"ponytailed" poems
There's a picture in the hope chest
or in a box buried beneath
a pile of unworn clothes at
the end of Mom's bed;
there's a picture somewhere
of me decked out in
purple floral footed pajamas
And in this picture, which must
have been taken one Christmas
night-
my hair slicked and wet and ponytailed,
in this picture I'm sitting
in front of a tree that
Dad chopped down.
a tree intricately and precisely decorated,
a tree with one strand of tinsel
on each and every branch,
a tree from the days we still used
the big bulbs of every color
that begged to burn your house down.
In this picture,
in front of that tree,
in floral footed purple pajamas-
I'm smiling.
This year there is no picture.
This year there was no Christmas.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
words on every corner
reach out with LED lights and capital letters
OVERSIZE LOAD and RECYCLED FASHION
demand an appetite for peripheral attention
bashful graffiti is tentative to show his smirk
unsure if he is welcome in this delicate urban zoo
where ponytailed dogs and homeless hands
share the same sallow sidewalk bricks
look up!
see the royal sorbet sky
he raises his wispy brows
as a crane lowers its dragon neck
into the safety of its concrete den
how dare such a beast encroach
on the heavenly domain of clouds
all day a man sits in contradiction
crisp collar and stolen office chair
handing out desperate news for dollar bills
as tattered as his tiny hands
I wonder if the cigarette ****
feels worthless, now alone
dreaming to once again be puffed
being flattened by rubber soles
years ago this was home land
rich, taut and quietly loved
the earth soaked in moon's pearl balm
where his eyelashes touched the ground
Everybody knows the city always listens
through the scattered trees left here to stand
when our footsteps seem like only feathers
lost in the echoes of civilization
street now veiled by velvet
a cradle for eyes to close
the lamplight is my guiding star
i see illuminated faces
in hazy windows
and the flash and beam
of passing car
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
one minute;
she could hear her own heels clicking,
clicked
against the sharpened dirt of her backyard
next minute;
the patterns of her footsteps lost,
as the ground puzzle-piece disappeared
beneath her firefly laced eyes;
one minute;
gasping cold water breaths,
as the laughter rang bright in the ears
of a mother, a father
chasing after ponytailed hair,
laughter rang bright in the ears
of a mother, a father
next minute;
choking on her paralyzing
wonder, the ground choking
on the dust splitting,
split
beneath the absence of the
click in her heels
I wonder if her eyes closed before she
plunged into the depths of her knowledge’s death
I wonder,
what schemes she sought,
that would forever be,
incomplete.
Did she bloom roses?
Petals buried beneath
the debris
of a mother, a father.
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 11:51 PM UTC
Saturday
shop busy
you with Dylan Thomas’s
Deaths & Entrances
poetry book
tucked in
your inside pocket
of your brown jacket
Miss Croft
Saturday girl
dark hair
ponytailed
swaying
her tight ***
in her short skirt
up and down
the shop aisle
Duff the manager
bespectacled
with curly mass
of dark hair
standing there
cigarette in mouth
conversing
with a customer and wife
about which paint
went best
with what wallpaper
giving the dame
the eye
giving the charm
you tanked up
(you worked better
that way)
with some old couple
wanting curtains
to match
the wallpaper choice
the blue flowers
the pattern
the old guy gazing
at the Croft girl
the way
she wiggled her ***
her la-de-da tones
her bright eyed
expression
then she talked
to friends from college
more friends
than Trotsky
had enemies
standing there
hands on hips
tight tee shirt
small ****
and can you order this
in a light blue
the old dame asked
the blue here’s
too dark
the old guy nodded
his head turned
eyes on his wife’s
profile
sure sure
you said
controlling the slur
the beer taking hold
the old dame
seemed pleased
her husband gave
the Croft girl
another secret gaze
her tight *** moving
side to side
as she walked
the aisle
her friends departed
you watched her
with her bourgeoisie
life and ways
her small tight body
wrapped
like a dream
and the sale complete
the old couple
went away
through the business
of wallpaper
and paint
all of a Saturday.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
It was the dead of winter,
Or as close to winter as we could get.
It was January,
The wind would bite,
And my heart was weary.
It was a new year, but the past year's beating
Had taken its toll.
My lion's heart had diminished,
It had fled along with the cold.
There were gray clouds in the sky,
Rain pounding on the windows,
Along with sleep-dreary conversations with friends,
And a fog in my heart.
There were no birds,
There was no music, no orchestra,
There was no sunbeam, no moonray,
But there you were all the same.
And i looked, i stared, i memorized.
The intense hooded eyes,
The ponytailed black hair,
The almost there biker's beard,
The unsure gait,
The intimidating presence.
Committed them to memory,
So i could write about it later, much later.
You intimidated me, made me unsure,
And i was intrigued.
Here i was in a world of gray,
And a ball of darkness passes my peripheral vision.
Of course i had to know your name,
Of course i had to talk to you.
And i thought i'd be done after that.
I was awakened.
And my courage returned, albeit reluctantly.
Then we talked, and talked about fate,
About the present, the future, never the past.
I liked it that way.
How impersonal, yet intimate it was.
It was the most fun i'd had in a while,
You were the sun, the moon, the stars or
The deep darkness of space
Beneath the fading gray clouds,
I Never did find out.
After the weary heartwrenching wars,
You were the decision.
Whether i won or lost,
I barely cared, all i knew,
Was that you were the end.
And it was all that mattered.
I ended.
I ended with the thought of you,
Two conversations with you,
A smile, a wave, a "goodbye, and good luck, friend".
It was all i ever wanted, and all i ever feared.
And it was glorious.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 2:57 AM UTC
A woman at my work
Resigned
Amid many tears
And bouquets of
Flowers
She'd been with
The same company
For twenty years
She made an announcement
To my coworkers and I
"Tomorrow everyone is
getting together at the
Tap house, you guys are
Welcome to come"
My one coworker
A bean pole with
A ***** blonde
Ponytail and goatee
Agreed to go
Before she had even
Finished speaking
He's 37 and
Still lives with his
Parents and has
No desire to do
Anything
He once told me
That he didn't get
Why people went to
The beach
"Why go to the beach
When I can sit by
My pool? There's nothing
The beach offers that
My pool doesn't"
Anyone that can't tell
The difference between
A chemically shocked
Puddle in a backyard
And
The vast living
Expanses
Of the ocean
Should be considered
A danger to public
Health
Plus
Like people with two
First names
I don't trust men
With ponytails
I figured I'd go
I don't mind most of
The people I work with
Except for the
Ponytailed ***** boy
But then I started
To think about all
The times that this
Woman had:
Purposely stepped over
The morning
Paper so that I would
Have to bring it in
Threw her hands
Up in disgust when the
Copier was out of paper
And told me to fill it
Over her shoulder while
Walking to her office
Told me to fill
The coffee maker
With water while she
Clicked her tongue
And painted her nails
Threw work on my desk
Without a word
Wandering off to a
Higher floor to
Chortle behind a closed
Door with one of the
CFOs or CEOs or
Whoever the ****
But worst of all she
Thought ventriloquists
Were genuinely funny
I figured
That after two years
She was the one
That should buy me
A drink
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 6:27 PM UTC