Sleep’s Call
Sometimes sleep’s call to me
Is louder than poetry.
Tag: poetry
Campfire Smell
Campfire Smell
I breathe in to fill my lungs
with traveled air from where
the orange crackles care
to tackle toes with warm.
While lightning bug illusions swarm
Before the smell of campfire’s let out
Choosing a route that goes
directly to my nose
and fills my lungs with the good
of my childhood.
Hulu Buffers
Hulu Buffers
I’m watching a show
When the dramatic pauses lengthen,
The paralytic tension will strengthen,
And then I know
My entire buffer is gone.
In order for the show to go on
I have to hit the space bar
While I stare at the bizarre
Expression of a face
Until the buffer is in place.
Penetrate Poetry
Penetrate Poetry
Every now and then
I pull out a paper and pen
to penetrate poetry,
To enter an inky realm that I couldn’t type,
one that renders readers ripe
on the tip of my pen.
Each of them getting ink done,
dipping into a full-storied sleeve
of characters who receive
direction from the flexed muscle,
the scraping hustle
of a pen
when I penetrate poetry.
Porch Morning in Steubie
Porch Morning in Steubie
Wow it’s cold out this morning.
I suppose I should have taken warning
From the cool rooms unwarming
and the breezes swarming
In from the outside.
Snooze
Snooze
Nine minutes before
folklore dreams come crashing
with the day slashing away
the hopes of “I’ll make it happen,”
Dreams are delayed by the slappin’
of the lose button on my clock radio.
Forced Rhyme
Forced Rhyme
Sometimes a string of rhymes is a poem
On other days, rhymes are lackluster lines of forced meaning
Weaning the joy out of story,
Trading for rhymed glory, spectacle.
The gimmick lasts for so long
Before we’re doing it wrong,
Choosing the sake of the gimmick
to mimic word choices
That trap our voices.
Bug Shadows
Bug Shadows
The Fluorescent Swirl,
Glass-canisterred light
Might be out of sight
But the shadows of bug’s indecision
Twirl in peripheral vision.
An Unbalancing Brain Freeze
An Unbalancing Brain Freeze
I just ate an Ice cube from my OJ
Which made my head relay
It’s desire for its own contortion
Of a concentrated portion
Of my brain
Until the strain
Unfreezes and seizes
Balance again.
Gutter Mutter
Gutter Mutter
The sound of the gutter will mutter
Over the sound of the rain
That hums in vain
To be more than a background
Drowned-out rain sound.
BonjourPoetry 