A thousand small spiders
creeping across the page.
Laden with errors, one voice
says, while another uses the word
Wit and still another says
Nowhere near ready. Send more,
Send less, Quit sending.
A thousand shards of glass,
a thousand bitter barbs and a few
roses,
and that’s the work ahead.
They kissed for luck
as a shooting star
flung itself across the sky, then he let her walk away, and when she
left
all the stars went with her.
More at http://tamsengrace.com.
Reading a poem
light the centre
desire wells
but, writing
is not easy.
The sun shining bright
Over the garden hill
As we sit together
Hand in hand
Gazing into your
Beautiful eye’s
I kiss you,
And Whisper
Softly,
I Love You….
They have told me
I’m on the short list.
Problem is,
I think they are just
feeding me a line.
Easier to say we have
you in mind
than to close the door.
I do this all the time.
As in,
Oh, I was going to call
you.
Heresy assails the mind
like a downward spring.
after that — catcalls.
Don’t be a heretic, they will
stamp you over. Just make
few noises of disbelief, in your limousine. They will believe, you are the true rebel.
Avoiding
the phone call
Avoiding
looks and sounds of others
I exist tucking my face
away from everyone
If I concentrate hard enough
it is like they disappear.
There I go,
You go, we travel
hand in hand
upon slats of light
dancing and twirling
beyond what
others call a universe.
In dreams
I am master planner
With perfect responses
I know the right answer
Have all the right moves
Then I wake
To the evolving me
Blaming shaming me
Wanting to nod back off.
One corner to
the next, we find
pieces of the future,
gluing them one
to the other,
a portrait mosaic,
a complete image
out of small parts.