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Browsing Tag: #poetry
I sit hereOn my ugly porch(it has multiple cracks)(and needs pressure washed)(and painted)In the duskTrying to readBut my book is dullAnd my across-the-street neighbor Is walking Up and down his driveway I have observed five tripsSo farBut I am also watching my dogWho has made four rounds of the perimeter While I have eaten OreosSo many I lost count…
His looks could be cruelThe snarl his lips makeThe cutting eyesAlways smirking And he thinks That I belong to himAs if I ever did!That he can summon me With no more than a promiseAnd I will gleefully scamperTo please him But noHe never realizedI only entertained himWhen I was boredAnd I don’t think I’ll be bored againFor I don’t believe That he could be botheredTo attend my funeral If I were to pass And even soHe will be secretly pleasedThat I wrote of him first He was a crushWe both wishedI had the loose moralsTo be so much moreAnd seal the wistful looksThat meant if only~But I couldn’t Even if he would’ve And he would’ve But then He’d just be like all the restYou were supposed to be my friendBut you could never leave well enough aloneAnd you never stopped callingAnd texting And messaging And stopping byUntil I wanted to pull my hair outAnd I let your lips say the lie That your mind had builtTo save you from yourself A pityThis oneI never thought I’d rebukeI thought it was loveFor decadesBut really you’re a cadA disappointment I held you to a higher standardWe still laughAnd remember But I don’t want to talk About the past anymore When we’re not together In the futureAnd I don’t want you anyway Because I see what you are nowAnd what you aren’t And youA tentacleYou let me goHow…
I am finding itTerribly overrated To be an adultA responsible adult, that isBecause all we do isGet a job(Smile)Keep the job(Still smiling)Drive back and forth to the job(Don’t kill anybody)Go grocery shopping To buy foodThat has to be cookedWith other foodTo be consumedShave your legsFloss your teeth(So you can smile)Vacuum sweep mopDust dust dustMow the yard so the neighbors won’t talkAnd you won’t have snakesPaint patch plungePay bills on timeEvery timePick out insurance (Which isn’t nearly as fun as picking out pocketbooks)Separate laundryFold laundryMatch socksDry cleanersPut away laundryWeigh yourself Critique yourself Compare yourself(Smile)Don’t miss appointments Schedule more appointments Buy giftsAttend events(All the smiling)Understand politicsPick a sidePick a candidate Pick a teamFollow sportsFind a soul mate(So much smiling)Know how to sewHow to walk in heelsHow to tame your hairHow to change a tireHow to say thank youAnd I’m sorry Grieve with graceAnd dignityAnd never lose your coolBecause you may never come back To all this madnessIf you go crazy…
It would not doFor me to love you To the point of distraction As I am already distracted And barely rememberTo put on shoesNever mind tying themAnd anywayPoets are fluttery soulsAnd you don’t want thatYou should probably seekSomeone who is groundedAnd knows where the flashlight isIn case of a power outageI’d rather have candles anyway…
These old men Mountains Men of the mountains Mountains made these men The ground cold into May Wet till October And then the gold is abundant Don’t pan- just look up Salamanders scurry And squirrels scold And bear chew Lazy, arrogant Brides with wildflower halos And dulcimers on the porch Chicken and dumplins on Sunday After Bible thumpin’ amens Old baying dogs with black patches Flogging roosters Rusted tools hanging forgotten But don’t kill the black snake Didja hear about Shorty Gonna run ’em a cobbler Porch swing’s squeakin’ What to do with all this squash Yes ma’am And thank you Please don’t trouble yourself Prettiest quilt I ever laid eyes on There’s watermelon And sweet tea Cousins are all comin’ too Just wanna drop in this heat We’re headed to the lake To the funeral home Just want to set a spell All we do is run run run Rain’s on the way Mail’s late Kids comin’ in for Thanksgiving Can’t wait to get to the beach So green it’ll hurt your eyes So humid you can wring the water off of you So slow you think you’ll never get there And everybody’s talkin’ ’bout football Stay Southern, y’all Love from Appalachia, ~Amy…
I do not stop for him I will not even pause But if he gives chase I will give him a smile over my shoulder I will flip my hair And arch my eyebrow And maddeningly For both he and I I will pretend that he’s the one Even though I know better And he should, too But I trust my name in his mouth And I love when he tells me little things It’s like Drops of nectar from a honeysuckle flower Never enough But sweet all the same What I offer him Is myself Uncensored Honest Bare I don’t know why But I don’t need a reason…
Poets Poets are Poets are supposed to be clingy And thoughtful And introspective And in love Poets are dreamy And indecisive And flighty And flakey Poets speak softly Poets are heartbroken And have sad eyes And wear their solitude like a badge Poets are willowy And wispy And don’t eat much Poets are lyrical Poets can while away an afternoon Just sitting in one spot Looking at a blade of grass Poets are made of secrets and whispers and stardust Poets have a disheveled appearance So at least I’ve got the hair right…
The cursor blinks in time….wait…wait…wait… My dog snores. I chew my fingernails.I don’t need to have a radio goingOr a TVOr someone here incessantly chattingIt’s not unnervingTo live alone In a house haunted by my grandmother–it’s true! But it’s worrysome To think about falling down the stairsAnd nobody realizing anything is amissUntil MondayWhen I fail to show up for workAnd maybe not even then…I try to be cautious.Someday I hope to have steadfast companionshipBut so far There’s been a drought One might sayA moonscape of desolationBut my life doesn’t look bad, per seI’ve traveledI’ve lovedI’ve lostI’ve lost booksearringsmoneyfriendspatience But not weightNot latelyThere are worse things Sour in my mouth when I think ofFireDebtCancerBlindnessAddiction Athiesm Not taking a chanceLight as a featherCozy in my nestThoughts of fishing Whole days spent waiting for a tugPoetry in motion EverywhereMy dog snores onHe’s a grumpy chunkFat ‘n sassy, like his mommaWho writes poetry In the premature winter night…
I am not a secretI am a sirenI am not a mediatorfor those who are weakI am the spokesmanI will not drag you with meI will proudly walk aloneFearlessBecause I faced the worsta long time agoI am strong willedStrongly opinionatedStrong legs to stand tallnot for runningStrong lungs to exhale and blow you from meI will continue, undauntedCaution trampledI am not sugarI am ginThat bites backI am honest to a fault voir direI am blue eyes and unruly red hairI am tears for an instantThen I am fierceI am a switchblade when my anger flares I am not a shrinking violetI am a strutting, bold ravenWith thorns held in my beakFor my nest in the highest, sturdiest oakI have never been a cowardBut will shatter my heart with a disaster To prove I will rise from the flamesI will not listen when you label me with your insecuritiesYour aggression is nothing to meMy confidence is a fortressI will not heed your warningsand think that I am brokenBecause you don’t approveof What I Am. *Listening to Kacey Musgraves this morning, who is not pageant material either…
{WP #815 the poem that won awards and sparked so many to love poetry again} I sat down to write it, summoning Jesus (’cause everybody’s momma loves Jesus), Shel Silverstein (’cause grownups and kids alike love him), and David Allan Coe (’cause he wrote the ultimate country and western song). I had to be humble, and funny, and true. I had to please the masses. My success depended on it. No pressure, right? It had to have music and roses and candlelightTo make everything just rightIt had to be whimsicalAnd moody And upliftingBut also rhyme and not be uptightIt had to say a million “I love you”sIt had to sing with all the joy everlastingIt had to be the one thing you could memorizeAnd let the world know you were sophisticatedIt had to make you forget about your problemsAnd make you feel lightAnd gracefulAnd place stars in your eyesIt had to talk about all the ugly things turned beautifulBecause this is the perfect poemThe one where there is the gorgeous treeAnd the luscious fruitAnd the breathtaking oceanAnd all the things we dream about at our desks at 1:30 in the afternoon  …
