Halloween without Trick-Or-Treating
I can’t think of another holiday that’s quite like this,
Where you move an event and then somehow miss
The holiday altogether when the day rolls around
The costumes are all worn and lying on the ground.
Trick-or-treating was a couple days ago
Bumped out of place by a football show
But without the trick-or-treating, what’s one do
When the day called Halloween’s un-costumed too.
In Memory of the Franciscan Sign
How will they fill this sign-shaped hole that’s now inside my heart?
They’ve taken down Franciscan’s sign and broken it apart.
I hope they don’t replace it with some corporate looking art
But rather choose a design that will iconically impart
The feeling from the sign they took, how it used to be.
The wooden sign from Old Franciscan’s now a memory
Without the sign for Camp Franciscan, how on earth will we
Know where to turn when driving up on University.
Like what you read? Become a facebook fan of bonjourpoetry.com by clicking here.
The Halloween Social Contract
Don’t stare with your eyes all a glaze,
As if it’s somehow my fault
When you don’t say the simple phrase,
And your race comes to a halt.
On my front porch, if you don’t engage in
The Halloween social contract,
Don’t try to convince me we live in an age when
The candy’s simply sacked
Without the secret code that tells me to release
Sweet sugary droplets into your bag.
My stash of candy depletes so yours can increase
So your pillowcase fills and starts to drag,
But only when the words are spoken
Will I give you a sugary token.
If you hold out a bag and our eyes simply meet,
That’s not the same as saying “trick or treat”.
Careful What You Wish For
I’m going to have a great day today,
Even if it kills me.
On second thought, that depends on the way
My Lord and Savior wills me.
Still Life
If a picture speaks a thousand words,
How does a painting get through a conversation?
There must be hundreds of things I haven’t heard
Staring at this representation
Of an apple and a pair.
The complexity of the gradient on the sphere,
The shadows and light draw me near
To what it is that I can’t hear,
And so I simply stare.
Perhaps if I cock my head just like so
Then the words would start to flow
And maybe my mind could retain
The words the painting speaks in vain.
Hmmm? … Nothing
***
The Painting above was done by Carrie Mitchell. If you have money to buy some nice art, go to her site and buy some art. If you don’t have money to buy nice art, go to her site and flip through all the paintngs she’s posted up there.
There I fixed it: remote control
Saw a remote on “There I fixed it”
Went to buy one, then I nixed it
‘Cause this item’s not for sale
The costs were way too high to mail.
This poem references a pictre. Click here to see it.
Play Money
My son asked for some money
Pretend though it might be,
He thought that it was funny
When I suggested he
Pretend to earn his pay,
Play with money that he’s made.
“If that’s the game you want to play
Go work and then get paid.”
Book Covers
I know that you can’t judge a book by its cover,
But I browse through a bookstore and eyes start to hover
On those with prime real estate
To which I can’t relate
Unless their creative lines
And artful graphic designs
Pull me in to the text.
Without these, an author is hexed.
So rather than curse the writer
I’ll let a byline cite her
While I get distracted with an interesting cover,
Holding the graphic design above her.
Flip the Pillow
As sure as feathers find their billowing inside a pillow case.
I have to flip the pillow, find a freshness on my face.
When a surface underneath my head is growing all too warm,
I cannot simply sleep there without waking to transform
The temperature I rest on into something much more cool.
Turning over both the temperature and tiny bits of drool,
I gladly stick my face inside the cooler feathers found.
A new coolness on my cheek allows my slumber to be sound.
bonjourpoetry.com
Don’t delay, be a facebook fan today. Click here to join the bonjourpoetry.com facebook fan page.
The Phantom Stair
At the top of every stair case
Is a step that I don’t see
And sometimes I don’t change my pace
But climb on blissfully
To a phantom stair that isn’t there.
I’m unsuspended in the air.
My foot falls down to find it’s pair
Passing through the phantom stair.
And where the staircase meets the ground
A second phantom stair is found.
I stumble as these ghosts abound,
On all the stairs I find around.
BonjourPoetry 