I have no original thoughts in my head
even that idea is something that I read
I plagiarize from every possible source
favoring mostly the obscure of course
I never grow tired of being admired
without an original thought in my head
I can’t recall what it was that I said.
I love linen
Lemonade even more
Hot day in the city
It beholds all that summer is
Languid and humid
With a gentle breeze to cool
The wrinkles complete the story
Move slow
Wear shades
Float
The river never said
keep open floodgates,
waves
dwellings and inner caves
I am a trap
voice of consummation
The river never said,
waves eat me
caves trespass me
my paths wounded
so well hounded
by men in dens of fantasy
the love of rhapsody
water lapping
waves overlapping
fish swimming
headless motion,
lacking direction
The river said:
beat me into pulp of
serfdom
voiceless kingdom.
some journals pay
with contrib copies
— a whole slew
of lambent art
covers and typeface
baby punch
Dali designs
some ask love
of the craft pittance
I’ve shelled a
few times to
further the starved
cause,
compare apples
to oranges,
pass around
at writers guild
meetings
some journals
only
blow PDF kisses
— printer ink
and Post Master
the beast
with two backs
More at http://wlc-wlcblog.blogspot.com/.
Past midnight and in my book the story takes flight
The characters have all found their seats, checked
Their luggage, stowed their carry-ons overhead
And are settling in, this is the red-eye, non-stop
Coast to coast, crossing time zones, flying so high
This late that no one can hear it or see it, but it’s
There, going where the pilot wants, the author
Imagined so much, brought them all on board, and
I’m along for the ride, a stowaway hidden away in
The luggage or wheel well, a bit cramped, crowded
By their baggage, eavesdropping when I can get
Close enough, feeling their lives go on around me
I want to be a bit player in all this, a flat character
Perhaps, a piece of the plot, assuming a role beyond
Just sitting here so late I’m way too tired to sleep.
The old man looks at his hands,
rubbing the back of one hand,
with the other,
reaching out for his beer,
he brings the foamy drink to his lips,
in the bar’s mirror,
our eyes meet,
feeling vulnerable,
I look away,
only in this bar to drink in solitude,
trying to get a grip on who I am,
and what I have become,
lost,
I drain the whiskey in silence,
the discovery already made.
Some cities never belong to us or
We to them, despite having lived
for decades on those twisted streets.
Like a loveless marriage, you tend to spend time
sans being aware of the changing seasons.
The years leave no marks
and then comes a time to snap the link.
Goodbye.
Another unknown journey begins.
We all are hobos
in search eternal
for a home of our own.
And post-modern vagabonds beneath
our designer suits
only hopping from one place to another.
More at http://drsunilsharma.blogspot.in/.
In the big box store
Waiting on line to make a return
Older woman ahead of me
Exasperated by confused cashier
She turns to me
With a twinkle in her eye
Smiles and shakes her head
Hoping for resolution
Knowing there’s a slim chance
of this going right
But instead of anger
She takes it all in stride
She smiles again looking my way
Her transaction complete
I complete my exchange
Then see her a bit up ahead
I say excuse me
Tell her that when she smiled at me
She had my Mom’s smile
and a lovely twinkle in her eyes
Just like my Mom had
She tells me I made her day
I tell her I lost my Mom a few years ago
But she brought her back with her smile
We talk and exchange family histories
Have a few laughs about life
She was touched by my compliment
I had a Mom again for a few minutes
Priceless exchange in the big box store
New York City
This is why we live here
People and connection
Moments in time…
As the night creeps through
a crack in the curtains.
I lift a bottle high once more,
take a last pull on my cigarette
and cast it to the ashtray
in a perfect semi-circle.
Yawning back through memories of her
peeling a pear in June
I blink myself into forgetfulness
and then turn to face
the comfortable side of the settee.
More at http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.
larvae and worms rework decay
giving impartial entropy to matter
weeds outstrip intentional growth
life requires death to carry on
fallen leaves blanket dormant plants
through winter’s freeze to rebirth