Don’t chain me
to rhyme or metrical
expectations, let
words fall
where they
may
This is not a problem
but process
statement
stacked
One of play because
if adults can’t play
with words, well then
Where can they play?
All the monsters
We ever made
Never really fade
They abide
They hide inside
Always steady
Always ready
Always stalking
Always mocking
Haunting
Taunting
They always follow
Ready to swallow
Us whole
It’s the role
They play
They stay
That way.
there is retirement
and then there’s
chronic disease
a long sometimes short-
lived list of amusement
park rides
the adult rides
the hair raising
white knuckle
you must be
>this afflicted< to ride this ride rides a scurry to keep on keep positive keep active busy bees be busy bees writing–excellent stress reliever I’m told, keep it up you’re doing great come back in 6 months my 80-something recently divorced mother weepy says she’s lonely her children don’t come around she’s still hobbling from hip replacement but the cane is conspicuously absent she plodded past retirement age now has too much space to wallow and weep she has a long list the windows and screens and curtains need washed I share a lunch with her be a good daughter a busy bee riding the loop-de-loop
More at https://wlc-wlcblog.blogspot.com/.
Her bottom lip drags
She throws the left leg
Like a fisherman casting
Pulling the right behind
A labored cadence
She is determined
To take by herself
I walk slowly behind her
Ready to catch any misstep
Or weakness of strength
Hers is a persistence
A yearning for self-reliance
The effort drenching
Her blouse with perspiration
There is within me
A cocktail of concern
A feeling of unease
That someone so vital
Can be made so weak
She struggles to talk
Possibly the damage
To the brain
Has dammed thoughts
Familiar words
That will not come
But in their place
Pour irregular emotions
That startle me at times
I see before me
The weakness of flesh
That dampens will
Both she and I
Are reluctant to accept
This is the way
It must be
Angst is my undershirt
Tenderness is for chumps
You can have the X
No O though
Suffer in silence
You know I love you
This isn’t grade school though
Do the math
Vacation was benign
NYC brings it home
Noisy, rude and violent
Cluster
Yeah
A tree, the color of ash, root system
like the humped back of a massive
slow-moving creature, decorating
a small circle of sidewalk, a space
at the bottom large enough to hide
a baby basket inside
Beyond, the truck parked, the shop
opening, a fresh layer of dogwood
blossoms and a campus bell ringing
but no one is taking notes right now
People stand idle in early morning
circles as if their bones are rustling
breaking away the ice of hibernation
many of their fellows still hidden
beneath the cloth of warm sheets.
More at https://jddehartfeaturepoems.blogspot.com.
Awake to positivity, adrenalin and energy,
yawn everything but optimism away.
There are many winding roads before you
yet, only one is uncluttered
and as straight as an arrow,
it is signposted ‘Determination’
Break your fast upon daring and courage.
Pinpointing objectives, goals
and potential stepping stones before moving
is half the battle won
before the day’s war cry has even begun.
Fine-tune the natural clairvoyancy
of your gut instincts
and use them to chess move precisely your way.
Trust your common-sense
and the invaluable knowledge
learnt the hard way
from past mistakes and falls
and never, ever waiver from their sound advice.
This ‘Day’ will not come around again.
This ‘Stage’ of your ‘Evolution’
is already grinding a-change.
Forgive yourself for absolutely everything,
shine from the very core…
and let nothing or no one stand in your brilliant way.
It’s not like I know why I do it.
Are you afraid of clowns? Do they make you laugh?
It’s about that time, I can see the clock ticking. It sounds like a faint heartbeat
Spitting on the sidewalk, I can see an ant carrying another
Can they swim? I’m drowning. My mind’s too big, I’m in too deep
Slither of a moustache, sweat beads, salty lips
It’s too hot. Too hot to breathe. Struggling, harsh gasps.
7 minutes it had taken. 7 minutes, tick tock.
Sometimes I stare in the mirror and pull expressions.
It’s so easy for you. Normality.
Is it ADHD? Asperger’s? Learning Difficulties?
Prick and poke and make you bleed. I remember the blue plasters.
I’m not a good boy. Flesh is so soft. Red and soft.
The bus is here.
Last night when I left them, tired and bleary eyed
as I was, it was late, and they were still going at it,
tensions were high, guns blazing, the action was
spiraling, ascending, just reaching a point when
I felt a long break was needed, so I was off to bed,
and they froze in place, punches half thrown, bullets
pausing just short of their targets, everything half
realized, suspended, waiting; now here they are,
just where I left them, a hundred pages deep, ready
to start off where we left off, conflict heading for
a conclusion, their motives, behavior, and destinies
set, I’m sure that if I stopped and mapped them all out
I would find the pattern of things, the structure set,
these people were never meant to be alone, authors,
even this one whose name I would have to check on
the title page, set their inevitable end, and I play my
part, pick their book up and put it down whenever
I choose, their lives controlled by folks they will
never meet, and never get to question or understand,
and they are over their waiting again, while I, master
of the moment, stops to say something about them.
I clambered
up your
heart
into your
affections
the way a worm
crawls on the
vine
it was slow
progress
my muscles
really hurt
but happy
to report
here I am.