Just a Poem or Two @justapoemortwo - Tumblr Blog

Light-laden, noon-anointed,

The pock-marked tile glints

On its raised edges —

So too, the sun sprints across the waves

Scattering secrets

Every sight it’s ever seen

Crushed in the foam

A thousand times over.

miss-insanity-pants

What We Are Looking For:

A story about an apple that does not reference fruit, the colors red, green, or yellow, sweetness, fructose, peels, cores, or seeds.

justapoemortwo

The drop could come at any time. You can feel it in the gentle tug of morning, The sun warming one’s self-becoming.

The odor of grass rises In the late afternoon

When the flies hover, Tickling, My brother lying on the grass, He does not blink.

Evening, I listen to the leaves. I see the shadows in the valley And wonder about sleep.

#poetry #the original post was apparently not meant as a prompt but I enjoyed it anyway

The lights are off. The place sleeps.

Dreams may enter, when they care to.

The fan clicks rhythmically in circular sweeps.

Snoring comes and goes. It is a fussy cat that cannot choose.

Heaven holds its breath, wondering.

Snoring comes and goes, ever purring.

It Was Only Upon Waking Up That I Realized

I had a shirtless dream. Which sounds like maybe I stripped –

Or a poolside situation – but no.

I was riding my bike,

Just a soft summer wind,

The whir of the wheels,

All the birds up in branches.

You make me feel like Mary Oliver

Standing in your kitchen corner

Holding my own hand,

Warming up as wet dogs do.

Garlic and onions shimmer

As you toss them in the pan

I watch,

I know that I am

Pink as a newborn,

The difference being

I know not to touch knives.

I write instead of dying And instead of living

It is a protest to both

It is a drooling mouth

It is a cantaloupe It is a metal bowl It is the sun in its reflection.

The carpet’s quite firm, actually.

The fly on the windowsill, Flipped for funeral, Resting as it should. I feel a shudder and admire The afternoon light on its minuscule hairs, The lightest golden brown. A leg jitters in the wind, And the sill has specks of body About the body, Scattered like roses, But really like dirt, And I hold off the idea of body For later. I am five, I am in my room, I am in my house, And suddenly I feel I have somewhere else to be.

Monday

Young Eric grits his teeth, and tears his auburn hair Curling to the ground.

He makes a cry so hard It makes no sound.

Out on the fence a swallow sings. It heaves its downy chest of secret things, And oh! its wings -- There’s a field of feathers there Lifted by the breeze -- And all the while the swallow sings And drips a rain that stings.

Past the fence is a school bus Waiting in the rain, Waiting for a someone Who won’t show up again.

A roar and wail get lost in air, And smoke leaves, and wet wheels slide away; And all the while there’s Eric missing School on a Monday.

I have found A corner of my world To be a quiet time, The earth behind the bushes Where the snails lived. [And the shells of their dead; Submerged in soil, Like glass they still shone.]

What do you want?

I don’t know.

I don’t know how.

There is a scent in the air,

Wood dark from the last rain:

A fence drenched in white flowers,

Trailing the mossy vine.

Today is beautiful,

Clean, and bright.

A whirlawind catches

Your hair and sends you

Tumbling,

Down onto the soft June grass.

“Buffalos on a train of strangers” Gentle when they walk On our backs, we do not mind When they press their hooves, like irons There is steam and intense meditation We are all focusing on oranges, individually Some of us are even thinking of clementines

Where is that cold static

Where you find yourself?

Dysthymia / PDD

You were a sweet summer child, Cool spring, mild rain, Occasional hurricane, Mainly still Like the bay on a good day: Mainly blue, Calming to the eye, Leaves you with a sigh.

#dysthymia #pdd

These words are tiny lines on a page Scratch scratch scratch I’m waiting for them to come together

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