FIFTY WORD STORY – Future Reflections

The mirror echoed, “who?”

When my voice caught in my throat, the glass turned into a black corridor and swallowed me. I padded down the darkness to an old, decaying wood door.

And behind the door, I saw a feeble looking man. He pointed at me and called out, “you!”

——

 

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Dogs at the Door (and Other Haikus)

Toothpaste

Tastes like frozen air

as it flows between the teeth;

winter on my tongue.

 

Looking Outside

A flash of feathers

flies by the open window.

A glimpse of freedom.

 

Statue Envy

You smile through rain

and stay chipper through winter.

Oh, to be the same.
Temple of Time

Hidden in the mind

is my archaic doorway

and I lost the key.

 

Dogs at the Door

We started walking

and now when I’m by the door

they come stare at me.

——

 

Hello there!

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Drinking in the Moonlight

Taking a short break from the Music Series this week. We’ll be back at it next week. Happy Memorial Day

 

Drinking in the Moonlight

 

That’s really all I have to say.

Sitting under this umbrella

in a simply woven, brown chair

looking up at the summer stars

 

wondering about my whiskey;

how the ice cubes clink the edges

of the shimmering crystal glass

and how warm the wind’s caress is.

——

 

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FIFTY WORD STORY – Morning Anxiety

It feels late. I can see the sunshine on the dusty floors. The stress enters my lungs like a thick fog, choking me from my sleep. I rush from the sheets, glance at the body laying next to me, and check the time. Six o’clock. I still have an hour.

——

 

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Cat Asking for Food (and Other Haikus)

Mother and Child

The wooden figure

immortalizing their love

slants off to the left.

 

Project Planning

Tomorrow I’ll start

planting my tulip garden

if the weather holds.

 

Half-Finished Projects

Tools stacked to the side

and a doorway with no door

both gathering dust.

 

Rope Swing

Out over the lake,

suspended in the pine air

waiting for the fall.

 

Cat Asking for Food

You scratched the table,

crying for my attention

to fill up your bowl.

——

 

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MUSIC SERIES – Eyes Closed

This poem was inspired by Strawberry Fields Forever by The Beatles. Let me know what songs you think I should write a poem about!

 

Eyes Closed

 

Sitting in the strawberry fields

trying to recreate a simple dream

while the sound of a tractor tilling

at the stony winter soil

covers the distant song of the birds.

 

I can almost see myself on the branches

sitting next to them with my legs hanging;

looking across the small acre of land

at this stranger perched on a shrunken log

with his eyes closed, staring at nothing.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #92 – SPARE CHANGE

Spare Change

 

It feels dishonest to call her a dime,

a penny, a nickel, or a quarter.

A fifty-cent piece doesn’t do it

and even a silver dollar falls short.

 

She doesn’t slip nicely between the folds

of my freshly bought dark brown wallet

like a twenty dollar bill, creased over

from its dozens of previous owners.

 

She might shine like spare change;

jingle like a pocketful of coins,

perhaps even grin like a president,

but to me, she’s priceless.

——

 

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FIFTY WORD STORY – The Wall of Faces

Sometimes I stare at my wall of faces; all the masks I have put on—happy, angry, sad; animalish. I’ll try to contort my face to match them, but it’s hard to compete with a mask. When I look in their eyes long enough, they’ll start to speak to me.

——

 

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Dog in a Car (and Other Haikus)

The Squirrel

Your bushy tail

cannot hide the stack of nuts

spilling from your nook.

 

Sore

Like a rubber band

stretched tight between two fingers

just before snapping.

 

Two Pillows

They lie side by side

on the Victorian sheets

like two slabs of stone.

 

Twinkle

You looked to the sky,

starstruck by the midnight lights,

and I, by your eyes.

 

Dog in a Car

I hear you rushing

to look through every window

and see the redwoods.

——

 

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MUSIC SERIES – Return to Sugar Mountain

This poem was based on Sugar Mountain by Neil Young. Let me know what song I should look at next in the comments!

 

Return to Sugar Mountain

 

A handful of smoke-grey pebbles

and piles of decomposed granite

were all that I found on my return

to the fabled Sugar Mountain,

 

that, along with a pile of cigarette butts

burnt out underneath the stairs

beneath the broken-down church cemetery

where they buried old man Barker.

 

I remember dropping to one knee

to dust the ashes from the tombstone

and decipher the inscription his wife left.

It was from a note she wrote him in school.

 

All the candy floss at the carnival

couldn’t match the sweet in your eyes,

nor could the colored balloons

rival the vibrance of your life.

——

 

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