"teetered" poems
you
had a chapstick tube
stowed away in your bag of things you never put to use
those scarred chapped lips
scratching, tearing
crevice of your mouth craved my heart
bleeding, uncaring
and subsequently my mango chapstick would serve it's purpose
on your lips and never mine.
among other things, you had a pair of white socks.
you never wore them,
too pristine
(you'd ruin them as you teetered on slippery suspended logs)
you reminded me of a cracked open window,
always hoping you would be at the mullioned panes
chapped lips, white socks and all
but the only thing that pushed against the glass was the scent of mango air.
and
mango never smelt so bitter.
when
will you come home
replace the mango air with your feverish cologne.
a swaying of the breeze and your tee shirt wraps a cotton arm
around your waist
the bitter aftertaste
your tongue like grapefruit wedged against my teeth
i missed the smell of burnt bread bottom,
when we were in the kitchen
and the gown of silver hemmed water that danced down the roof,
tapping
again and again and again
but, when you come home next month.
I will be gone.
the mango
around our home
had long since
turned bitter
and that brown picket fence no longer bends around my heart
i am somewhere where the mango still smells sweet
and
boys give my their chapstick for i've long since run out of mine.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:30 AM UTC
Floating, drifting,
Slowly it passed from his hand
To the cold, hard sidewalk.
It once was a pretty flower,
With petals bright and cheerful
And a stem green and healthy.
Johnny’s night had not been great,
As was anticipated by his mom.
“You’ll have fun!” she said.
“But what about…” he trailed off,
Remembering the hulking ex-boyfriend
Of Lily, the girl he thought he loved.
“Just have fun,” she soothed.
Walking- no scuffling -down the street,
He remembered those last words she had said.
Even though this hadn’t been the night of his life,
He could still have a good time, right?
Five minutes later,
Johnny exited the nearby hardware store.
Four cans of spray paint in hand,
He drifted into the community center downtown.
All Johnny needed was a blank canvas
And about an hour before they closed for the night.
*I thought I was going to get my first kiss.
I could have sworn she was going to be my girlfriend this time.
If only I wasn’t such a dork,
Then maybe she would be interested in me.
I hate everyone and everything!*
The paint sprayed and splattered onto the canvas.
Johnny was breathing hard now.
Now he was ready, he was energized.
Ready to take on the world.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With a cover over the painting,
Johnny headed back to the dance.
He hadn’t even entered the building before,
Which meant he still had his ticket.
Johnny threw his ticket to the usher
And made his way over to the DJ.
“Turn off the music for like five minutes. Please.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll give you three dollars
And whatever else is in my pocket.”
“Fine. Five minutes. No more.”
“Thanks.” Johnny smiled.
As soon as the music was off,
Johnny dashed over to Lily
And her giant boyfriend.
He set the painting on the floor
And grabbed her in his arms.
Johnny then kissed her
As passionately as he knew how.
Lily, stunned and confused,
Teetered back onto a chair.
Then, just when the huge brute was about to punch him,
Johnny swiftly clutched the picture and ripped off its cover.
The boyfriend gazed, along with the rest of the crowd,
At the beautiful girl on the canvas.
“You painted this?”
“Yeah.”
“You really love Lily, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you need to kiss her again.”
The ex-boyfriend smiled at Johnny and Johnny smiled back.
He looked over at Lily.
He handed his painting to the ex-boyfriend.
Johnny reached for Lily’s hand,
Wrapped his arms around her.
“Will you, Lily, be my girlfriend?”
Lily gazed into Johnny’s eyes,
Leaned in,
And whispered in his ear,
“Yes.”
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
He sat in a small compartment by
The window, on a train,
The passengers huddled around him
Saying, ‘Tell that one again!’
He spoke in a low and measured voice
As they held their breath, to stare,
Watching his hands, as they described
Vague circles in the air.
There wasn’t a sound outside, except
The carriage, clickety-clack,
A sound that would tend to hypnotise
As the train sped down the track,
In every one of his listeners
Was a picture, in each mind,
That spoke to them of that better life
Which had been too hard to find.
And seagulls circled the skies above
As he primed their minds with ‘If…’
And led them all in a straggly line
To stand at the top of a cliff.
The sea was blue and the clouds were grey
And the rocks below sublime,
As they teetered there for a moment where
They stood, at the edge of time.
For then he’d show them a garden, with
The form of an only child,
Who seemed to be so familiar
That most of them there had smiled,
The scent of a pink wisteria
Had wafted the carriage air,
And then their tears rolled back the years
As they whispered, ‘I was there!’
He showed them a woman in mourning
With a cape, and a darkened veil,
Who knelt alone by a headstone,
Each listeners face was pale.
The bell of the church began to toll
As it sounded someone’s knell,
His face was the face of the gravedigger
As he held them in his spell.
The carriage was filled with waves of fear,
The carriage was filled with joy,
He’d tell of the death of a mountaineer,
Of a child with a much-loved toy,
Their tears they’d dry as the train came in
To the tale of a Scottish Kirk,
And one by one they would rise to leave
And head off the train, to work.
But the Storyteller would stay on board
And close the compartment door,
His restless hands were trembling still
As his eyes stared down at the floor.
The train heads into the future while
The past is deep in his well,
He sits and weeps in the corner for
The tales that he doesn’t tell.
David Lewis Paget
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
Clean it up.
trash, littered
glass glitters
smash delivered
mouths quiver
blood slithers
roads killer
people stiffer
lives teetered
eyes tear
cars peered
windows cleared
bodies feared
clean it up.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
I haven't been here in awhile. This section of Wonderland is almost foreign to me, after all this time. I have teetered upon its edge for ages, but now I have finally fallen in, down the rabbit hole, and I do not know when I will be able to get out.
The dark parts of Wonderland, where the Jabberwocky roams free, have terrify me and always will. The simple thought of that monster lurking in my head brings a slew of tears to my face, a torrential downpour of my own misery. I do not trust the Jabberwocky, for it brings ideas, hallow, dark ideas to the front of my brain and causes me to wander in the frozen desert or extract my blood from my own skin, and I do not know myself anymore.
Each word is shaky, I cannot feel it on the tip of my tongue, I am numb. No one here in New Wonderland understands the Jabberwocky; hell, only the White Rabbit and the Dormouse really understood it in Old Wonderland, and my heart still broke relentlessly, like tides on a beach.
Those not from Old have rejected the Jabberwocky side of me, and that terrifies me. What if everyone here fears the Jabberwocky? I understand that fear; no one expects sweet, innocent Grace to also be the monster screaming under their bed, but I need people. I need people who know and understand and accept that tough I can be broken and horrific and abhorrent and repulsive that Grace is still there underneath it all and she needs love. She needs it more than she'll ever admit.
Words. I have lost them. I haven't the faintest clue what's left to say, for the Jabberwocky is ruthless and hateful of my words, and I'm lucky to have gotten this far. In my dreams I am whole, in my imagination the Jabberwocky was gone, but I know now it has not left me.
It never will.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC
Love has given up.
It was the wrong religion.
And London did not melt into the Thames.
You teetered on the edge of a golden world,
and then fell suddenly—
accused of sortilege, ****** and treason.
And at his pleasure—
or was it mercy?—
Was it for the sake of your seven years,
or perhaps for the little daughter?—
in which flowed the royal blood, spoiled by *** and lineage.
Whatever it was, no matter.
He would spare you the pain
of being burnt at the stake.
Instead, to be executed like royalty—
dispatched by a French swordsman.
The prophecy must have been of little comfort
as your ladies helped prepare you to meet
Death, newly betrothed.
A gown of dark grey damask
floated over a blood-red petticoat.
Your mantle was trimmed with ermine.
Queenly, you stood and addressed those who had come to
watch you. And then you knelt and began to pray, and
quickly and mercifully, the blade
carried out its trajectory.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC
Convent detour
Covenant deviance
Context raconteur
Sterilized meat threads
Over deviled straight legs
Sharks breath beast head
Maximize....
Left alone - best unsaid
maybe off better spread
way out
O--- Rrr - way dead
Casually
concave bird chest,
shock waved cheap threats,
threadbare leaflets,
Modern day
Old hex
Big space and cavity baking ovens full of clutter extended hand and logic tempest temporarily teetered toward a soft chair and ice cold vanity savaged manually...
Or,
Womanually,
for that matter
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
There once lived a family of rats, caught up in wires and tubes and they probably thought they had it good until
the car started.
That car’s air conditioning smelled like death stench for weeks, until we
got it looked at.
Who knew we killed a family, who knew they ate their way under the hood,
who knew we killed a family and they reminded us of it for weeks.
——
My mother and father killed my dog, barely big enough to not be called a puppy anymore,
they ran over her,
as she slumbered in the tall weeds and grasses of a field.
——
We had a chicken named Thumper, his body grew big but his head never did,
and he teetered and tottered on ballerina pointed feet, and
the other roosters wanted to
eat him alive.
When we sacrificied him,
my parents plucked his back,
and they saw that his skin was a green-purple secret,
hidden by a humpback and so
many feathers.
——
Our third horse got caught in the river.
Big Mama got caught in Little River.
I guess it’s not surprising when big things die when they get caught in little things.
——
The coyotes got the rest of the chickens.
——
The rattlesnakes almost got the rest of the horses.
——
Most people don’t know that farm-fresh eggs are covered in blood.
——
We had two of the largest, ugliest geese.
They flew away.
——
The cat died under the hot tub,
we couldn’t find her for days.
——
The forest is always a graveyard,
is always hallowed ground,
is where we buried the animals.
Then they built a subdivision.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 2:22 AM UTC
I wept a tear for you
A single, glistening droplet
Shunned from my eye
it cried as it fell
left me with a memory
as though it had a tale to tell
As it teetered on my nose
gravity ended its sovereignty of sorrow
and it fell again
this time to greet my pillow
There it remains
I can't believe I wept a tear for you
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 11:32 AM UTC
The vastness of the summer field
Has lost its innocence to autumn yield
From whence the green has turned to brown
A once joyous day returns a frown
But with spring’s planting, revived and healed
Refrain oh urgings of wanderlust past
My sails have lost the wind, on teetered mast
The hearty bellows of a nor’easter gale
Has caused my depth to weep and wail
And fear the evil my spirit amassed
I am a farmer’s soul; born to seed and harvest
A reaper of words, and mortal darkness
I seek from all around, and all within
And dream of a life that might have been
Where love past is all but heartless
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 8:57 AM UTC
Venus of Willendorf
You seemed so distant
Cool and aloof on slide
Perhaps I was projecting
In the warm dark womb
Of Lecture Hall B
A silent world but for fan racket
From the Kodak Modal 4600
Eager to please on stiff little legs
Nosing toward the screen
Where you teetered
On impossible feet
Fighting a losing battle
With gravity I found
Touching, *******
No one could ignore
A chassis built
As the bluesman said
For comfort not for speed.
I hear Willendorf is nice
This time of year
Hint of fertility in the alpine air
Your crazy braids beckoning
Braille to a blind man.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 7:41 AM UTC
And as the sun shone
I whistled a melody
It's notes were laughter.
And as the wind spoke
I teetered 'long the pond's edge
whistling smiles.
And as the clouds roamed
I wrote poems in the sky
Whistling his name.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
Circa 2005
& for some reason,
(unbeknownst to me)
they trusted a student
with the keys
to the high school auditorium.
Two, thick,
metal keys
engraved with three
words that would tempt
the whole of my disguised devilry:
1. DO
2. NOT
3. COPY
Eve to fruit
Pandora to box
Me—
to a couple of squeaky doors.
I’d hush you as we
teetered the catwalk.
We’d speak
in whispered contraband.
Forbidden acts
in the high up off-limits.
“The taxpayers don’t have to know.”
There was something
so fine
about making self-discoveries
in the untouched spaces
above the lights.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
.
The branches of the trees bend and sway
as the breeze plays its tickling games.
Sitting beneath the mighty Oak
he closes his eyes and drifts back home.
His thoughts, like his arrows, true,
finding its destination with consummate ease.
A figure, a face, a smile, he sees.
The portrait of Her.
Burning a cold image in his mind.
An alien sound he hears, and startles,
intruding on his moment of reverie.
A bird lands on a tree, close,
giving him the eye, akin to the intelligent
stare of the capricious corvid.
It whistles and takes flight
calling him to follow.
Thoughts of Her portrait, now wisps of smoke,
disappear as intrigue beckons.
Insistent chirping, the clever eye,
leads him hither and thither,
ever away from home.
Caught in the enchantment, of following the Never bird.....
The mist crawls and curdles and climbs
in a rising, coalescing film of fog.
To befuddle the unwary, alone in the Trees.
His nerves, his eyes, captivated
as the Never bird commands attention.
Leading him on, deeper.
Home is but a distant sigh in his heart,
ignored with intensity, unloved.
The journey steps take him far, wayward
with no direction, no destination.
Singing sweet, swooping swift
the bird stops. Disappears into the gloom,
not once looking back, abandoning he who followed.
Lost. So very lost. So very lost.
Moments fly, rustling, footfalls, an apparition.
A Goddess of beauty unveils herself,
and steps, soft and gentle into the light.
Enraptured he takes her into his arms,
they sink and rut like animals, primal,
on the cool mossy carpet.
Banished are the thoughts and portraits.
Caught in the enchantment, of loving the Never bird.....
The cobalt sky in a haze of heat
swirls about before his eyes.
Laying beneath a Mighty Oak.
Goose-bumped skin. Alone.
He wakes. The forest still and silent.
His thoughts like drunken dogs
blurred by memories that excite and disturb.
The Portrait of Her.
Awakening a fuzzy, picture in his mind.
Scanning the trees, the lady is gone,
and missing is the Never bird.
Unknown magiks have been worked on him,
he felt, rather than observed.
The sigh in his heart for home, broke forth,
strange noises burst the mood.
The ache in his heart,
constrained within by abnormal form,
teetered on the edge of pain, sorrow.
A song of hope escapes, a decision made,
as wisps of smoke form a Portrait.
He spreads his wings,
caught in the enchantment, of being the Never bird.
© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)
Dec 23, 2017
Dec 23, 2017 at 8:51 AM UTC
Before you, I had friends but was often alone.
I was entirely unaware of the void.
I didn’t know your name or your face.
It was me, myself, and I.
I did all my school work and tried to be stable.
Before you, I was just fine.
~~~
When I met you I didn't feel so alone.
Our friendship put a light in my void.
With every corner I turned I looked for your face.
No better friends than you and I.
With wobbling feelings, it was hard to stay stable.
I figured having a crush was fine.
~~~
With your arms around me, I never felt alone.
I'm full and fuller of you, the extinguished void.
Every night dreaming of your shining face.
The world revolved around you and I.
With you by my side, I felt nothing but stable.
Forever with you would be just fine.
~~~
You started pulling away, I couldn’t help but feel alone.
As you removed yourself I began to remember the void.
Every once in a while I got to see your face.
You were here but you weren't and for that, I cry left without a dry eye.
Our relationship teetered for you were not stable.
I told myself "forget it, it's fine."
~~~
You broke all your promises and left me alone.
Grappling for pieces to fill my void.
Tears streaming not on mine but your face.
You didn’t want to go…but you did and I then poured out my eyes.
Wanting you back and wanting you gone, my thoughts were never stable.
I cried myself to sleep each night, but all others heard was "I'm fine."
~~~
Forgotten, discouraged, all I feel is alone.
No matter how hard I try to make them fit no one else can fill this void.
I can't think of my own best friend without seeing your face.
I'll never forget your beautiful smile, it's so perfect in my eyes.
You're no longer mine, the thought leaves me unstable.
For breaking a promise is there such a fine?
~~~
I'm trying to not feel so alone, to fill the void with self-love.
To direct my love to my own face, to the shine of my own eye.
I won't lie I'm still unstable; I'm not ok right now but eventually, I will be fine.
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 12:31 PM UTC
It was a whisper in my day, seven quick
words against stark white to remind me who I am:
I am the words spilling from the point of
my Pilot XGrip, carefully ordered to represent
my wandering mind.
I am a mess, the pile of laundry huddled next
to an overflowing dresser, a muddled sea of
organized chaos.
I am movement caught in the stillness of a
photograph, the buzzing blood flow of
finding moments.
I am summer, a sticky shirt and 4 am with
your arms draping over my shoulders for
the second time.
I am flapping wings and shattered thoughts, a kiss,
and eyes one inch from mine yet I have no idea
what color I am.
I am you.
And even still I am him,
the you that came before you.
I am six months ago, the night I teetered on
the railing long enough for him to tell me how
pretty I looked.
I am the stairs he joined me on, the hide out from
the party he invited me to and I couldn’t quite
fit in with.
I am train seats
and crossword puzzles,
strange professors
and picnic tables.
I am orange cheese puffs
and little kids answering
grown up questions.
I am you,
the other you,
the better you,
the you that got away.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:04 AM UTC
*Fathered by a fantasy of ideal expectation
Nurtured by the fallacy of promisory’s sought,
Living out the lies of appearance as priority
Content in the hollowness of misconceptions taught.
Wafting through the days in a cloud of preconceptions
Drifting in a lifetime of falsehoods rendered loud,
Teetered on the brink of a precipice, precarious,
Arguing malfeasance in empty tones of proud.
Blinkered to collapse of society in freefall
Unseeing of the seething fraud which permeates the globe,
Blind to the bombing and the gunshots in the avenues
Sadly unseeing of unsightly flanks disrobed.
Perilously cloistered in a crowd of like admirers
Jostling for position in this flimsy house of cards.
Sipping pink champagne in a plume of sick pretentiousness
Ignoring words of warning with a haughty disregard.
Slipping to a flagfall in a shocking fall of failure
Slipping to a flagfall in a pall of choking dust,
Slipping to a flagfall in the hues of sad surrender
Sagging to oblivion in a staining sea of rust.*
Marshalg
Auckland NZ
May 1 2014
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
On wed. My 49/yr old nephew died of a sudden blood clot. My mother is 93 and has 12 children 40+ gr. Children 40-50 gr . grandchildren dozens of gr.gr. and some more beyond that and this is the first of any to suddenly pass thru .
I spent all nite writing and preparing clothes so as I posted what I wrote it was the replies and attention given that allowed me the fortitude to stay out of the dark hole I teetered on so to all my most gracious and heartfelt appreciation for walking with me as I stumbled along in what was only a dim light. Thanks so much.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC
Sweeping falsetto
Wood shined
Somber glow
Curving phantoms
Bowed over bow
Cream candlelight
Wonderful frights
Hems
Sweeping over the dance floor
Perfume daintly teases cologne
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 2:57 PM UTC
It's been light years since my heart strings
were touched, gently plucked
in artfully arranged cacophonies of
'I love you' and
'Come closer' and, whispering,
'baby'
sweetly, in his waning symphony.
The fade-out drags at my feet,
while I move through moments now, slowed down,
talking loud,
as though words are my only means to stretch moments out.
These are the 4am secrets I cling to most,
sunlit smokescreen memories of a spaceman still haunting me, you see
no matter how loudly I speak
smaller volumes are still volumes
and his whispers were still words
like 'baby', hurtling through moment after moment
and I wonder why it still hurts.
An asteroid of his voice ricochets through endless stretches of space
and solar flares only spit flashes of his face until even supermassive black holes seem comforting,
perhaps they would transport me to a different dimension of blanket fort dreams
where I am held again, amongst whispers wistfully meant
and this time I don't forget to contain all the stars in my eyes,
cocooned in second chances on Solaris,
the planet where lost loves come to life,
where droves of the lovesick go to die.
I couldn't escape past the moon forever
but **** I could still crash land whenever
These unearthly dreams created space for me
and in that space, I found my sanctuary
realising that with all the space that I need
the spaceman no longer had a hold on my dreams.
See, love was soaring music, elevation, no metre,
just levitation, almost timeless, but it teetered
on the finish line
to be stopped too soon by a volume dial and a frown,
I bottled up from bottle to cup and kept my voice down
but time has a way of showing you
that shutting people out isn’t profound,
but the absence of sound.
Endings quietened my universe, but
I stopped believing in the relief of silence
and since,
I have become a crushing crescendo,
I think even the cosmos could hear me screaming.
The volume turns up and I burn and I glow
feasting on feelings, wasted on whispers
I'll break waves against wistfulness,
Fling fists against fitfulness,
the spaceman can fight me for all he's worth,
I will not fade out.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 6:32 PM UTC
21 years of waking up
with the bed half
empty.
The nightmare that haunts me
as I lie there, awake,
Is going through 20 more.
More than death
More than failure
More than large bodies of water
I fear being alone.
I won't let the love
that flows through my veins
go untapped. Unused.
I've already let
too much potential
go to waste.
'I mean, seriously,
what kind of man
scores a 31 on his ACT
and only goes on to do
a single year at community college?'
The same kind of man
who's worries have
teetered on the edges of love
rather than within the confines
of success.
The kind of man
who'd rather be writing
stories to the beat
of other peoples lives
than allow the tales
of his own journey
to grow dull with time.
The kind of man
who measures life
in the amount of friends
and loved ones a person
accumulates
rather than with stacks
of green paper.
Someday I'll meet a women
who can see the world as I do.
We will be happy
in our tiny, cute
twin cities cottage.
I'll walk down the street
to grab the paper and some coffee,
she'll watch the boys
while trying to make her deadline.
We'll be happy
in our own chaotic,
free-spirited,
open-minded kind of way.
Physical possessions
poison the soul.
Money has no value here.
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 3:03 PM UTC
You sang me John Mayer in my ear
Eyes half-closed from drunken drowsiness
And happiness
I teetered and tottered, young next to you
A little rambunctious and uninhibitedly grinning
Into your pupils, black holes swimming in blue
It was not electric or chemical or explosive
It was unpredictable but apparent
It was real and it was raw and it was sweet
Your whispers linger in my heart still
The tender caress of your hand
Urgency and gentleness
I chose to leave
It was my decision
I understand this
And I know I a built a wall, claimed the title of introvert
But you know as well as I do
It meant something
One day you'll be famous and you'll have everything
You ever dreamed of, exactly like you planned
Your hopes, your ambitions, the one
And I will too, though I waver on that belief right now
I'll be wonderful too
And in the back of my mind, I imagine you will still remember the sweetness
May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 11:46 PM UTC
Numbness swept over her
She hadn't even realized that she's felt that way
For two days
She knew she couldn't let it continue
So she sat and thought
Thought of everyone who has hurt her lately
God, there were so many
But it's because she always cared so much
And for that, she was always broken
So she thought of everyone who has been leaving her
She thought of the words that made her heart ache
She had to feel it all
And suddenly the hot tears began
And they stung her cheek as she wiped them away
Knowing they wouldn't really stop
For her, there was only the numbness or the tears
But more than she hated those she hated herself for the urge
The urge to slice into herself
It had been four long years without it
And all she could think about was the knife waiting
At the bottom of her purse
That someone left her for defense
Forgetting she was weak
Or maybe not caring
So she teetered between the numbness
And pouring her heart out into a pillow
Hoping one day she will find something to stop it
Hoping the thing to stop it,
Wouldn't be the knife.
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 11:48 PM UTC
She stepped onto the silent stair,
Her hair undone, her shoulders bare.
The moonlight that shone down was where
The sky fell in, a sad affair.
The wooden steps she stepped on squeaked,
The cobwebbed railing cringed and creaked.
But yet her interest still was piqued,
She moved on still while wind still shrieked.
At the end of the endless flight,
Where dark was darker than darkest night,
And shadows stole every stitch of sight,
Forward she flew and fled from fright.
A dusty door was soon discovered.
Nervous nerves were soon recovered.
She opened the door and duly uttered,
“Well!” and in the doorway hovered.
The bitter room was bleak and blank.
The décor dwindled, drab and dank,
While shoddy floorboards skewed and stank.
She ran away from the reeking rank.
The second room proved prim and prime.
Decadent dancers danced on a dime,
While tiny toddlers teetered in time
To regal rhythm and rhyme.
The third room held a tiny door
More minute than many before.
Its smile its only stock and store,
It motioned for her to move in more.
Behind the door was brightness bright,
Much lighter than the lightest light,
And when she walked within the white
She realized things were quite all right.
Feb 22, 2012
Feb 22, 2012 at 5:39 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Across the front pages
It drizzled
He launched a big missile
That fizzled
From the repressed country
He’s chiseled
Down to the bone
Or the gristle
And it became a headline
Feeder
The man who they called
The Great leader
Who’s a half pack short
Of a *******
Finally has tottled
And teetered
Perhaps because of
His haircut
Some think of him as
A nut
Be that as it may
He’s the ****
International jokes told
You say what?
And were he ever to
Shed a tear
Many more would follow
I fear
From his frightened people
Am I clear
Even if they were being
Insincere
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 10:37 AM UTC