Under the skin, something poisonous. Like an acid flowing, as if from the Alien monster. Watch out for the dribbling! Often now, there are thoughts that reflect that menacing countenance. A wrestling match (With an Angel, or Devil?) Tenderness, not likened with love, Pain's manifest in the body glove. Sore to the touch, no matter … Continue reading Poisonous
This fine poem by Randall Evans…
Unexpected memory of a corridor
Voices roaring down the hall
A birthday held when I was four
Not for me, for the jolly good fellow.
An old man’s song if ever bellowed.
On a night that feels both mad and mellow.
I mused a moment, child’s mind,
Who were his friends there by his side?
They loved him then and so did I.
Lucky were the men back then,
To know my grandad as a friend,
Someone on which they could depend.
I wonder if he would be proud
If he had lived to see me now.
The singing voices growing loud…
He blew the candles on the cake
One day he lay and would not wake
Now floating down a gentle lake.
Nothing in this world will last
Our candles burn into the past
And shadow we no longer cast.
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We've been "friends" for years. I worked with you for a decade. During that time, we had an artistic association as well. My daughter joined us on occasion with our musical efforts. I was blind to it at first, but no more. Your friendly "hello beautiful" remarks at first seemed just that. Then, it was … Continue reading Something that bothers me.
Being of the foolish persuasion, I consulted the Great Oracle Of God's Lexicon and Encyclopaedia. And, with tickling anticipation, I typed in my name. Seven short letters, three space four. I'm Feeling Lucky. Bingo. There's my smilin' face. Hey, wait just a minute. There's no webcam on this dusty old desktop. Where'd you get that picture, Goo Goo Google? Wait just … Continue reading Oracle
Kid Little thought toys would do it. At fifteen, a Bad Influence showed him Playboy. He thought that would do it. He turned 21 on the day the drinking age changed to 19. He thought booze would do it. It only made him sick. He saw guys with pickup trucks full of empties, belligerent in … Continue reading Itself
I love this very feeling poem by MK Vecchitto.
Some people long for blooming darkness
velvet blackness where the lonely seek
cover with the eyes of a discarded doll
even as spirits commune
to hear each teardrop
as it falls
Some people long for endless accolades
syrupy sweetness encased in lyrics that lie
to invent personas which claim there is more
than meets the eye
even as spirits commune
to compose writings that
speak the truth
Some people long for a day that is enough
a long ride home just to enjoy the view
a walk in the sunshine to celebrate sacred earth
refusing to move from pillar to post without intention
recusing the dictates of societal norms
to linger on moments that matter
even as spirits commune
to sing songs
I met her some years ago in Group. She was young, quite silent and withdrawn. Most of the time, you couldn't see her face. She had a heavy head of hair, and its arrangement served to conceal all but one eye, looking usually down at the table. She was uncomfortable when speaking, but her answers … Continue reading The eyes have it
This……by Matthew D. Eayre
I don’t need to apologise
but I will,
because something I said
or did, or did,
made you think I was a
I hate to kill you,
I’d hate to die,
you seem a decent fellow as well
I have noticed some discrepancies
between the way life is
to me, to me
and the way it looks
when you paint
Are my eyes working poorly?
I’ve seen some nights
and some days
I’ve had my fun
and I’ve shed tears
and blood, and blood
Are my hands too dirty?
I shouldn’t have to explain
but I will, because unlike
those without legitimacy
my reasons have reasons
and I have seen some ugly
and I have been, I have been
I don’t name myself poet
and I don’t claim to be higher
than flying mountains
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
and nobody can say otherwise
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Somehow the wrongness is taking hold once more, thumbing its snotty nose at bright inclusion. It hugs, with a constrictor's singleness of purpose. I see the willows in the warm June breeze. I know this is beautiful. You have told me. I have seen, on the other side. But now I look, through a glass, … Continue reading on the outside, looking in
June peonies. Can't bring them inside this year, because apparently they are crawling with ants. Wife noticed this last year, after I had cut a nice vase full to surprise her when she got home. One or two of the little suckers were hitching a ride on the back of my shirt. Anyway, I love … Continue reading Travels with my ant