"musicbox" poems
tickity-clickity whirr went my father to set
the little merry-go-round musicbox by my bed
with its adorbsable mini-suction cups lining
purple porcelain tentacles
winding round and round
lulling gently with that nostalgic ice-cream truck tune
reminding me of sweet tang juicy mango slush
on a hot afternoon
where the posh-painted ponies fly by with the tide rising up and down
in a seaside villa of some spanish town
in all the grandness of their primary colors so carefully chosen to brush
at the command of a fairy princess with her crown gold-gilded
she's twirling whirling, a mechanical ballerina on springs
gracefully petite her frame, so small the sash on her shoulder
that slips in the breeze to catch the eye of a little soldier
in his regimentals properly fitted, buttoned in brass
a lass like me lovingly adoring bunnies in top hats and bow ties
spats on their feet to tap dance for me
in my dreams the never ending spin of a teacup party
the catch of a hook where the lullaby loses flight
but I'm already asleep with a kiss goodnight
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
Is it true
what you said,
in the grip of the plague?
That you would love me and my broken musicbox.
I said the worst thing I could, to save you from pain...
Oh the pain it must have
caused,
Accusations,
allegations of my limitations,
I know something in you
still feels my wet tears on your hand.
Twice from the chasm edge you recalled me.
Now I wonder,
if there is a miracle left in the bag of light.
Didn't I bring a sparkle to your laugh
in the days before I tasted poisoned honey.
I built collages for what I thought was you.
I see the weariness in your words,
shake me from this world.
Once,
you made me smile through agony,
when I fell from the greatest height.
Now,
the very thought of your smile,
drives a thousand pins into my head.
Tomorrow,
another piece of me will be missing,
never to be recovered, permanant loss.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 1:45 PM UTC
birthed in toxic soup
of nesscessity and lust's needs
her own words haunt her
with simple phrase pronouced
clear and heartfelt
sorrow fear hope lust love love lust
like her little ballerina musicbox
such an entertaining little toy
such a long daydream to wake in such a
strange place
with its strange names and faces so flush with anger
why are you here
snowbunny go back to your mountains
go back to cold serenity
and the dream that she could care
for a malfuntion like you
snowbunny
clear and heartfelt in the morning
are full of doubts and questions by nightfall
in her dream
they lay in candlelight
and speak in whispers
though they are alone
they are as one with love
they are as one in heart
she awakens in a trash littered feild
by the highway
wet from the long night of rain
cough
the latter days of her sainthood
had faded
she wakes in her bed
and alls right in her world once again
for the moment
snowbunnys come to paradise
seeking new lives and easier living
in the sunshine state
but when they arrive
its raining
rain
rain
rain
rainy season in the tropics
sunshine state is an advertisement
not a reality
nothing friendly
nothing real
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 10:44 AM UTC
The summer heat in Ypsi pounds my back
drumming notes of sweat into my clothes.
My song of labor for all to see.
Yes, I did it. Yes, this is me.
How my muscles contract and move in time,
One, two, trash
One, two, trash
Picking up trash is my dance agony.
A dancing soldier-I step and I bleed.
I look up at the sun-my source of melody.
The sun is my musicbox
-my tune and my clock.
I cannot stop dancing until the sun stops.
Aug 12, 2010
Aug 12, 2010 at 5:05 PM UTC