Living on a prayer

You punish me for telling you my fantasy,
At night I lock the door so no one else can see,

Watch while the queen,
In one false move,

Turns herself into a pawn,

It’s like-
Drinking gasoline to quench your thirst until there’s nothing there left at all, I

Went to the doctor I,
Went to the mountains,

And then you happen to bring up reincarnation over,
A couple of beers the other night,

Spitting out all the bitterness along with half of my last drink,
This is no ordinary love,

Refrain!
Come Oberon!

Able only to gasp at the splendor of the sun,
Come satellite!

Saturns rings are lit by the Universe’s light!

For Simon

Photo – ♦Natsumi Hayashi

-evocative short poetry-

The Painting with the smudge

I remember her detail,

How she looked, how she talked to her husband,
I just stood on the pavement and cried, I’ll

Never see her again, not here,
That’s it.

Whatever came, came for a moment and then left, we were
Going to live forever.

I don’t get in touch with anyone anymore,
It scares me, the

Vast leap of events between the last meeting twenty years ago, and the ‘hello’ now,
Like a slug or snail whose antenne has grazed something unpalatable;

I’ve withdrawn.

I don’t mean to do it I don’t mean to have this strange mist shroud me, I
Feel tenuous –

Like a smudge in the corner of an otherwise pristine painting you could reach out and touch and find,
Nothing there left at all.

Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep. Rom. 12:15

♦Photo – Personal♦

-short evocative poetry-

Editing the bible

poem, religion

 

We’ve all seen them,

Womens circle knitting on,
Saturday,

Mens having breakfast to learn,
How to lead,

Ever been inside a church,
I mean inside?

You know the ones;
Don’t

Talk on the phone when you’re,
Writing notes,

Don’t come in late when
Next door,

Looking over the shoulder of
The fat woman in green,

They are editing the bible at the behest of the priest,

Yellow dragons,
Farmhouse animals,

Beware the document groaning,
With evidence of having been read.

 

 

Photo – ♦Fruit Of Hands

-short evocative poetry-

On gender based toiletry

poem, gender, toilets

Attack your assailant with the baguette,
You are carrying in your hand.

Soft weapon.

Transgender toilet,
Beat the crap out of the hoodlum, male
Or female,

Black or white, think
Not you must explain,

Why, during the attack
Men should not wear,

Flaming pink knickers, demand
The sex of the person approaching,

On the dark night,
In the lovely cottage,

Be determined after you have finished
The mission.

The lady so obviously not,
In the red heels,

And the blue make-up

Knows how to use her baguette, just
Do not touch her hand-bag.

PictureViewpoint♦

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Pain relief

800px-semana_santa_antigua_guatemala

Builders will continue to build, and
White folk dumpster dive, 

In the winter anyway,

In red,
And blue overalls, scavenge –

Scavenger,
Some for profit, others fun, and I

Cannot be a predator, I
Cannot carry luggage, I

Am dying, and

Perhaps giving things away, a
book or something will relive the pain, lord

Knows I just need some pain relief and, I
Just cannot afford to hoard right now, nor pilgrimage, how

I wish I had done this earlier like,
Forgiven my lover, myself –

Wait,
I’ll do it in dungarees, I am dying and I

Do not need to carry baggage, cannot take it with me, I’ll
Give out yellow popsicles instead.
 

photo – Holy Week, Guatemala♦

-short evocative poetry-

 

 

Midnight Gardener

jacob-y-angel-pelean

I hear God in cushion prints,
Leopard pants,

Ancestors,
We Forget;

What if it took place at midnight, would you

Stack hay and win,
Chicago with the broad shoulders,

Hunt mosquitos,
Midnight lover, the

Ebullient wrestler in a,
Pink Venetian mask,

Would you,
Be a brute,

Pretending the contender was not God,
Brisk breeze,

Be the one who,
Proof read the script,

Then promptly forgot,

Alzheimer,
And Jung?

Anger never works.

Photo – Jacob and Esau

-short evocative poetry-

The smell of new curtains

It came from the right side like God, or a deer, a

Migraine warning;
Chemotherapy strikes at any time.

Where am I going wrong?

Under community skies and red roofed buildings, immaculate
And unfinished,

Holding on for next week’s rent,
Even if you were alive,

I’d not have listened,

Missing a father to say what’s wrong
In his opinion,

Old enough how,
To hear sterner words in music,

To understand that the clinic serves Japanese-Americans and Kenyans alike,
On the dusty Main Street of the farming village,

The dusty, ochre-coloured Main Street covered,
With maize drying, and

Women slipping from bus-stop to bus-stop with children in their hair, that was
Probably,

Paid for,
By a man with a plan – the clinic,

And mum’s words,
Soft and gentle and supportive,

And different from yours;

I can take it now daddy,
Where did I go wrong?

I can make things right now,
The deer came from the left.

And whilst hindsight works in accidents we do not see coming,
At least Cancer gives us time.

 

♦Photo♦ –  laurieanichols.wordpress.com

-short evocative poetry-

Loosing our minds

 

Righteousness, Relationship, Time, Alzheimers

I am right.

You may say that I am not, but
I have,

Demanded love and,

You,
Are wrong.

Black and blue and red hummingbird, I
Know what I am saying, you

Left the kids again,
And we argue,

Tall as bamboo we,
Kill each other,

Taking long hours to,
Identify precisely who left the faucet running,

Forgetting the long, yellow grass of home –
I am right,

You never listen, and that’s the problem
Left,

It says so on the map.

Fold your wings.
Concede.

Allow the dull,
Green mother

Her time at the till.

 

Picture       ♦Space Shuttle Challenger Crew♦

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We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and “slipped the surly bonds of earth” to “touch the face of God.” – Space shuttle challenger-

 

Street-walker

God and Folly

It is raining outside.

I am reminded that,
Rain has rhythm.

Rhythm has heart-beat,
A beat, a

Rat-a-tat-tat,

Every city has its gangsters, its’
Street corners, its

Unbelievers, every

Heart has its beat, and
Every beating heart, its’

God,

Where folly is a pink bear,
An African American,

A bionic car round the bend,
Sunlight at last,

Caught,
In the hair,
Of the joggers,

In the difference it makes to,

Walk with a friend,
For a mile or a minute,

Healing,
Not everywhere is fear.

♦photo♦ Laurieanichols Scenes from New York in January

-short evocative poetry-

 

 

Hostage

image

Promises are made to be broken,
Thwarted,

Made again,
Whilst Jasmine pours,

Perfume;

Where God,
Is an impression, a

Figment,
Asking why, if

Birds and fish and,
Creatures of all kinds,

Flourish,

You terrorize one other?
Impossible,

Even at a crimson sunset, to
Say sorry first,

Survive polluting Earth?

Picture – ♦Reuters/Daily Mail

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