"plunks" poems
Dim, the stagnant booze-air clears;
thick velvety curtain lifts,
reveals
a not-so-grand
piano, scarred and dilapidated
under a single, cutting beam.
On the bench, the wrung-out crust
of a moth-eaten man
slumps habitually, his spine in a “C”
from the shouldered shackles
of negative meaning. Void.
He weighs the crackled keys
with weathered fingers; arthritically
knobbled notes float into the open air
hung with single malt fumes,
contained in vacuous walls.
Each hobbled finger-stroke and hammer-fall
morphs
melts
molds into agonizing chords, aching arpeggios.
Audible heaviness.
His oddly-angled fingers
abstain from all accountability
for the throb in his injured melody,
punctuated now and again by a dead note
on that neglect-yellow keyboard.
Longing plunks minored
on a downbeat, a song woven with
losing the blue of cloudless mornings
in her velvet passions. The her that’s missing,
that’s gone and packed the dog
and any solace against the pervasive storms
graying his vision, his beard, his hand—
mangled with grief and apologies—his hand
ever grasping for that lost shade
and the irony of intonating the only hue
his notes will ever know.
.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 2:23 AM UTC
We seek happiness like an unfulfilling dream
but there it is right in front of us.
Small precious moments in our everyday lives.
Moments which hold so little, but they are
acting like a counterweight to the so cold face of pain.
Pain which comes in waves.
You feel helpless, you can't fight it,
and you don't even know if you'll make it.
It plunks your entire world into one fine point
and when that wave goes away you feel
relief just for a moment.
Then it comes back to remind you.
Don't give in.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC
Good way off, past blindness
trickling fingertips felt plunks.
Sedimentary stirrings next to
running brooks dipped into
for pleasure of touching
algaecide inside the head.
And memory impresses gunky
regions explored, faculty of
retaining wet sandy banks,
the murk of his adolescence.
How what was told of who to,
or who not to, or what not to,
that, was only left with more
unanswered question. Just
mire. So the feeling out had
little guidance and quicksand
became lesson planner.
Wonted informality, such sinking,
became hook, shot, and sweet tooth.
These habits took his teeth
and no longer could he chew.
Drivel and flattery became much the
same, his purging, alluvium.
Men can only spill out, what fed.
Eventually mountains' rivers carry peaks to valleys.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 3:27 PM UTC
I have a cat that loves me so,
why it is I do not know.
I am not famous, wealthy, or wise,
but I can see it in her eyes.
She shows her belly for me to pet,
I have never tired of it yet.
Her body's so warm and her fur is so soft,
without her love I would be so lost.
She stretches and yawns, then plunks at my book,
till I lay it down and give her a look.
She turns her back as if to say,
Why do that when we could play.
Sometimes when I feel so low,
here she comes to let me know.
That I am to her, and always will be,
the only person she loves to see.
I have a cat, I love her so,
Why it is, I think I know.
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 10:58 AM UTC
Screaming Voices
Voices , shouts and screems Coming From above where I live
Screams Back and forth from each other they give
Yells From her!
yells From him!
over rides while her voice is trying To thrive
Throwing objects , pounds, plunks and thumps againgst the walls and floors
Is presented with force which he gives with pride,
this he does in strive
Energy Boost about each other
Exists with its brother
Wasting Time has no place To excist
Pain I Feel for her falls in MY space.
Will I need to call The exercist?
Ears Wanting To close from the noice within this place
I can Hear The pain in her Heart as it shrivels in its space
Why?
Is he weak?
Is he insecure?
Is this The reason? It has To be!
For this lord I pray
Set her free
JMR 2014
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC