Unspoken Thoughts
Your voice is constrained inside a sound
That you can’t wrap your head around,
Lest your voice would be violently
Struggling to speak silently,
Picking your words like ripe fruit,
Hoping speech would follow suit.
Month: February 2010
“all pants, half off”
“all pants, half off”
It seemed well intentioned
But I was out of sorts
Since nobody had mentioned
those pants were really shorts.
Free Verse Attempt: take one
Free Verse Attempt: take one
Like magnets, words find meter
Something that will repeat or
Some sonic something that’s totally new
Without a rhyming word
In view.
Since my rhyming tendancies
Defending these
Words won’t give up yet,
Rhyming’s what I get.
The Interlines
The Interlines
In poetry, you should read the negative space,
Where the trace of the poet’s thoughts are gifted.
Intertwined in lines of lace,
A beautiful holy space,
Where love and loss is sifted.
Coffee Prep
Coffee Prep
I woke up this morning warning myself I wasn’t ready.
I needed more sleep before I could steady
The coffee spoon without spilling
Grounds that were unwilling
To fill the filter without me.
I had to do it apparently,
So of course, I spilled grounds across the counter top
On my typical kitchen coffee stop.
Excavating the Stairs
Excavating the Stairs
The icicles are melting,
Pelting our steps with each droplet.
Wet dribble splattered,
Pattered predicting repairs.
Stairs drink the water like a dry hand.
Sand in the concrete that no one sees,
Freeze and frees.
Weather Headache
Weather Headache
Some people have a trick knee.
Weather changes, and they can see
That there’s a storm brewing,
As if the weather was pursuing
This biological test
As it came in from the west.
I think I’ve been given instead,
A trick head.
The Ritual of Getting in My Car.
The Ritual of Getting in My Car.
I open my car door and find a swirl of snow
Slow mo-ing in my mind
As it floats methodically downward to my seat.
I grab the scraper and brush off the windows
Before the snow goes
Up against my pants to complete
the melting that started
when it parted with the outside of my car.
Icicles
Icicles
You’re growing like stalactites from my gutter
Fed by drips to the tips that sputter
Spittle from the rooftops
As melted snow becomes drops.
Each day you’re growing longer
And I debate if I should make you
Come down before you’re stronger
But I don’t want to break you.
Poem-a-day and tired.
Poem-a-day and tired.
Nothing else to write
It’s time to write a haiku
This will have to do.
BonjourPoetry 