Second Verse, Same as the First

(an Ovillejo)

With its whole heart unfurled,
……..the world
(to hell, and back again)
……..
will spin
a yarn, a web, ashamed;
……..the same
old tired tune, overplayed.
By way of proof,
here’s the full truth:
……………….. The world will spin the same.

.
Prompted by Poetic Asides.

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strum

.

she is spun
right ’round, stitched strong of
thrum-threaded strings
over hollow center.

stretch your fingers long
to the sky
and find her last strains.

she’ll try
to tell you she’s un
-loveable at best,
a beast of burden
and breeze,
but she’s lying.

feel that beat? it’s her heart, high
-strung, unsung, still
……………………………waiting.

..


 

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anti(-biotic) love

(hazmat suit optional)
.
.
you can kiss me now,
i think.
i am no longer contagious,
though an outrageous
amount of phlegm is still
in the mix.

on second thought, nix
that. in case i am still catching,
let’s just get caught
holding hands.

.


Prompted by Poetic Asides.



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blue poems

blue Monday

phlegm goes well with
indigo, turns out.
cornflower and periwinkle
smile, even when there’snot
a cloud in the sky.

blue (Tuesday)

Oh, yes.
Yes to a sunny packled indigo spot.
Yes to the ruffled breeze and the pine
-d for trees, too.
yes to a few whispered moments
with my Savior,
Maker of all this blue.


pretty punk

still feelin’ less
htan in the pink,
but i think there’s
an unsunk sun and a bold blue sky
that azure
i’m loved.


true love

is blue.
hold it against any other
hue, and indigo
wins every time. you just can’t
beat sea and lake and sky
for a yearning heart.

……………….don’t even try.

 

..

Silence

is golden and in
-digo, too, a swirl of
sigh into perfect
Blue.

Gonna watch the sun plop
into my Lake.
Gonna take a breath
and hope to wake
with cleaner lungs and a
lighter heart.
Gonna start with this small,
thankful slice of blue,
hold it loosely
and lean on You.

 

 

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I’ll Be Right Here.

(Lullaby for the Lost)

.

Oh, Baby.

We all thought
we were going
somewhere once, caught
in the lull of our own skin.

How do I begin
to hold you with my whole,
whole heart, open these
chambered cages so you can fly?

Shall I
woo you with silence
or unwrap these last strains,
these trapped refrains
that might call you home?

Maybe none of it matters.
Maybe these last smatterings
of phrase aren’t meant to see
the sun.

Rest now. Sleep sweet.
These sorrow-salted days
can wait.

.
Prompted by Poetic Asides.

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carry the one

addition
……………………..was much
………………………………more fun,

……………………………but subtraction
…………………………………………………becomes
……………………………………..her.


.

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Bay Street Blues

.

Play me some pretty ditty, spilling out of the café
on the corner, chased by laughter.
Watch as my last cigarette
burns to dust.

I’ve been standing here
for hours and not a soul
has seen me.

Stars have come and gone, the wind has blown.

The seasons turn
but I am stuck here,
waiting.

Brother, can you spare
some change?
I need
a loan.

 

.

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