My father was a man,
Fighting for butterflies,
In a world telling him,
It is not a mans job.
I have wondered why the shame,
Of a son,
Loving another,
Would be so painful.
So, he loved butterflies.
And fresians,
And chameleons,
And frogs,
And bees,
And turtles and wheat and water,
Long before the world would understand,
That dolphins cannot run the earth.
Today, he would be a cool man,
As though he already wasn’t.
♦picture - favelas in Rio♦
evocative short poetry – words move
I wish we had played on all night,
African cowboys with not much,
Else to do,
I wish we had challenged the fish in the sea and,
Called out to the Bison,
My father and his band,
And his,
-strike while the iron is hot-
Jive,
Johnstone, his brother,
On the drums,
Kicking up a riot,
Sarah the lead,
Crooning about her rescue from a,
Very bad man,
Lydia,
Lead back-up,
Flinging in the,
‘Alleluiahs’, and
‘Godda-let-it-be’s!
Samuel,
A doctor dying of AIDS,
Breathing new life into a tin-metal harmonica,
‘Alleluhia,’
Rocking the old man at the end of the bar,
And the couple at the table, fighting with their lips,
I heard it coming when he fumbled the line,
And I wish we had played on all night.
♦Thanks to: Meanwhile Back at The Ranch(photo), and Jessie Veeder, whose telling, inspired this poem♦
evocative short poetry – words move
There, my mask is on,
Perfectly concealing,
The wounds on the surface.
I have candy floss,
Bright-pink,
Right up in my face.
The little one beside me,
Wants to play,
Strong man,
Tugging me first to the hammer,
Then to the duck-shoot.
I am sucking in air,
In big gulps hoping,
No-one notices,
The man in the gorilla suit.
I have played the game well.
I rise early in the mornings and take long walks,
Arriving at the plaza for briefcase lunch.
I stroll back past the phone booth at,
Twentieth and eleven,
And call home to say,
I’ll be back by seven.
Today we’re at the fair,
And I’m hoping no-one notices,
The man in the gorilla suit,
Here picking pockets.
♦photo – MEG BHA at Gossamer Dreams on WordPress ♦
evocative short poetry – words move
Her legs will be amputated but,
Non-collapsible items like,
Book-shelves and fathers
Can make a space to survive.
-March 2011 edition of 4&20 poetry-
♦photo – 123rf.com♦linux hosting
evocative short poetry – words move
Love needn’t come your way,
Immediately,
Or else,
You’ll damage yourself in,
More ways than one.
Settle on the present,
State of things,
Jam on toast,
Children in the yard,
Doggy who thinks you’re
The best bone in the world.
Grab the frisbee and,
Curl it past the fuscia hydrangea,
You’ve spotted on the neighbours porch.
♦photo – webstockpro.com♦
evocative short poetry – words move
Here I am,
In a long, low, valley,
On a horse, under sweltering sky.
A single trail runs East to West,
As far as the eye can see.
The sheep-skin bags,
Strung low off the saddle,
Are empty.
Bandits rode into town last week,
And made off with a couple of dreams,
Now I must know,
Which way to go,
I am the Sheriff,
The dream-catcher.
See - We played on into the night…
♦photo - webstockpro.com♦
evocative short poetry – words move
Her leg will be amputated but,
Non-collapsible items like,
Book-shelves and fathers
Can make a space to survive.
-submit to 4&20 poetry and check out my postaday2011 blog-
♦photo – 123rf.com♦linux hosting
I wish we had played on into the night,
African cowboys with not much,
Else to do,
I wish we had challenged the fish in the sea and,
Called out to the Bison,
My father and his band,
And his
-strike while the iron is hot-
Jive,
Johnstone, his brother,
On the drums,
Kicking up a riot,
Sarah the lead,
Crooning about her rescue from a,
Very bad man,
Lydia,
Lead back-up,
Flinging in the,
‘Alleluiahs’, and
‘Godda-let-it-be’s!
Samuel,
A doctor dying of AIDS,
Breathing life into a tin-metal harmonica,
‘Alleluhia,’
Rocking the old man at the end of the bar,
And the couple at the table, fighting with their lips,
I think heard it coming when he fumbled the line,
And I wish we had played on all night.
♦Thanks to: Meanwhile Back at The Ranch(photo), and Jessie Veeder, whose telling, inspired this poem♦
evocative short poetry – words move
