3 pm Poem
Posing in mirrors,
Hiding from people.
The life of a self conscious narcissist.
The life of a regular person.
Poetry Marathon poem #3
Tell them what they need to hear
Lie to them
Tell them you’re not drunk
so you can drive away from them
and go where you’re wanted.
Heh. Want is a word I use sparingly.
Disappointment waited for you, boy,
you stood her up.
Bad plan,
but now it’s hers to deal with
for her days of quiet
reading in her apartment
made of years and old woods
already cut
for use
and we cannot fight function.
Shrill noises snap me back.
Items hold memories
and from memories
we gather magic
and usefulness
beyond use of word.
But understanding runs.
Hope is fleet,
I should know,
my feet hurt from running
and I hold you
close though I don’t know
why.
4PM Writer Needs
Silence
food for writers.
My son has the TV on
in the next room.
I want to scream
but I should probably eat dinner(5PM here).
Snacked my way
thru the day.
A good breakfast
then well…
Milano cookies
Nilla Wafers
Tea
Coffee-mostly decaf
Pizza or a calzone for dinner
Still have a long way to go
Poetry Marathon poem #2
I sift through
the passing times
finding broken glass
in piles among the sand
musing character
and what can be done
with two hands
and hard work
build something
put it to use
make the new
from years of abuse
physical mental
emotional warfare
yearning for a chance
to prove I care
flying, failing, flailing through
doing whatever it is I must do
The drawings scattered
in old notebooks
foretell the future
of bubbling brooks
and trees not paper
nature’s progress
humanity advances
to regress
old problems never solved
just put to the back of the mind
hoping the answer will come with time
but not the attitude
however
dystopian calls
are always crude.
zzZZzz
the best letter
of the alphabet
Poem Eight
My head rest on your shoulder
Your hand rubs my back to comfort
I touch the recent mark
That the comforting hand made
I should run away from the monster
But who else will love me
With all the marks on my body
How High?
When you have high standards, hardly anything seems good enough.
When you have my standards, even the way I breathe sucks.
My nose sounds like an emergency whistle when I inhale.
My dishes look like Barney took a big purple dump on the plate.
My cakes don’t look level enough for me.
When you have my standards, even compliments come with the back thought of “Do they really mean it?”
Every time punch is riddled with the questions…..
What didn’t I accomplish?
Was that chicken cooked enough?
Did I clean the kitchen well enough?
the answer….:
A RESOUNDING NO!
What you didn’t you accomplish?
Try everything you set out for!
Was that chicken cooked well enough?
No! That person is going to die and you will be fired.
Did I clean the kitchen well enough?
you can’t be clean!
Your food is abysmal, your plating looks too bland and boring.
Everything needs to be perfect and spotless!
You must learn everything new in a quick manner because you are not worth the effort or time!
There is no room for error, because everyone else is superior and you have to be perfect just to stay afloat!
I think I may need to lower the bar….
(viii)
In the real world – as also in faerie tales –
it is about thaumaturgy.
In the real world Alice is the monster
and the Jabberwock a virginal cherub,
logged on with the user name ‘bruised romantic’
…..and the password – Rumpelstiltskin.