Little dictator

Imperious he stood upon his chair,
And commanded common folk.
With regal mien and stately air
He quite specifically spoke.
"No! Sit!"
His Sister humbly obeyed.

Woo Hoo!!!!!!

Last night I posted my one hundredth post!!!!


Avacado

Dark green skin,
Like river pebbles,
Smoothly rough,
Cannot resist my
Silver knife,
Splitting open
To reveal flesh,
light green,
Butter rich,
melting in my mouth.

Ode to an evening daisy.

Ivory petals,
Slightly lilac,
Flowers in their own right.
Radiate from a
velvet center,
Deep purple black midnight.

Northern Star

Sifting through jewel tinted animals,
Smooth, faceted surfaces cool in my hands.
Twisting silk, wool, and metallic fibers
Imported from incense scented lands
Hearing the bold, brassy, come-hither chiming
Of coin-dripping embroidered waistbands

Antidote

When I'm here, I'm here,
When I'm there, I'm there.
As long as I am happy,
Does it matter where?

Keeping it real

For what reason am I writing this poem?
Is it because it is expected of me?
Am I trying to impress someone else?
Or show off my "talent"?
Am I writing something that is of meaning to me?
Or am I simply searching for some brilliant phrase or twist,
Whose praise will pet my ego?

Connect

Why is there war?
Is there a hell?
I'm not sure I believe in one,
But Hitler's got to go SOMEwhere.
And dark henna lines flow
From the still pond cellophane in my hands
To your cracked desert land skin,
Like the soothing words I speak to your aching mind,
Connecting for a moment.
And I know, even if you don't,
That in a small way Hitler was
So that this moment could have meaning.

Music

music is not a sound,
music is not a talent.
music is not a set of laws or a tune.
Music is our souls speaking to each other.

L.I.F.E is good

Hundreds of children,
Free happy children,
a maelstrom of discovery.

frustrated

I can feel your attention
on the tip of my fingers,
But bird-like you've flown again
I want you to notice me
Because I have noticed you
Don't you understand this game?
I'm supposed to smile at you,
You're supposed to talk to me
But I keep smiling in vain!
I may have to get drastic
And ask you out on a date.
Bending the rules of the game.

In the labyrinths of my dreams
I confront my darkest fears
Far away from the golden beams
That would dry my frightened tears
I am singing the challenge
Of those who have gone before
In the primal voice of stonehenge
I will not fear anymore

Uncle Owen

I never really knew you.
But I think you gave me my first bike.
Someday I'll sit and talk to you.
That's something I think I'll like.

If

If you had microscopic hearing,
You would hear my skin
Sizzle and pop in the sunlight
Like a pan of red and white bacon.

America

My cup is slippery and ice cold in my hand. The water numbs my throat. The salt from my skin mingles with it, giving it a faint trace of sweetness. I leave it. I step out of the shade and feel my shy skin tingle as it burns in the radiance of a brazen, shameless sun. I hear grass under my feet, carrying me to my position. The sharp crack of ball hitting bat shatters the silence of heat smothered fans, and appreciative shouts and whistles follow in its wake. Soft thumps, like ripe fruit, announce both spectacular catches, and moan-mongering fumbles. A thin thread of sweat caresses my temple, cooled by a welcome breeze. I watch a white sphere spin over me in the blue halls of heaven. I step back, opening the hungry brown jaws of my glove, and like a wolf snap it out of the air.

I'm melting

Like a flower wilts
So do I
When the mercury
is miles high

stupidity

Trust in you heart they say,
I believe it a perfect way
To do something foolish,
And also quite mulish

Walkabout

I've heard of a thing called walkabout,
When men roamed the punishing wild
To escape whatever was bothering them.
I go, but my method's more mild.
I wander the parks of my city
And bundle up the child.

Backseat writers.

Opinionated brothers
And pinnochio nosed mothers
Can drive a girl insane
They won't let you write a letter
Without saying, "Make it better"
Though you tell them, "go" quite plain.

Ending.

I hear a giggle, and soft voices murmur.
Water sings as it caresses crumbling clay.
Some busy insect hums a tuneless song.
A hawk pipes, warning others away.
I turn over, lazy in the sunshine,
My hat slips away from my eyes
And I smile, as my Dad and my Sister
Watch a shimmering silver lure while it flies.

Observations while meditating on Jane Austin

There are some people
Who are not the people
You want to be around
Because they are the kind of people
Who are not completely sound.

Supermarket checkers

I watch you paltry peons
Scanning your prison bars
In the dogged slavery of eons
You peons gaze at the stars

Summer taste

There's nothing like
A perfectly ripe
Tomato sandwich.

Scraping the barrel

It is impossible to write
A poem for me tonight
It is impossibly to write
And not sound inanely trite.

Sleepwriter

The hours are all ticking
And my contacts are unsticking
From my eyeballs. Let me go!
I'm half asleep already
And my feet aren't quite so steady
But these words just have to go.
From me they're overflowing
And I have no way of knowing
If they'll ever let me go.

Cincy OH

Can you sin, sin,
Can you Natty?
Can you Sin, Sin.
In Sin Cincinatti.

I like to go outside.
I always have.
I like to feel the air move
I like it to live.
I like to feel things between my toes,
Mud,
Grass,
Sand.
I like to feel the cool
Green gold glow
Of growing things
In the sunshine.
I like to taste sweet, fresh wild fruits,
Flavorful, meaty, tender new leaves,
And starchy-squeaky shoots.
I like to smell damp earth,
Fresh cut grass,
The delicate scents of flowers
So small you scarcely see them.
I like to hear the silence so profound,
That the whisper of the trees
Is the roar of lions in the breach.
I like to go outside.

Nightmare

I had the strangest dream last night,
It put me in a terrible fright.
'Bout a woman who worked in a packaging plant,
A lettuce grower was their largest client.
Cheerleaders helped the workers along
With a shout and a dance and a cheerful song
Bugs infested this woman's skin
Crawling through her, o'er her, around her, in.
Turning it shiny, broken and black,
Burnt bread crust, shimmering tarmac.
To show how much she drowned in despair
My dream-machine replaced her hair
With pepperoni and cheese pizza
Dotted with a glistening red spicy meatsauce.
Surrounded by her greasy halo
She tried to speak despite a mouthful
Of frigid, choking, peppermint tic-tacs
Until her rotting, scabbed face went lax
And as the evil 'sects jumped ship
Beneath the cheese her death mask slipped.

Toddle

Hmm Hmmm Hmmm
He sings,
Boh boh boh
He sings,
Dee Dee Dee
He sings,
Hands behind his back,
He sings.

When children are free

In this sunny day I'm seeking
For a piece of a place I was,
When the daughter of a Sea King
And the child of a Sea-foam Fuzz
Ran from Someday and Well, Maybe.
Oh, they played all day just because
All the children of the Way, free
From Not Now Dear do and just does.

Kick off

Okay folks, everyday in May is here again! And this year, I'm actually going to write EVERY DAY!!!!!


Happiness

How do you write a poem
To describe a perfect day?
When the sun shone
And the wind blew
What can a person say?


Barn moment

A huddle of children laugh
And test the warm hose water
That trickles down to the dark damp concrete
To splash in fluid gems
Against the legs
Of a black and white horse named Rhubarb
Who's going to get a bath today.