"speedy" poems
Every night I lie awake
And every day I lie abed
And hear the doctors, Pain and Death,
Confering at my head.
They speak in scientific tones,
Professional and low—
One argues for a speedy cure,
The other, sure and slow.
To one so humble as myself
It should be matter for some pride
To have such noted fellows here,
Conferring at my side.
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Embracing this moment
time is nonexistent
captivated and locked on
could never look away
every time those stars shine
you know I'll find a way
to make your heart mine
outside it can feel so divided
but I can confide that it's never with you
I'll write all the reasons I'm delighted
to see the way you brighten the feeling in a room
It's never too late to tell how you feel
acting out in love is more than words make real
I'm not afraid
to tell you I love you
til the sun rises in the west
I will be my best
grace in human form
it don't take nothing for you
It's as easy as summertime
with nothing to do
pace my speedy heart
I just want to rush into it
you make a man want to fly
across the universe
for better or worse
outside it can feel so divided
but I can confide that it's never with you
I'll write all the reasons I'm delighted
to see the way you brighten the feeling in a room
It's never too late to tell how you feel
acting out in love is more than words make real
I'm not afraid
to tell you I love you
til the sun rises in the west
I will be my best
Oh my heart
it's unbroken
resurrected by you
all because
I am open
to let your love come through
Oh our love
can be unspoken
because we know it's true
And I will
never be choking
on the love you feed me, love you feed me
outside it can feel so divided
but I can confide that it's never with you
I'll write all the reasons I'm delighted
to see the way you brighten the feeling in a room
It's never too late to tell how you feel
acting out in love is more than words make real
I'm not afraid
to tell you I love you
til the sun rises in the west
I will be my very best
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 1:14 PM UTC
On the bank of a rushing brook
I sat for hours watching its course.
Peered into the clear gurgling mass
That cascaded down from a mountainous source
Like a slithering snake, it slinks and slips
It babbles downhill night and day
Rolling and gliding through plains and dales
It winds its way to the wider bay.
Dipping my fingers in its icy chill
How my hand got repelled as from a shock!
In its ripples stirred by the kissing breeze,
I saw trees, clouds and the jutting rock-
All floating in queer, fanciful shapes,
Shuddering, trembling and standing still
And the fishes leaving zigzag trails,
Swishing and swimming in the winding rill.
As I quietly watched her speedy flight
With her ***** rising in mournful heaves,
In my ears fell her whispering soft
Orchestrated by the rustle of quivering leaves
I hardly knew the time speeding by
Nor noticed the birds’ homeward flight
Or the Sun moving to the west end side
And the Sky reddening at his sight
As the brook thus continued her headlong ride
To be mingled finally with the ocean wide
I walked, brooding over man’s relentless stride
To be merged eventually with the Cosmic Guide.
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 9:10 AM UTC
thus by prosecutor charg-ed, with this crime so heinous~ed,
the judge insisted on a super speedy trial, this, a special case-d
"can't wait to hang this ***** be~deviler,
got me a jail, second only to hell,
if he thinks his hifalutin lawyers will get him de-roped!"
I plead guilty to save the state some moola,
avoid the expense of all the attendant hoopla,
but in my tired defense, I said little but this,
it was god who cursed me with this word-ly power!
now I ain't saying I was naturally bad,
but who are you to judge me so harshly ,
when all I did, with a tool god~given, was,
tell people how beautiful they are, so close.
never far, from bringing them forth to their fruition
so my intentions were good, tho my goose is cooked,
loonily, this I truthfully willingly confess, though just as bad,
I was lazy, I was negligent, I am now hell-bent for many
infractions, the greatest, chiefest of them all, was all the times,
!!!!!
***read a poem much beloved by other's on this blue earth,
weak from jealousy jealous, I never...reposted it! for their way
much better than mine, and I was too selfish to praise them,
so I expect I won't be too lonely in perdition, just another poet***
!!!!!!!! addition
*so children, teach your children well
a poet's hell will slowly go by, if they
fail to repost them hundreds of poems
that mak'em gasp~laugh-just plain weep,
for that will really **** (sorry lord) the one
true judge wh gave us this wordy blessing,
and is eagerly awaiting us special*
sinners
and that just might be my one true name…
(Oh sinner~man!
where are you gonna run too)
[{(]})]
p.s. this poem readily available to be reposted ('jes a 'gestion)
even
plagiarized elsewhere, but remember, when you, who stole it,
somebody's a~watching whose
vision is unimpaired.
plus, I got new software invented by Ai trained teachers,
so so, easy to find ya...
Sep 28, 2025
Sep 28, 2025 at 5:14 PM UTC
Numbing pain; headache tablets full in a mouth,
speedy replies, and local loves. I love the rush.
I broke my heart for a crush.
Reminder: life is a little too
rough.
But I'm acting tough, close to the lines of messing up.
Always about to cuss. I swore it was the last,
but that's just a whispering bluff.
Enough of myself, too full of
myself every time I
laugh.
I spend hours thinking about random stuff; to huff
and puff, and blow away my best love. And we
both love spending hours talking about
some random
stuff.
She's had enough, with pure innocence of a dove.
And I'm the one sinning on her behalf. She's the
better half; but still a kid at heart, acting
tough. She's a calf, domesticated from
her wild love from her
past.
We're tragically in love, not from above or succumbs;
pushing time into each other, as it will shove.
Holding necks with a love glove, it has me
so choked up. In the first line of
love being a
drug.
Jun 6, 2022
Jun 6, 2022 at 3:00 PM UTC
there was a little ostrich he just loved to race
very fast was he with a very speedy pace
one day he decided to be an athelete
in the olympic games ostrich would compete
he put on his number on his racing vest
the number 29 was the one he like the best
he stood on the start line till it was time to go
then ostrich he set off starting very slow
he just took it easy till half way through the race
then ostrich he got faster and set his faster pace
ostrich won his race feeling proud and bold
then he took his prize a medal made of gold
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
i like to watch the cheetah as he begins his chase
running like the wind with his speedy pace
chasing down his prey with such skill and grace
like a racing car he begins his race'.
then in to the air he will quickly bounce
landing on to his prey with a mighty pounce
the fasted of them all a lovely chap his he
a hunter of the wild with a life so free
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 8:23 AM UTC
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea,
Pristine sands aglow under a deep blue sky,
Crabbing and kite flying, every day a perpetual cream tea,
Never mind the bites and stings, the sunburn and occasional tears, the hours flew deliciously by,
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea, in sweet memory of a lost childhood
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea,
Endless games and innocent playful frolics,
Hide and seek in the dunes, eyes barely covered and a speedy count to twenty,
Mum and Dad fussing and fretting, always late for the midday picnics,
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea, in sweet memory of a lost childhood
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea,
Rainy days didn’t stop the fun, funfairs and arcades beckoned,
Never managed to hook those ****** cuddly toys, made Dad so angry!
Waste of time and money Mum always reckoned,
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea, in sweet memory of a lost childhood
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea,
Harmless nostalgia or dangerous reverie?
Perhaps things were never as I imagined them to be,
But I ache for those happier days, and ease this endlessly painful adult misery,
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea, in sweet memory of a lost childhood
© Robert Porteus
Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 8:39 AM UTC
All are limitory, but each has her own
nuance of damage. The elite can dress and decent themselves,
are ambulant with a single stick, adroit
to read a book all through, or play the slow movements of
easy sonatas. (Yet, perhaps their very
carnal freedom is their spirit's bane: intelligent
of what has happened and why, they are obnoxious
to a glum beyond tears.) Then come those on wheels, the average
majority, who endure T.V. and, led by
lenient therapists, do community-singing, then
the loners, muttering in Limbo, and last
the terminally incompetent, as improvident,
unspeakable, impeccable as the plants
they parody. (Plants may sweat profusely but never
sully themselves.) One tie, though, unites them: all
appeared when the world, though much was awry there, was more
spacious, more comely to look at, it's Old Ones
with an audience and secular station. Then a child,
in dismay with Mamma, could refuge with Gran
to be revalued and told a story. As of now,
we all know what to expect, but their generation
is the first to fade like this, not at home but assigned
to a numbered frequent ward, stowed out of conscience
as unpopular luggage.
As I ride the subway
to spend half-an-hour with one, I revisage
who she was in the pomp and sumpture of her hey-day,
when week-end visits were a presumptive joy,
not a good work. Am I cold to wish for a speedy
painless dormition, pray, as I know she prays,
that God or Nature will abrupt her earthly function?
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’Twas on a lofty vase’s side,
Where China’s gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow,
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.
Her conscious tail her joy declared;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She saw; and purred applause.
Still had she gazed; but ’midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The genii of the stream:
Their scaly armour’s Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betrayed a golden gleam.
The hapless nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first, and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretched, in vain, to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
What cat’s averse to fish?
Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretched, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between:
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled)
The slippery verge her feet beguiled,
She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood
She mewed to ev’ry wat’ry god
Some speedy aid to send.
No dolphin came, no nereid stirred;
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard.
A fav’rite has no friend!
From hence, ye beauties undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne’er retrieved,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wand’ring eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize;
Nor all that glisters, gold.
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His body lost temperature as he pressed himself against the chest of hers, seducing her with his love.
With his sleepy **** voice, he hums her romantic morning lullabies.
The gray walls of the room soon embosomed with gleaming hearts of their beauteous lust and speedy soft breaths, leaving nothing more but powder blushes of crimson on her flowery cheeks in the springtime dawn.
The honeyed lust in the veins lit the bodies of two lovers like candles into eternal flames of romance.
Under the chocolate brown duvets,
Milky fragrances of the tea dances along the bare hands of two lovers,
while he serves breakfast on bed to her in an old-fashioned way.
Bleak morning mist tango around the vitreous skins of scratched windows,
as fat hummingbirds' tinkling giggles paint beyond the nature's smiley meadows,
sending a major abundance of lovable freedom and glee to the people.
In the bathtub,
Velvety calyx of dreamlover rose flows smoothly through the silk water.
They shower each other and let warmth grasp their naked body.
He kissed her dancing soul of chasms out
and tie uncountable amount of butterfly knots to her pancake stomach.
His abilities of heart possessions had captured the universe's breath.
*Nothing has changed since day number one, everything is iridescent.
Everything is swimming in a magical pool of scarred perfections.*
As the sun sets to the west,
The undarkened nightfall sings lulling melodies and let its harmonic fire burn the skies.
The shadows of their love whirl out unstoppable romance that vanished away void hopes and pain.
The lover's spirits echo and echo into spring gorges and dashing rivers,
Feeding darkness with lucent fragments of light.
Oh they were only two humans in love...
Or only a size of two negligible lovedust in the mystical galaxies...
But their endless love never fails to deluge the world with drizzling tears.
A facile spark of romance can be an amazing set of fireworks that creates indiscernible fruitful happiness.
Who in the world could resist this unpredictable power of their spingtime love?
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
Your rapid fire
Heart's desire
Is a high octane
Bullet train
Bouncing between destinations
At widely varying elevations
Stopping at mysterious stations
Where I experience deflation
In between these stops is a track
Where everything is black
And you attack
Until the merciful sun finally shines
You then say you'll always be mine
There are quick flashes of light
But also sick gasps of fright
And it's a big task of might
So the trick is to grasp right
When the speed of your movement
You claim to be an improvement
Creates fire extinguishing wind
So the flame you lit you rescind
Your ride was aridly adrenalized
Which is why I was penalized
In a poison prison incentivized
By your many mental lies
Eluding my sentinel kind
No love I find
Only tire marks
In entire dark
That lead to nowhere
While I scream no fair
You were an explosion of pleasure
Whose interest I tried to measure
Instead of being happy
I saw your train lapping
Familiar phantom spots
When emotions ran hot
Through my heart you shot
At a velocity I once thought
To be completely impossible
Proven wrong by bullet holes
And only lonely bullets know
What's inside my heart
They take those contents
To make me repent
Your speedy intent
That was fast
Smoking past
Things that last
Into broken glass
Until we were cut
By our rushing rut
I couldn't take anymore
So I sped to the door
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 4:52 AM UTC
Allow the rhythm
Relax in rest
Breathe in renewal
To stay at your best
Release the weight
Just let it go
Waves of renewal
Come as you slow
Your life is not
A speedy race
Renewal won’t come
At a frantic pace
There’s time for action
And a time to renew
Take time for renewal
In all that you do
Dec 25, 2020
Dec 25, 2020 at 10:57 AM UTC
you're drinking, and then you can't control
the reaction upon entering the tetragrammaton...
one h is for hushed up laughter, for sighs (ah),
and then the alter deja vu
is a cocktail of:
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha,
yeah, so many, so you can look at it rather than
say it... it's a sunny day, go out and play
or something... leave me with the anchor of ****
humanity dragging us down, or simply basing us
in the underwater fudge of mud to a standstill...
it's sunny, go out and play, ride a bicycle or something...
you know, living 20 odd years in an english society
i never had an english girlfriend, i'm told she's a real
firecracker fortune-cookie... my hands are cold,
i swear by the oath of the old Bailey i never touched
her thighs... scouts' honour, cross my fingers
and wear woman's underwear with a bowler hat
to match my serious demeanour...
yep, an Abbey Road's standstill... a fifth beetle
chatting cheeky chat chat of a chirp...
gurgles of fizz in carbonated wine known as champagne,
well that's me... or as the roadrunner said to
speedy Gonzales... hark a sayonara when changing
the gears to a 100m sprint world record.
the Mayan disease? ah right... excess spontaneous
laughter, unstoppable like a tide;
got chatting to a ms. khan... Genghis' great great...
great great great great great... great great granddaughter...
a doctor from pakistan... nice english accent
gets you all the pleasantries so everything can
go to hell... the sleeping pills prescription is waiting...
now the sick-note... so i don't crash a plane
into the Swiss elevations by "accident"
while sitting on an arm-chair of nails while everyone
else is farting into cushions.
honest to god, the tetragrammaton is like a brick
wall for vowels, you hit the ball against the four
walls, and the vowels are either ****** up
or they extract the consonant stability of the four letters,
and your safest bet to express them is
to laugh;
well, i do call it a Mayan disease... because
my stomach is aching from building a six-pack with
the giggles.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 7:40 AM UTC
I go to bed early and am quick to rise,
my room is tidy as can be.
Heaven forbid I should ever tell lies,
I have no faults, or can’t you see?
Whenever my parents wish to speak
I turn an ever eager ear.
Never would I give them cheek,
that is too brash for me, I fear.
My teachers’ words are my priority,
never would I cause them duress.
I must bow to their seniority,
and never will it cause me stress.
Juggling six demanding classes
is such a simple thing to do.
That’s six straight-A passes,
a 4.0 is nothing new.
Exercise is an important act,
all the leading physicians say,
So tennis, soccer and varsity track
are how I fill the rest of my day.
But as each evening wears on,
after days that were just too speedy,
I am constantly drawn
to serve meals to the needy.
I always speak grace before we eat,
in the most humble and catholic way,
so for food, light and heat
and for God’s love I truly pray.
This is my third square meal
that I’ve enjoyed today,
with portions small so I don’t feel
that I’ve increased what I weigh.
Now to homework I must run,
with adequate time for all.
Equations and essays are so much fun,
and studying history I would never stall.
On the weekends my friends and I
have more fun than you could know.
Root beer and warm apple pie
bring us from sugar high to low.
Despite my perfect SATs
I am more than intellectual.
My drawing skills, if you please,
are much more than ineffectual.
And on the stage I am a riot,
My singing voice is like a bell.
My pirouettes and leaps are oh so quiet,
Is there anything I can’t do well?
Mediocrity would be such a drag,
why would anyone choose it?
I wave perfection like a flag,
it has always been the perfect fit.
Why do some make it seem so tough?
Isn’t this everyone’s goal?
The pure exhaustion isn’t that rough.
And all perfection cost was my soul.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 4:29 PM UTC
Loony Tunes
Bugs Bunny is my favorite rabbit,
watching him became my habit.
He was smart, funny and two steps ahead,
his popularity was very widespread.
His best friend was Daffy Duck,
he never did have the same luck.
Rabbit season, duck season,
rabbit season, duck season,
watching them, I needed no reason.
Speedy Gonzales was so very quick,
this fast mouse was also a *****
Owned his own pizza place,
won a gold metal, at the local rat race.
Yosemite Sam was a short tempered man,
killing Bugs and Daffy was always his plan.
He's a liar, a cheat and a sore loser,
maybe he should have been a drug user.
Tasmanian Devil was a tornado of destruction,
he never needed any kind of introduction.
Foghorn Leghorn never saw a negative situation,
I say, I say boy was his favorite quotation.
Pepe Le Pew was a French skunk,
women loved his smelly *****
Marvin The Martian was from Mars,
his laser gun would leave you with scars.
Tweety was an antagonizing canary,
lived with Granny, and flew like a crafty fairy.
Sylvester was Granny's pet cat,
him and Tweety always went *** for tat.
Road Runner was so very fast,
said beep beep as Wile E Coyote he passed.
Never fell for those Acme supplies,
getting blown up was his ultimate demise.
Porky Pig was just happy to be included,
the, the that's all folks, is how this will be concluded.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
Each day will blessings flow your way
From your sure and consistent pace
Like the story told of a speedy hare
And the tortoise who won the race
Your dreams need daily attention
Which draws them to your embrace
So trade your fitful stops and starts
For that steady, consistent pace
Yes, quick and powerful actions -
At times they may have their place
But more success is gained by far
From a stable consistent pace
So when you plan your daily life
Save some focused time and space
For the daily thoughts and actions
That keep your consistent pace
Jan 12, 2021
Jan 12, 2021 at 10:21 AM UTC
The sea took a sailor to its depths.--
His mother, unsuspecting, goes and lights
a tall candle before the ****** Mary
for his speedy return and for fine weather --
and always she turns her ear to the wind.
But while she prays and implores,
the icon listens, solemn and sad,
knowing that the son she expects will no longer return.
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Planned a long road trip
In the name of friendship
Seven hundred miles that day
Home and bed five miles away
Midnight sky with fireworks high
Red “H” on engine gauge much closer by
The sight was quite a fright
No longer feeling such delight
Pulling to the side
My time to bide
Until a tow appears
To relieve my fears
Mosquitos delight
They win the fight
On the interstate highway
Above their lakeside byway
Vibrations move the car
While passing trucks go far
E.T.A. at 1 am
Police set flares at 2 am
2:20 rolled around
At last the car was found
Speedy hookup
Not another hiccup
Left car at garage
Free ride home removed my rage
Doubled the driver’s tip
Reduced the bother to a blip
3am can go to bed
Yet so wired in my head
It takes an hour to mellow out
In four more, the sun from bed will rout
Was it worth it in the end?
Any day, I’d do it for my friend.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 7:05 AM UTC
My daddy wants Republicans
Standing in a line
Then ship them all to Moscow
That would be just fine.
Then after all is said and done
There shouldn't be any fuss
Since that is exactly what
They want to do to us.
They can try graft and corruption
In any foreign war zone;
Dead, like they wish our youth
They'll leave us all alone.
It never seemed a good idea
All this war and death and hate
But Republicans love it all so much
It is their fitting fate.
So Dad wishes all Republicans should
Be put in a big ugly ship.
He's fine with them being gone forever
And wishes them a speedy trip.
So adios all you Republicans
We're sick of all your messing.
Go away and stay away.
You have my father's blessing.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 5:38 PM UTC
A ringing in my ear
The soft cry of children
My innocence slaughtered
Where did time go
I lay here awake
Aware of the mess
Who dragged me from my bed?
My fists are cut and ******
And the bottle lay empty
Another night out?
Butchered tree in my pocket
There’s more to it than this
An endless road lie yonder
The heat waves friendly
I see you but hear nothing
I don’t wave back
Another left behind
Learning new ways to walk
Have we forgotten how to live?
Worshiping false idols
Media is a speedy vehicle
Inebriated driver behind the wheel
The minds of the masses
A thirst never quenched
I laugh as I know
And wander off the road
I think I found a new place to go
The land of maize
But I’m not lost
I have no place to be
Do you?
-AJT
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 3:03 AM UTC
All Along this chain link fence
pulsing incessant down ground-ward decent
Bone paved side cracked and twisting this winding road
No street lights rest stops my nerve twitch eyes closed
swelling and curving no stretch in shoulder
Wheels rub the hot spot as ripples get louder
Sliding highways you know that fun
till happy turns hazard drinking redrum
tumblingdown head first
shatteringhigh star burst
scatteringmy focus
splatteringlike bone crush
scaffoldingdo not touch!
Another brick in the wall of fame
extra activity considered the game
Now Excel at macro Alt Shift and paste
spreadsheet my back line the facts on my face
"Say Boy!, your speedy." from there I can trace
That needle-nosed issue in tissue displaced
bend over run forward turn left then cough
so perfect small packages get checked in then lost
Like milli tary or leaves when it out lived the need
***** the life from under shelter asteamed
Sleeping pins needle in terminal sensation
clinching and grasping to my spinal decoration
twisting and turning will bring no release
this physical chain from my **** cyst to neck leash
when typing or driving the pleasure is lost
when numbness takes over attention to high a cost
I'm broken together
one round at a time
yet the cords are in place
to ring in tune as it grinds.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
A born salesman,
my father made all his dough
by selling wool to Fieldcrest, Woolrich and Faribo.
A born talker,
he could sell one hundred wet-down bales
of that white stuff. He could clock the miles and the sales
and make it pay.
At home each sentence he would utter
had first pleased the buyer who'd paid him off in butter.
Each word
had been tried over and over, at any rate,
on the man who was sold by the man who filled my plate.
My father hovered
over the Yorkshire pudding and the beef:
a peddler, a hawker, a merchant and an Indian chief.
Roosevelt! Willkie! and war!
How suddenly gauche I was
with my old-maid heart and my funny teenage applause.
Each night at home
my father was in love with maps
while the radio fought its battles with Nazis and ****
Except when he hid
in his bedroom on a three-day drunk,
he typed out complex itineraries, packed his trunk,
his matched luggage
and pocketed a confirmed reservation,
his heart already pushing over the red routes of the nation.
I sit at my desk
each night with no place to go,
opening thee wrinkled maps of Milwaukee and Buffalo,
the whole U.S.,
its cemeteries, its arbitrary time zones,
through routes like small veins, capitals like small stones.
He died on the road,
his heart pushed from neck to back,
his white hanky signaling from the window of the Cadillac.
My husband,
as blue-eyed as a picture book, sells wool:
boxes of card waste, laps and rovings he can pull
to the thread
and say Leicester, Rambouillet, Merino,
a half-blood, it's greasy and thick, yellow as old snow.
And when you drive off, my darling,
Yes, sir! Yes, sir! It's one for my dame,
your sample cases branded with my father's name,
your itinerary open,
its tolls ticking and greedy,
its highways built up like new loves, raw and speedy.
2.3k
i am a sewing project:
fine little scars make lace of my arms.
patches of different patterns
occupy my mind; they're awfully frayed
but unique. they're mine.
i'm pushed and pulled through
some speedy machine
work, sleep, repeat
every puncture of the needle at
the speed of light
i am a constant, ever-changing
patchwork, some
handiwork of a tired old woman somewhere
awfully far away. i think of her when I can’t fall asleep.
I wonder if she thinks of me too.
i am a tapestry.
i cover walls, i do not build them, yet oftentimes i so wish i could.
or had the strength to, at least--but i am mere fabric
i am a sewing project.
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 10:59 PM UTC