hour nine
the rain beats down on the windshield
wipers bashing at the chaos
trucks splattering more water
than those tiny blades can swipe
cursing the rain, the car zooms along
I’m wishing I had time
to stop and dance in the rain…
Apologies friends…
Well, I thought I’d have all my poems posted by now, however, life intruded…I will try to finish posting them this weekend…
Hour 24 – Nostalgia
A proud old man lives below me
He doesn’t go out too much
Too fragile to even bow
Limbs cracking at seams
Into the dead of the night
I could hear his words
building an enterprise of his senses
To go out and act on his behalf
Hour 21 – To I
Dear Myself
After sincere reflections, I’m afraid I don’t see I to I
I refute myself, at the risk of being cruel
I mean, I don’t see I
Neither I’s my, nor me’s mine
My’s only I, mine’s only me
Mine temporarily
– Me
Hour 20 – Looking Through The Glass
On the train of needs
Alice woke up in an elf suit
They were passing through the forest of no trees
About to reach the Zone
An unnaturally bright moon cast strange shadows
Wraiths from recent dreams
Alice looked around
Her co-passenger, a pretty red fox
A box of daddy issues
A watch, the face reversed
A tar-covered polar bear violently ambled past
Reading a newspaper, muttering to himself
Alice looked outside her window
In the Zone, we’ll all be alone, she thought
No camps on the way, no stops between
No roads leading nowhere
A bright moon casts strange shadows
Wraiths from dreams past
Hour 19 – Heisenberg On Acid
“Welcome home,” the butcher says
to the meat I return
“Thank you,” I tell
the online shopping window
Fingers “excuse me?!” a warm glass
“Have a nice day,” the cold night replies
“Pardon me,” I lied
“How are you?” she never asked
Hour 18 – Sores
A confusing dog roams among us
making us laugh into others’ eyes
or hate others laughing;
Oh sweet cur,
go lap someplace else,
go slobber into another’s soup,
we need you not here.
Your need to bark should stay silent.
Your comfort with scatological exhibitionism
is a secret blessing, best kept away.
The dog still runs among many,
betraying silent nothings.
Little puppy, stay thee silent, away.
Your hypnotic scratching makes me want to sleep.
Spiral yourself to sleep too, strange canine,
or have someone put thee down.
Somewhere else.
Hour 17 – Premature
This poem has broken my heart
Before it has even begun
We could have gone on, awhile
We could have been
Yet nothing was
As nothing is