Where am I? … 3pm
Vortex of words
pulling me in
forcing me to see
things I didn’t want to see.
About myself.
About what I’d become.
Lost.
Dear Leeloo
Dear Leeloo,
I know you’re happy at The Rainbow Bridge.
Did you greet Galahad, when he he got there?
I’m sure he was looking for you,
You know how he is, always so scared.
I miss you more than I can say.
Your sweet laughing face, always ready to play.
I know you have made other friends there, as well.
Buli and Walker, both as sweet as you are,
They’ll be waiting with you,
For the rest of us to get there.
Don’t worry about me, I’m not alone.
I have Lara with me, to keep me at home.
Before you know it, we’ll be together once more
And there will be walks and treats,
And cuddles galore.
Be good, sweety…
I know you always are.
And we’ll be together again,
And never again apart.
Love,
Daddy
© 2014 D. Edward Croy
#7, Sin City
The pavement is rough under my knees, scrapping them into a bloody pulp. But I don’t feel it. I only feel the rush.
I feel my heart pounding in my chest like a runaway train. Fingers knotted in my hair and pulling, it must be painful, but right now it’s making the blood roar in my ears.
It is rough and quick. Pounding. Pushing. Panting and growling like fucking dogs. Later we will lick our wounds clean. There is nothing pretty about tonight. I am consumed by pain and pleasure. Into the night we hide ourselves away, but not enough. Flashlights illuminate bare skin, steal our pleasure, replace it with a different rush. Run! Don’t get caught!
Laughing into the night our hearts sing.
waterfall that day
she doesn’t give the plants
carbon dioxide
she gives them art
and an apology
she’s incredibly useful,
but never doing the
supposed-to-do of things
she’s the kind to ask people to
bring ponchos to parties
instead of potato chips,
in case she’s a waterfall that day
she would shrug it off to her
unpredictability
or her ex-boyfriends
drawing incomplete circles
instead of their bodies
because it was
all the same thing, to her
she ties ribbons onto
a tree trunk
so it doesn’t forget
she climbed it
and clipped a few branches
and made pencils
out of them
she pulled the lead
out of a lover,
she wasn’t a waterfall that day
but maybe still
things could drown because of her.
__ar.
Walk Alone
Hour 7 – 12:00 PM
I’m a walking legend.
Ive been apprehensive to let you in.
I’m troubleshooting the universe to let us win.
Without a vision there is no tomorrow.
We can’t sustain if were forced to swim.
Let alone walk, were already trolls.
A mind altering nation is in control.
– J.C. ©
A Letter to Jane
Dear Jane,
How are you doing cousin?
You’re often on my mind.
Love for us turned out awesome.
We both have the greatest guys.
I’m not sure if I ever told you
But you’re more than a cousin to me;
You’re a sister and a special friend.
A gift from God in my life’s history.
I know we aren’t blood-related
But I want to make this clear;
You’re my cousin, my sister and friend
My heart forever holds you dear.
Love,
Monica
Dear Beauty
Dear Beauty, why must you behave so immodestly?
I heard last week another tale and honestly
You are lavishly sumptuous and unashamed
Of being ridiculously untamed
You and I, Beauty, are not so same
Yet I write another letter, as you live in fame
You will not last forever, all material shall end
And you will be left with no friend
Now now, fear not though young one
For I shall add, you are always young and won
Beauty, you are more than material, more than visible
I write these letters to tell you of your invisible
Dear beauty, you may just justify your immodesty
Say you may be accused falsely
Say I have had grudges of my own
But for all I have known
You are loved yet you are not forever, not everything ‘
It is another matter, your praises that they sing
let him wait
i let him wait
through early morning
and the softly fallen dew
through the afternoon and
the lazy day too
i let him want
through the evening
and then morning again
let him wait
let him wait
let him wait
not have a slice
or sample or piece.
let him wait
grow full of liquid love
blossom blue
burn and stagger for skin
sound the secret shower
running like summer wind.
Cat Poem 5
Cat is holding my book
My poems in his grasp
My attention sought
He won’t just ask
His paws reach far
Claws in or out?
My work doesn’t matter
He won’t care if I pout
Literary kitty
Sleeps on pen and books
Slaps at my words
Gives me a smirk
Wonder if he dreams
Of putting paper to pen
But he just sleeps on my book
In his world of Cat Zen
As he slashes my hand
Sleeps on my verse
I won’t take his comments
As something perverse
A cat’s poem is his life
Its his job to ignore
His mission is to play
His demeanor to be bored
My toughest critic
Will never be won
He will get in my way
And add to the fun