MUSIC SERIES – Sunday Rains

This poem was inspired by The Escapist, the second half of the song Death and All His Friends, by Coldplay.

Sunday Rains

 

When I am in my Sunday chair

with a cup seated lazily

on the woven wicker coaster,

its steam rolling over the rim,

 

I can look out the latched windows,

through the misty streets of New York

to the dimly lit country house

hidden five miles past Bozeman.

 

The station becomes Fairy Lake;

the stairs a winding waterfall

for people in suits to go swim

in the waters of the subway.

 

I suppose that makes me the shrubbery;

a scrub far beneath the hedge funds

waiting for rain to trickle down

on the tin roof of my apartment.

——

 

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FIFTY WORD STORY – Basketball Kid

Early every morning, I walk down First Street. There is a rundown park, and everyday I see a kid caked in sweat. His hands are coarse with dirt from dribbling. And everyday, without fail, he will look over at me, step behind the chalky white lines, and sink a three.

——

 

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Cat Reading (and Other Haikus)

In Translation

It’s as if their tongues

learned how to dance the tango

while mine learned to waltz.

 

Outside Chico’s

On this street corner,

I look like the mannequin

posed in the window.

 

Shuffleboard

Two boys at the board;

one calmly moves the ticker,

one bangs his proud fist.

 

Strangers

I thought I knew her,

so I called a name and waved,

but she kept walking.

 

Cat Reading

His eyes follow close

as I turn from page to page,

tensed by the bleak plot.

——

 

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MUSIC SERIES – The Bannerman

Hey there. This poem was inspired by Queen’s We Will Rock You. Oh, and make sure you go vote! 🙂

 

The Bannerman

 

The thunder of cavalry boots

roars along the cobblestone road

like the crack of rain from the clouds

as they rush to form their ranks

 

and spattered in cold blood, long dried

rises the ancient bannerman,

like a conductor with his wand

sending instruments off to play.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #116 – Serenades

Serenades

 

The echoes down the corridor

called out to my wandering eyes

as though my cold bench was a ship

clasped by a siren’s serenade.

 

Is this how lonely Dido felt

when she heard the crunch of dry leaves

beneath the pious Aeneas

before he parted the forest?

 

For when he rounded the corner,

that song of Cupid ignited,

turning my metal caravan

into a bed of burning coals.

——

 

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FIFTY WORD STORY – Praying

I felt the tug of memory when I knelt to pray. The return of hope against the storm; I can feel its shield against the rains as they batter the church walls. A warmth that is not my own runs through my fingertips, up my elbows, and into my chest.

——

 

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Ghost Dog (and Other Haikus)

Trick-or-Treat

Open palmed children

come crawling up to the door

ravenous for sweets.

 

Painkillers

A pair of blue pills

cocked back in my clammy palms;

shaking on my lips.

 

Screaming into a Jar

The glass on his lips

swallows the words as he yells

‘til they sound like hums.

 

Punch

Hot blood in my hands

feels like a molten sword

begging to be swung.

 

Ghost Dog

His round, button nose

is covered by the white sheet

while his feet peek out.

——

 

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MUSIC SERIES – Zombies

Spooky season is almost over, but I wanted to write a poem inspired by This is Halloween…so here it is. 😀

 

Zombies

 

You will see them on the sidewalk

in search of sweet morsels;

their legs scraping along the way

as they savor their treats.

 

They lurch into a sudden sprint

toward my small corner house.

I can hear their fingers scratching

as they try to get in.

——

 

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Scaredy-Cat (and Other Haikus)

Spilled

The creeping water

edges along the counter

to get to the floor.

 

Grilled Cheese

Dollops of butter

pop and sizzle in the pain

as I set the bread.

 

Studying

Papers strewn about

as my hand pushes a pen

that has been half-drained

 

Sparkling

The crisp elixir

pops and fizzles in the glass

like captured starlight.

Scaredy-Cat

He hears my footsteps

and scurries to the sofa

till he sees me.

——

 

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Time and Matisse – A Poem

Hey everyone, I’m behind schedule so here’s a poem I wrote a while ago!

Time and Matisse

I have found it easiest to watch time pass

as a fly on a wall, or a bird in a cage,

where you can see life in full color

slowly trickle away in a watery ocean.

 

Like a bleeding Renaissance canvas

where chapels were defined by their ceilings,

and painters by their attention to detail.

So simple, so fine, so real, so definite.

 

But as with many aged men, blurred lines

infect the day to day life, until a grainstack

at sunset might look more like a mountain

than ingredients to a meal.

 

Until finally, wheeling about from bed to chair,

one can hardly define where buildings start or end.

The once crystal clear canvases are thickly spackled

with the silhouettes of cut-out figurines

falling through paper starlight.

 

Around then the fly will depart,

and the empty-eyed birds will stop singing

while the last of the colors drift out the window

in an unforgettable breeze of vivid imagination.

 

——

 

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