“Get what I asked for?”
“You know I got it, why’d I come if I ain’t got it?”
“Let’s see it.”
I watch them open the bag from the corner of my bike shop while a guy has a gun to my head.
I don’t know how my bad luck had them breaking into my shop, but it’s just my luck.
I see the money, and then he turns to me.
“Alright, what do we do with this one?” he nods toward me.
He throws me a bundle and I feel the gun move away.
“You betta stay quiet, kid.”… Read the rest
i never liked you.
simple, but also smug.
you stand tall and defiant
believing in your beauty
even when i and others, surely
joke that you’re the weed of roses
no one wants you in a bouquet.
you don’t scream “love” to anyone.
or “thank you”, or “i’m sorry”.
maybe that’s why i never liked you.
you were always more sure
of yourself than I was,
you were never afraid to rise
you grew tall and strong,
keeping your secret beauty
closed inside your bud
and by the time you have opened
yourself to the world
you’ve already been enjoyed… Read the rest
when i wake up i just lay there and wait
for you, for you to roll toward me and
stretch out your arm so i can roll into you
and while i’m waiting, yes, sometimes
i watch you sleep, don’t be surprised,
there are songs about doing this
we played them to each other
once upon another time
and i think it’s just wondrous
the way your eyelashes shine
in the morning light, and your face
looks so peaceful and sweet
i think you’d be surprised
to know how much i really love you,
i think you’d be kinder, too
the prayer cards they give you at wakes
pile up near the stack of mail that there’s
no point in opening – you’re 90, quit
paying the bills, quit every damn thing
you don’t want to be doing with the time
you have left. you’ve had enough
worry over money and people and time,
you’ve iced bruises and wiped tears
and shit, thanking god for every
thankless minute before your celebration.
your heart’s been broken, but you’ve
known all the greatest kinds of love,
and there’s a luckiness there that so
few people have the chance to taste at all.… Read the rest
The Morning War. Heat. Cigarettes.
You know it’s going to be a bad day
when the Times just gives up and says
it’s hell, but we’ll keep on reporting
until we’re hanged in the streets like
traitors to our country
Oh, how I would love to be able
to afford being a traitor to my country.
To ditch work, hold signs, protest,
knock on doors, drive people to polls.
But I am the people we’re trying to help
and it does no one any good to listen
to me whine that we’re a broken society
that might never be … Read the rest
“I write only when inspiration strikes. Fortunately it strikes every morning at nine o’clock sharp.” – W. Somerset Maugham
I’ve decided that if I am going to be doing this daily blogging on TK I may as well copy it over to my website, too and start a collection of thoughts that no one really cares about but me. I’m paying for the server space and domains, I might as well start using them to their full ability.
I feel like the more notes I read here, the more I see how alike we all are, … Read the rest
it’s okay to get out of bed early, you don’t have to worry anymore
about missing out on cuddles and special time together, he’s here,
and from what you can see (the photos, the driver’s license, the
clothes in the closet) you should probably believe he will stay.
don’t worry so much about being left alone, not any time soon, and
not any more than any other woman would worry about
the man she loves walking out the door in the morning and
not coming back through at night. don’t be scared,
just believe he is here to love you.… Read the rest
pay attention, they tell me, pay attention to the things you hear
like the birds singing, or coffee shop chatter, or crying
and if I pay attention, they tell me, I’ll contain multitudes
multitudes of words drown me like the rising tide and
I can’t keep my head above water so the words are swallowed
and then they lift me buoyantly back to life
there they go, floating along the waves, the words
are boats that steer themselves and I just have to
pay attention as they pass as if writing poetry were that easy
pay attention, they tell me… Read the rest
Where I come from the earth was turned and tilled
by my grandfather for years while he grew
apple trees, blueberry bushes, big fat purple grapes
on vines over an arbor, but there were ugly things too –
the bees that attacked when I went for an apple, and
those fat green tomato slugs he’d burn off with a blow torch.
Even then, I thought that was crazy, and I was right. Some
things were not normal, like living with them, and mom, and nana,
four generations under one roof, which gram treated like
a miracle from her Catholic god … Read the rest
You sing a new song every morning.
In your thin teeshirts and loose shorts,
you’re a sleepy singer, but your eyes are bright.
Remember all those Saturdays and Sundays we
woke up and rolled into each other’s arms?
That was always my favorite place to be.
Wrapped up in you and blankets and love,
sun shining through the window, welcoming us to the day.
You sing a new song every morning.
From Audrey Gidman’s monthly poetry prompts: Write a soloem. The poet avery r. young created a form called the soloem (so-lo-em), a Chicago soul poem. It’s a 9-line … Read the rest
