise
The mouse had come back
I heard his slight skitter
As he went past my feet
He was off to the larder
For more stuff to eat
I went back to the workshop
Tripping at least three more times
I would finish this mouse
He would pay for his crimes
I grabbed for a lighter
And my large propane torch
I would hunt down this mouse
And his **** I would scorch
I lit up the propane
And I aimed at the stairs
It caught light on the carpet
And I burnt both those chairs
The flames went on upward
The stairs were quite dry
I laughed in hysterics
That **** mouse would fry
My wife had recovered
And decided to run
but, after seeing the flames
She phoned up 9 1 1
The mouse left the building
In fact, he never was found
The house burned in seconds
It collapsed to the ground
And through the whole scene
I just stood there and laughed
At the wreckage before me
And I thought, **** I'm daft
I had ruined our Christmas
And I burned down our house
Over a **** shortbread cookie
And one little mouse
The kids, they got out
And were wrapped up and warm
While I was creating
My own perfect storm
The gifts were all ruined
The house ...all consumed
And over my head
One large question loomed
If I had gone for the shotgun
And shot at the mouse
Would I be still having Christmas
And would I still have a house
My wife came on over
And she gave me a swat
She said "look what you've done"
"you great stupid ****
I learned a great lesson
and folks ...it is that
Once I rebuild
I will then buy a cat!!!
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
"YOUR eyes that once were never weary of mine
Are bowed in sotrow under pendulous lids,
Because our love is waning."
And then She:
"Although our love is waning, let us stand
By the lone border of the lake once more,
Together in that hour of gentleness
When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
How far away the stars seem, and how far
Is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!"
Pensive they paced along the faded leaves,
While slowly he whose hand held hers replied:
"Passion has often worn our wandering hearts."
The woods were round them, and the yellow leaves
Fell like faint meteors in the gloom, and once
A rabbit old and lame limped down the path;
Autumn was over him: and now they stood
On the lone border of the lake once more:
Turning, he saw that she had ****** dead leaves
Gathered in silence, dewy as her eyes,
In ***** and hair.
"Ah, do not mourn," he said,
"That we are tired, for other loves await us;
Hate on and love through unrepining hours.
Before us lies eternity; our souls
Are love, and a continual farewell."
7.6k
The body remembers, though it has been
four years since the summer you shattered your
knee but still limped out across the continent
to Boston to see him you idiot and
this is the fourth summer you've placed between
yourself and the last pin and the last *****
your body remembers, though in the
torturous lengthening of fused and toughened tissues
the bad leg is finally catching up,
and the scar with its ten numb inches of
puckered track has come to fade bone white
against your skin
but it’s still stored somewhere
in your sockets or cells and when you fall off your bike you still cry
Though you’re not really hurt your body remembers
So that when you’re confronted with their engagement photo
(you didn’t even know he was seeing anyone)
the darkened garden at the Plymouth Plantation
begins to bloom up around you before you can stop it
like a seizure or a vision, and you’re there again
trespassing after him through shadowy pines
and night-damp atlantic air
to where the white chairs encircle the altar.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
3.6k
When I was 5 I wanted to be a doctor
Until I realized I cried every time I needed a shot
Winced when I saw someone fall
And wanted to ***** when I saw blood.
When I was 7 I wanted to be a veterinarian
Until I realized I was more connected to animals
Than I was to humans
And I cried every time my dog so much as limped.
When I was 10 I wanted to be a teacher
Until I realized I could never let my students go
And would be too concerned about what they’re going through
That I wouldn’t even know what to teach them.
When I was 13 I wanted to be a lawyer
Until I realized I shook every time something bad happened
And if I ****** at arguing with my brother
How could I argue for someone’s future?
When I was 15 I wanted to be a CEO
Until I realized people would have to know my name
And I’d have to tell them what to do
When I didn’t even know what I was doing.
When I was 17 I wanted to be an author
Until I realized I couldn’t even read my own work
Let alone let my family and friends read it
Let alone let strangers read it.
When I’m grown up
All I really want to be
Is so content with where I’m at
That I don’t need to look too far in the future.
When I grow up
I just want a roof over my head
A job I love
And a family that loves me.
When I grow up
I don’t care what I’m doing
Or where I am
As long as I’m happy.
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 12:20 AM UTC
Alice waited in bed.
She couldn't believe Mary
was to be her new lady's maid.
The nanny had told her
the night before.
Stern looking
she had told her
that Mary was to be
her maid from now on.
There seemed a kind
of relief in the nanny's voice.
Through the night,
Alice thought of it.
The limping thin girl
was to be her own maid.
The thin red hands
to undo and do up
her dresses
and bathe her
and wash her
and take her places.
Mary was in
her own room
in the attic.
Nervous, she was
all fingers and thumbs.
The child was now
her responsibility.
No more washing up
and working in the kitchen
of the big house.
Mrs Broadbeam
was not happy about it.
She would have
to have another now
to train as kitchen maid.
Mary was happy about that.
Maybe her red hands
would have a chance to heal.
She was dressed
in the maid's dress
the nanny had given her
the night before.
It was a bit too big,
but it fitted and was better
than the dresses she wore
in the kitchen which smelt
of cooking and sweat.
She looked at herself
in the old mirror.
She licked her hair damp
to get it to lay down.
The white hat
she had pinned
to her hair.
She smiled
at her reflection.
Alice sat up in bed
as Mary entered.
She looked different,
but she still limped
to the bed.
Have you heard?
Mary asked.
Yes,
Alice said,
you're to be
my own maid.
Mary pulled back
the bed covers
with her red thin fingers
and took Alice's hand gently.
Best get you up
and washed and dressed,
Mary said.
Will your hands
get less red?
Alice asked
looking at the maid's hand
holding hers.
Hope so,
Mary said.
Alice walked with Mary
to the wash bowl
and Mary poured water in.
Mary undressed Alice
and so began
the washing process.
The warmed water
was better than the cold water
the nanny used
when she did the task.
The washing was gentle
and calm, not forceful
and hurtful as it was
when the nanny did it.
Alice missed her mother
being there. No news
of her since
she had gone away.
Mary was kind
and thoughtful.
She had washed Alice
and dressed her.
That's you all ***** and span,
Mary said.
***** and span?
Alice said.
Neat and clean,
Mary said.
She looked
into Mary's eyes.
There was not
the anger or darkness
as was in
the nanny's eyes.
And when Mary
took her hand
there was not
the pinching or squeezing
like the nanny did.
As Mary limped
to the window
to open it up,
Alice watched her
from behind,
the loose fitting dress,
black and white,
the hair and white hat pinned,
the red hand reaching
for the window latch
to let in air
and Alice smiled
to herself
at the maid
like an angel
standing there.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 7:06 AM UTC
Her greatest fear was
going color blind,
invoking domino effect,
she embraced rainbow colors-
whenever a chance she found.
Now, she walks at the front
as if she is the official bearer of colors
in our frenzied blueberry hunt,
up in the high ranges of Western Ghat's
tropical rain forests.
Our nostrils are special,
"colors we see, make us madly sing"
chants rend the air when-
fragrance of ***** blooms wafted in the air.
"Just like the smell when python opens mouth"
said a voice, to the uninitiated,
"Quit white, paint everything coal black,
or is it the other way round?"
"This place is magical can't make a choice"
"Look! I found a serious irregular lake down there"
"I didn't realize I was walking in rounds, around a closed mall"
"White light is a cheat, pixie laid us is in the village green"
"Y'll fall down"
"Green was what i asked for
got thick,red, gooey mud"
"Why panic?"
"Hey meet Mr.Yellow smile,
kiss him a pretty, magenta
***** thought, good night"
"I've a deep blue psyche,
in nightmares I see ***** whales"
"Wounded bleeding heart,
she was nursed back to health
it beats me,
she limped back to her old green monster"
"Hear that distant drums?
brick red monster of the woods
mating with a black cat"
"A ritual of the tribes?
is it meant as a crude joke?"
Sitting under a tree shade,
I hear for the first time in my life,
a white ant's dark wintry song,
lilting, it spoke about the life
as the queen ant's *** slave.
**"Hey love this ***** magical feat,
anything is possible,
how reality takes a beat"
**** it, three times over,
on the bank of the river, then in water.."**
"Blue grass, blue grass
sing all the way up to the mountain pass,
where ***** plants grow thick like ***** thoughts,
a nightingale in funky dress
singing ***** songs and regale all"
"That lush lass, her hair tied with a red bandana
is a smart *** **** her"
Someone screams in delight,
evening spreads a magical light,
more laughter, catcalls,
the sassy chick just LOL
Pass..pass
A big headstrong hornbill, surveying the scene,
gives a mating call
the hillside reverberates with its sound.
(C) K.Balachandran
[email protected]
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 7:19 AM UTC
Sipping espresso, double affogato of course, topped with cream and
Chatting with Miles, I saw Calliope sauntered in from the rain.
Her dark mascara limped away from her crystal blue eyes
As she waited for the barrister to turn his head.
And when taking her cup,
Somewhere between Bird’s schizophrenic riffs
And Blakey's syncopation.
I fell in love
As I watched her lips purse and
Blow casually at the lid, cooling the
Fiery liquids inside but igniting mine.
I decided to ask what brought her in from the
Rain.
My words queued in my throat as I stood
To speak.
My knees cracked, testifying to the years I stood on them.
My heart tapped out a cadence as I strode
Over to her table.
I could smell spice and ginger of a perfume I knew so well.
Her chestnut hair fell in damp tendrils across her forehead.
Extending my hand with a napkin on the end I said, “ I would love if you joined
Me for a biscotti.”
With a sparkle in her eye her painted lips slid across her teeth,
“I am waiting for a friend.”
Walking away I sat dejected but not rejected because as she
Conversed with him she peeked at me
My Calliope
And all was well.
~AD~
Apr 2, 2010
Apr 2, 2010 at 2:48 PM UTC
I've limped through another
day
weeK
birth
I got scars to feel especially when they're burned
limited in imagination
sparking only when I
**********
die
start my car
I get high now, again
it makes little to no sense
television
cold spells
online video games
my lighter works
I believe in purification
Ill try to achieve the heights of my imagination
again I try
sometimes twice a day
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
"It's Li'l Sean's tenth B'day,
forgotten in the orphanage loft.
He curls down
on the dust and
holds tight an once-vivid polaroid,
his lost family's
one spared happy remainder."
"Oh! Sweet Pea,
but Draco limped
his way to his li'l master
and licked off
his soar tears."
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 3:23 AM UTC
I was the better half to the whole, he said
To our friends, it's the polite and preppy thing after we wed
And when it came to and end
That slice down the middle was pain
And I limped off, half empty
Waiting to be filled again
Eight years later
some romance, a few letters
A lot of work, remaking my life
Can't tell you there's been no strife
OK, there's been plenty, it's been a struggle
And often, I'm in a muddle
But I noticed something yesterday,
That makes me want to shout out and say:
I am a whole person rising
maybe not complete yet
But I'd put money on it, I'd bet
That I'll finish the job one day
Yesterday
Walking in my old 'hood
Down on the Santa Cruz Boardwalk
On the beach, trudging through sand
Listening to the melody of a day as I can
People having fun,
Their work is done
And I felt fine
I wasn't about to pine
for someone's witheld love
or untimely absence
I felt good, not sitting on a fence
watching a world go by
of whole people, living high
I was one of them I swear
Listening and breathing and really there
We listened to "Modern English"
Remember that band?
And people started dancing in the sand
When they played their hit from 1983
And I remember it, mercy me
I was feeling good, perched on a bench in the crowd
Sipping a foamy Boardwalk beer, eating fried artichokes, the band was loud
And I felt complete like a total ecosystem
Fully functional, and happy, just one of the crowd and with them.
Jul 14, 2012
Jul 14, 2012 at 2:38 PM UTC
curtains may cover my heart, leather may shade my eyes
but perform it must, my everlasting soul
oh by the chains of my great master I trace lines through dust on this ancient stage
Puppeteer, your strings are razor blades I cannot touch
Do you smile your jagged teeth behind the lights as I limp
left stage right stage
hands tied, lips bruised
while I am delicately yet surely sliced in two?
you once felt kind breath slip over your tongue, you envisioned
orchids given at night.
Such devious motives you now posses, time
My recital for one wears away skin
on the tips of my toes, keep tearing
moving upward snaps my fingers crooked elbow
ARISE FROM YOUR SHADOWS AND FACE ME
for I know this pain well
Ah mirrors mirrors you fool me
You have adopted my face, adopted my grin
blink blink it will not clear
it will not falter
i see- leather
crumpled in spotlight
stage right stage left
in spotlight
there are particles floating there are shards of littered glass
Dear audience do applause, I did it
I tore my skin, broke my bones, limped side to side
Puppeteer do forgive my twisted image for I needed you to blame
Secrets secrets treat me well, for I have nothing else to sell
Forgive me empty seats, row 1 row 2
I must try, I must try
to crawl offstage
written 2010
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 12:41 AM UTC
Once there was a little brown bear
She had a tree she so loved to climb!
She would climb and climb and she could touch the sky
She loved the view from up high
Now the little bear's tree was sturdy; thick and tall
She knew just from looking around she didn't like other trees at all
But one day she tried to climb a wobbly spruce
It's trunk was so thin and it's swayed so loose
The little bear fell and she hurt her paw
And there hadn't even been a view to saw
So she limped and she squirmed back to her big tree
"Please," she murmured, "I would like to see
The view I have seen many times before
I hope you'll let me climb again, but my paw is sore...."
The tree waved gently, and picked her just a little off the ground
"I promise little one, none sturdier can be found.
I love you and enjoy you, and want you to climb high
I'll hold you for now, mend your paw," then he sighed
"It's up to you to climb, as soon as you feel better,
But my darling bear, though I'm one tree, I will unfetter
For you can climb higher and be safer than others around
Even when you get up very high, and so far from the ground
I won't let you fall, my branches will keep you safe
My daughter, my little brown bear, there's no better place"
And the tree held onto her, only few off the ground
And as the little bear looked up, she found
That the tree's immense love, and it's never ending height
Made for a life time of adventure, a beautiful sight
After her fall, she was scared to again
But then she looked, and a little higher, was her bigger brown bear friend....
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC
I open window to greet ashen sky,
A shy fellow he is, covered in misty clouds.
Laying in my bed, I douse myself In comfort.
Too comfortable… Watching bamboo spoon falling,
My finger too limped to react,
So I let it thump the floor.
Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 9:12 PM UTC
the car seemed to be gliding on glass
the last inconvenient instant before impudent impact
the mangled mass of metal and his black crisp body
a spectacle for the masses, all 4 of them
2 volunteer fire fighters and 2 EMTs
later, his father, blind now in one eye
from America’s diabetes, had Ramona
drive him to the spot, to the dead oak
as big around as an oil barrel
dead long before Paul’s 1996 Ford Escort
decided to take a go at it
daddy had to see the place
that infinite space between
yesterday and the tomorrow
that would never come, even though
he had already seen, through his one good eye
his boy’s charred carcass at the county morgue
resting on a silver slab, the clean and cold bed
where he would spend his last night
before the fiery furnace,
Ramona and he could keep his ashes
no need for a big service, no money for one either
but Dub, “Paul's boss down to the auto parts store,”
opened his wallet as wide as it would go
for the cremation and a nice urn
Paul would be missed, by Daddy and Dub
and once in a great while, in the fast and furious world
of the flat gray town where he lived and died
someone would ask, whatever happened to
that old boy at the auto parts store
the one who limped a bit as he walked,
the one who rarely talked but always
smiled through his yellow teeth
when he placed the goods carefully
on the counter
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
Storm into that room so you will be seen, and
hold up high, sun salute
that body, that vessel you got!
Take every vertebrae, mmm pull it taught
Pull it.
Pull it as twine itself
wrapped around my words-
each bone
creaking like footfalls on old wooden stairs.
And look directly at your soul-
Do not squirm in the shame
of your nakedness -
beautiful lustful abundantly naked-
Instead
Crest, oh lord,
White swirling madness of intentions.
and take these old bones, baby-
take this body
Take these old bones of mine and pull them up,
Stretch, find the strength! and pull-
Take those limped shoulders and throw them back to the gods!
Oh your rusted soul, fill it with water from the Darma ***** Crick.
And it might
burn-
sting and sour.
Make you cough, choke and sputter.
But oh
Renewed, Renewed!
And you start out with the feet, kicking rocks on the road, mmmm.
And end with the head bowed back with a psalm bouncing on
red berry lips, mmm
Oh, yes! Hands out to glory, oh feet moving, dancing
hot pavement below like Hades.
Step and another, another.
Until your out of frame...
Oh glory is the road.
Cleaned and cleansed as you go,
Hear me? Cleansed as you go, down Sinner Lane.
Cleansed and cleansing is the road
of the
revival parade.
sahn 8/25/14
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
That was then and now is there
As sister Sara pointed out
We were young and stupid
But our ship harbored no care
The oak was new , fresh the smell
We climbed the rigging
of the mast of life
so fast , so well
"Get down you fools"
The old crusted would say
Seasoned in salt from life's
crashing waves and spray
We just laughed and brayed
Almost depraved
"Get lost old fool"
We were so cruel
We weighed our anchor
and dropped our sails
Little we knew
of the seas of Hell
The distant thunder
lightning's warning
It didn't scare us
Life was ours to plunder
But the oak did gray
It bent and buckled
The rigging's rope broke
some of us tumbled
Beaten and battered
We limped into our ports
There was no laughter
from our fellow cohorts
The crossing is done
Sun seasoned in wear
We are the old fools . . .
That was then and now is there
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 5:35 AM UTC
We tied a knot in heaven
and left it there
suspended in the air
unaware of the care that lent there
we stare, bare of emotions
for those we sent there
prematurely
surely it was god’s plan
between that ISIS and
the American man’s man
but wait
I don’t rate the
Wests lack of responsibility
they attest not to the culpability
and without an ounce of timidity
suggest that their
interactions are near
the vicinity of humility
when really Iraq
was left gutted like a
listless fish
to be added to the list
of countries
America and Britain not great
Felt the need to mend
not with gentle hands
but with the bayonets hate.
left without infrastructure
a poor suture on
a shambling wreck
Iraq limped on
to suppurate into civil war
which we condemn and abhor
but somehow haven’t the
nous to implore that we have been here before
The imperialist shadow looms like
a hound, as we espouse civility;
Irony abound.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
I have known the snap of the cold,
I have lay, bitten by frost.
Shivering limbs, fold and unfold,
I have fought the fight and lost.
I have limped down a solitary street,
Fingers too numb to count the cost,
The only noise, my stamping feet.
I judge time by the moons height,
The hours, until Dawn brings heat.
I have used the shadows at night,
To hide from eyes, over-bold,
I do not wish to share my plight,
Swaddled in newspapers, my story untold,
It is a dish , best served . . .cold.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 6:22 PM UTC
Young men fit for battle,
too young for war but paddled
with swagger down the Skeena.
A week on the water, lakes and rivers,
bodies of water that take if you giver,
but this one this day promised what it delivered.
A vortex, canoes lined up to paddle hard,
as the hole in the middle would drag a canoe,
to the depths, to the depths, without release.
One canoe and wait then another then one more,
three were through, number four went round
and round the eddy they held steady as five went
past, then they, four escaped the mighty swirl without
cheer.
Six was with the whirl, they paddled hard as
they were drawn near the rocks and cliff,
a broken paddle, and they limped away, clear
of the gulf.
Seven went and were hell bent, to get through,
all experienced paddlers too, what success,
number eight held four of us, weighted low down
with only three paddlers too, round we went and
then again, nine passed us and cleared the danger,
seven came back to encourage and be near...
What happened was what they feared the whirlpool
dragged us closer, we weren't dizzy, but tired of
rounding the same bend, breaking waves but not enough,
tiring out as we were pulled in again, round and in again.
We needed to split the curve cut the outside wave
and across the break, near the rocks and in the wake
of the river wash and the base of the cliff,
we had to all paddle hard and when and if
we broke free we would join our brothers guilt free,
if we did not
we would have
been a story on
a page of some
deaths to drowning
while at a cadet camp.
the boat's bow broke the waves one two and three,
missed the rocks, the cliff, almost free, voices raised,
an angry fight to live and have done battle with no loss,
we were finally free three companions and me, tossed
by the fourth wave, and I looked back into the hole
of the maelstrom, I looked back lesson learned,
passion for life, a must you have to yearn
for life otherwise, for love, point your bow,
dig your paddle in
and look back no more.
There is more rough water ahead.
©DWE102013
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC
I would have sneaked
In from the pores of a net.
I would have wrapped you in a prose
Poem that lacks precision and laid you to sleep
Under the covers of my bed.
Quietly.
So if love was to engulf me
And a longing rises from my soul
I would stretch the fingers of my hand towards
you and dabble with the words of the poem,
Letter by letter.
If I was truly a poet
I would have limped to the Lord by now
And sat by the foot of his throne
And held on to it
With both hands
And whispered: ‘you are the Greatest,
most Beautiful, most Wonderful and Capable,
Will you create a lover for me?’
I mean only for me.
But I know
That my prayer will not be answered
Not because it is impossible.
More than that really,
Since I have never known
A man
Who has never betrayed his lover.
*************************
Translated by Dikra Ridha
© Copyright 2016, by Faleeha Hassan. All rights reserved under the Copyright laws of the United States of America and international copyright agreements. No portion of this book maybe reproduced in any form, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author. Email: [email protected]
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 1:23 PM UTC
Miss Billings leaned
against the doorframe
looking at Mr Fredericks
pushing a broom
on the forecourt
of the petrol station
look at the old ****
pushing broom
she said
it’s his way of getting you
to do the job kid
you looked out
the glass front
as Mr Fredericks limped
pushing broom
I didn’t see him
go out there
you said
he probably sneaked out
she said
does it all the time
it makes him feel good
to see you go
creeping out there
she pushed her glasses
up the bridge of her nose
and put her hands
on her hips and did
that Monroe thing
she did quite often
you went out
to the forecourt
and said to Mr Fredericks
I can do that
I can push the broom
he handed you the broom
and limped inside
without a word
you swept along
the edge of the forecourt
Miss Billings moved
outside a bit
and said
told you kid
that’s the way he is
bet he don’t do that
when he beds his wife
or maybe he does
who knows
and she walked off
her backside like
a poor man’s Monroe
swaying side to side
and you watched her go
standing holding
the broom
the red cardigan
the white overalls
the black stockings
and then she had gone
into the back office
through the swing door
time to get on
with sweeping
you thought
but her swaying backside
lingered in your mind
her poor man’s Monroe
right down
to her blonde hair
and the way she stood
you’d be her
Clark Gable
(in miniature)
if you could.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 3:45 PM UTC
I came down to make brunch,
Early on
In the afternoon.
I cracked the eggs
And lit the stove,
My dog limped up beside me.
A three legged beast of
Enormous size
Humbled by
The lack of limbs.
I fried the bacon,
But threw no scraps,
Though I was her support.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 3:14 PM UTC
I drove the rental car through a tree
as we continued on towards the ranch.
Saddled up hand measured horses and rode through the park.
Monster trees would have shadowed skyscrapers.
The bravest of birds nested only halfway,
for even feathered wings stall at that altitude.
The damnedest thing was the pine-cones,
golf ball-sized spheres
falling from giants.
It's a bumpy ride on a leather saddle,
a bit painful, too.
You smirked and said you needed a drink,
hell, so did I.
Later in Eureka California we walked to Ray's Saddle,
an old western bar with a wooden red patio,
fake cowboy mannequins gracing the entrance
pistols drawn, not ready to fire.
Our dry mouths megan to irrigate,
our sore bottoms limped through the door,
and the damnedest thing;
the bar stools were rawhide saddles.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:22 PM UTC
8AM strikes like a *****
And romping the losing street -
The engineered reptile stalks the hound we are.
The soldiered army, oozing molten pride,
Spike me in the side with their knees
Lifted to caution, so-so below the chin
The cold, dead breath bullies like a child
Never been taught, never have they ought;
I give them pity like spit, the drool reared.
The glands of my sodden state are nucleic
They spark and fizz and pop at the slightest fix
And they mount the green turf as they say the things they say
They say them in spite
Their eyes to register a flat-line, the pulse of my eyelid
Froths staring into their granite granules, you call them eyes
I do despise, I do despise,
The heartless range of those hunter-deers,
The wet pathos that criminals invoke
And then, I woke, the rage, the rage!
A mountainous affair, cracked into your skin
You wished I were dead so you could be thin.
And when I am not hot,
Risen, aired by the microwaved Monday dawning,
I can almost laugh about the spaces between your eyes
The slight disgust, the frozen musk
Awns over me, little fist tight of pink
Ears rabbited off -- a sharp, twisted empale
And then, you are there--
Frozen and dominating, your coffin spooks to me
A spoken longing and then all we know wilts
A running red cloak of tartan regrets
Jades the illicit wail bespoken after the instrumental twist
The torture device you call your words is broken out
I ask for one thing, beg for it, screech it
To the solars like I am owed.
Knowing Death, if not heed, the spited greed--
Give me strength, for the thoughts
The thoughts, that blow through me
Windswept, gliding the dead human ash through my marsh
Do not upturn the limped greyed grass
And blow through, a harmless storm,
With nothing to say about how I carry my day.
Move on to your homeward-bound, your
Concentration plantation, reeling off dead spinners
Like your words, your cold ******* words.
You slimy ******* you ****
I have spoken, one million syllables,
For your satisfaction.
You lord it over me like a raw-meat hand
Of the disciples. Well, well, Judas, Judas --
I bite my tongue. I bite it so it jades.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC