"unpickable" poems
You have fare-welled and planned on never coming back,
And said you knew your place and mind.
You have come back so intact, and so sure that you will stay,
And tell me you’re sorry. Well, It’s fine.
You have yelled and picked apart parts of me unpickable by others,
And you’ve tied our love into knots.
You have said such sweet things and refuse you’ll ever raise your voice again
And say your tongue was just caught.
You become oblivious to obvious things and lie about it truly,
And clear your throat afterwards to confess.
You sit and sigh and groan and complain when you seem satisfied,
And you tell me I’m much more when I’m much less
You scatter out problems and lay them out flat and you promise,
That you’ll solve them. But I always do.
You forgive and say you’ll forget, but you hold it against me,
And I sit while you hold grudges and feel blue.
You croak and hold things away from me, saying you’ve said everything,
But things in your head have begun collecting dust
You seek new ways out, new roads to follow, but you don’t choose one,
You merely sit in the dew, and rust.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 8:47 PM UTC
Inside steel bars and concrete blocks
security cameras watched like hawks
Inside these walls, locked up in a box
locked in the box that’s strong as an ox
Inside the vault with unpickable locks
armed guards protect all ticks & tocks
what is it that consumes all the clocks?
the largest stash of solid Gold stocks
stacks of Gold bricks Inside Fort Knox
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
While walking through a warm afternoon
that suddenly turned from bright to dim,
with blazing clouds that began to loom
and shadows grew deeper and light was thin:
My way ahead was unexpectedly barred
by an iron gate, its lock snapped shut.
It’s topped by spikes well made to ward
off hurdlers, sharpened, made to deeply cut.
Past the gatehouse, a tunnel, a fallen shelter
from the rapidly coming hard rainfall
that once was sung about by a jester
in time with a tambourine, as I recall.
It leads to a light that’s still ablaze
where sunbeams’ sheen still sparkles bright,
beckoning us all to pass this gate
that looks at first glance a menacing might.
To stay before this wrought iron fence,
its spikes tipped with red poison that drips
into the soil that’s in cracked distress?
I won’t just wait here in the dawning eclipse.
No lock is unpickable, no wall too high
for those with the will to reach new skies.
Feb 6, 2025
Feb 6, 2025 at 9:57 AM UTC
The law of nature
California poppy
You'll never be mine
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 11:02 PM UTC