poems to read

they congratulate each other
and publish each other
in vast tables of content
they chortle over champagne
about their use of verbs
I will never be one of them
and that’s okay

Twenty minutes or there abouts
after they have all left for work and school.
She grabs a glass bottle of Coca Cola
and her feet step quickly attic-ward.
As she closes the door softly behind herself,
she sighs just like always
and surveys her little chamber with a smile.
She’s been fascinated with 1950’s America
since a child and just knows deep down inside
that she was born in the wrong country and era.
Sitting cross legged upon the dreamcatcher rug
set under the little skylight,
she flicks through one of the scrapbooks
she keeps filled with cuttings of cars, diners,
refrigerators, Disneyland
and a bunch of postcards of Manhattan
which she picked up on eBay.
And daydreams away wistfully
about the Grand Canyon and Emigrating,
conscious all the while that it’ll never happen
for outside of this private ‘Afternoon Attic’
her Individualism and Courage cease to exist.

More at http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.

I like her slightly broken
Perfection is a state of grace
Waiting to fall apart
Better to start off damaged
Ascending with challenge
Humble
That’s my peach pie
With a broken corner
Still good enough to eat
Sweet salvation
On the mend

Don’t offer me trivial
bright flowers made of plastic,
instead offer me an organ
a finger or an idea

a piece of you I can use
and taste
and remember you by

Don’t pretend I’m like others
with small gifts
and lace and frills
you have known me deeper
than that

so give me a deep
hurting gift.

There was a college Dean
who always wore
a three piece suit.
He was 42 and 6 ft. tall.
One day he went
to visit a friend.

He was alone
in the elevator
when a woman appeared

before the door closed
She saw the man
and turned away.

The man was black
and she was afraid

Was it 1955
in Little Rock, Arkansas?
No! it was 2015
in St. Louis, Missouri

A whisper…
the caress of a gentle breeze
on the nape of your neck.

The stillness
of the breath of night,
a lone bird in the distance,
wailing,
calls to me,
this song.

Running along dew-damp grass,
I search for you
singing back a song of oneness,
though not of one.

Feet bare,
emerald blades brush my skin,
gently,
adding to this chorus,
a most glorious union,
a beacon of illumination,
rumbling ground,
thousands come to heed the call.

Our tribe has gathered once again.

The fireside smoke rises,
calling tired warriors back home.

Autumn permeates the air.

What is above is below,
what is below is beside,
what is beside is beneath,
what is beneath is inside,
what is inside is the sound of the moonlight,

like the caress of a gentle breeze

on the nape
of your neck.

More at http://www.suemarie.info. and Mari at https://www.facebook.com/Wryrwmn.

Invite me in
Give me bourbon and Pop Corners
Later on a juicy rib eye steak cooked medium
Strawberries and sweet cream for dessert
Maybe a double espresso
Followed by a stunningly slow passionate love session
Juxtaposing the caffeine rush
Against your magnificent body
Crushing passion by twilight’s stars
A day in the life of a poet

You showed me once again
how affairs end
usually badly
I trusted you would always be around
even when the sexual parts melted away

Though without affairs
there would be just the mundane
I’m not built for the vanilla life
Not 24/7 anyway

So I’ll take some mental bruises
Ticks me off though, that trust bull
You always want to believe….