Monthly Archives: November 2015

“Blue Sentence”

One moment I am piping heavy on woes
contemplating murder on words,
something dark and sad
and so unlike me,
the crippled child
festering sick
and obnoxiously
in my belly.
But you flip me once
with a smile
(and a terrible pun)
and then my woes
are doomed, turned quick
to sunshine, flowers and all those
awful, corny, bright-eyed things
that make me remember
I can laugh, I can love
I am not meant
to tolerate life’s bruises
and all it’s battering worries
like misery men
breaking bottles of beer
with sullen musings, spilled, cut loose,
quick, from lonely, sorry mouths:
“Oh drink the bitters! Cheers to life!
You beat me hard, old dog.
I am granite, I am god, I can
love the bruise and beat
and terrible trod
that life socks at me
hard! Hah.”

No, not on your watch.
You are like the period at the
end of every blue
sentence,
one with a smiley face
so imperfectly
inked there
with love.

Categories: Creative Writing, love, poems, poetry, prose | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

“Teacher”

Library in the room you are
a great cavern mouth wide-open ushering
close our small shivering souls into
your infinite soul-encapsulating wisdom.
And meandering rivers like curled fingers,
beckoning, tempting us,
roll under our bodies-
we’re pulled suddenly
by the vessels of your story books
into those wondrous age-gilded caves
called Eternity.

Hear listen I have thousands of teachers
caught fluttering like moths in-between bent pages, awaiting
the opening of their leather-bound cages
so they can burst and stuff themselves
into your wide-eyed wandering eyes
with the sweet carnal infiltration
of their every, personal story
deep into your twist mindscapes and
the worst bowels of oblivion
where your soul goes to wimper
and sometimes to rest
from the beating of
their honest texts;
The rawness of humanity
slapped earnestly
into your cringing heart
Learn! Learn
You bleed
and weep
from the discovery of
the beautiful, broken
truths you read.

Oh library in the room
I admire
your thousands of voices
caught forever
Pressed with page and without rest
until my eyes have rested on you
so you can breathe again
And the teachers’ voices
rise fantastic
Eternity here like once before
To fill one mind-
and surely, many more-
with the wonder of
Their terrible, troublesome worlds
Forever.

Categories: Creative Writing, poems, poetry, prose, Teachers | Tags: , | Leave a comment

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