Absentminded Poems

The Blind Fool

Nope you’re the blind fool,
eyes closed to everything here;
Authenticity; 
Quirky and always honest 
always lighting up a room;

So absentminded, 
one time was one too many; 
Boiling; festering;  
It swallowed you like arsenic, 
poisoning you so slowly; 

You put blinders on 
to all of that potential 
right in front of you;
Why entertain naysayers?
Ignore the fool in your head.

A Storm Is Brewing

A storm is brewing.
Heavy water laden clouds rise thickly,
the darkening sun plunges quickly
behind deep purple mountains,
hiding the gentle moonlight
that normally lights my erratic way.

I meander absentminded
around a maze of mountain paths,
suffering a terrible purgatory.
For the storm is raging outside and inside of me.
Outside electric serpents flash across the dark skies.
Inside is an aching heart of old desires.
No tears flow as I think of you.
Foul fog screens my feelings,
suffocates righteous repentance,
murders my murky sinful soul.

Deep inside me
emotions mingle, then surge, 
and dissipate in thin air.
By midnight the summer storm
has already well and truly broken.
Ophidian lightning blaze in the dark skies,
Crashing thunder booms and echoes.
Rain falls in heavy drops.
I am well and truly soaked.
Water, the sign of redemption enslaves me,
but I am not baptized anew,
instead I wallow in self pity.
There is no hope for me,
or is there?  Let the storm decide!

Lust and Love

Unlovable, but able,
He holds my face as he kisses me,
But I already know,
Its not me he wants,
Its the thing I have between my legs,
He’ll caress me, an absentminded movement,
But suddenly, its no longer me he caresses,
Simply my body beneath his hands,
Something that should be beautiful,
A thing I will never have, never know
I crave love, to be adored,
To have my face held each time we kiss,
My hand held every time I reach for them,
Conversations that never end,
To look into their eyes and have no doubt of their love,
But now i have settled, 
Settled for the brief moments of intimacy
Shared only between strangers,
Never lasting long enough to know
Know whether or not I could ever love them

Gypsy Witness

rock hard ribbons string
cracking cobbled roads
hoards harmonize 
with hidden steel chains
 
fractured silver mirrors reflect 
an absentminded people
and ambivalence marches through

cloaked the anonymous labor
along grey stone city streets 
cross crumbling avenues

broken beleaguered faces
the blind fail to grasp
the revolving refugee

plodding shadows darken
evaporate as mist
vanishing in the night

the rage inside is self-contained 
as throngs of travelers pass
vistas without a view

silent veiled silhouettes 
shadows without voice 
deny the passerby

wanders now gypsies
hobble home again
to return 
from where they come, amen



B1210J

Tired Angels

Tired Angels

 He was a lucky man by his side angels walked
or perhaps flittered a little jostling as they all wanted to be near him.
Absentminded, he came near the fiord walked across.
He was out cashing crabs that clung to the sheer cliff wall, yes, and a plastic bucket.
He got five crabs and walked back the same way the angels sweated he had trusted 
(unknowingly) their blind faith in him,
to the point when some of them were at a point of giving up.
Looking after this person is hard. One angle sighed; the others mumbled in tacit agreement.
The angels watched him boil the crabs and eat everything, not offering them anything; 
how could he?
We should have let go, one angel said, let him splash about with his bucket.
The thought of this made every angle laugh; one took out a harp and beautiful music-filled sea and 
land with everlasting peace and the satisfaction of a job well done,

Man At Gunpoint 2

Some men keep real cool at gunpoint 
Having been swimming in the company of the military,
The nozzles of guns surveying in moments solitary:
Witnesses to soldiers dipping their fingers in wallets
For the purchase of that spitting out the bullets.

Some men keep grinning at gunpoint,
Because at them pistols have been pointed many times
And no ugly story followed the smiles;
It shall always be a nice evening story by firesides.

Some men choose to be absentminded at gunpoint,
When sure they are that the thing will happen
And already glimpse the bullet their brains open:
One’s best bet to start visualizing the after- life
forgetting everything including one’s wife.

Man can be cynical at gunpoint,
When fixated his mind is upon a notion
Whose abandonment would cost him a demotion
The watchword of unwavering Arabs
Between the Healthy and the On-Tabs .

But should any man be unmanned at gunpoint 
Following a menacing loosening of the thing’s safety catch
Behind a door complete with a latch
A hang man’s look on the faces of the Gang
Thinking of nothing else but the loud bang.

Unforgivable

UNFORGIVABLE

Hey Joseph May my dear Souper and poet,
I’d pressed the send button before I saw it.
Three special friends I left out,
Please believe me Caren, Regina without any doubt,
Just an absentminded, dreamy poet, you must know it.

Anonymous Passersby

rock hard ribbons string
cracking cobbled roads
hoards harmonize 
with hidden steel chains
 
fractured silver mirrors reflect 
an absentminded people
and ambivalence marches through

cloaked the anonymous labor
along grey stone city streets 
cross crumbling avenues

broken beleaguered faces
the blind fail to grasp
the revolving refugee

plodding shadows darken
evaporate as mist
vanishing in the night

the rage inside is self-contained 
as throngs of travelers pass
vistas without a view

silent veiled silhouettes 
shadows without voice 
deny the passerby

wanders now gypsies
hobble home again
to return 
from where they come, amen

February 20, 2020
B1210H

An Autumn Woolgathering

Out on the field,theres no teams
My only guess is I'm late
The days to far gone to be early
Come to find out, it's just the wrong date

 Just a lone star in the night
With no thoughts to ponder
And no plans for the light
Of myself I'm no fonder

 Not sure what I've done
Or sure I want to know
I've forgotten why I asked
Forgot which way to go

 As I'm saddened by my failures
Delighted by my gains
Intensely absentminded
Devoid of all my pains

                    PALLANES   09/16/19

One, Two, Step On My Shoe

(woman) You've missed the first and last day of memory, 
Absentminded completely.
(man)  Being lull is an instinct you'll never acquire.
(woman) Being what, never mind you can't remember.
(man) How can I forget what you've found. 
You're like an insect exploring every crevasse of my core.
(woman) The allure with you has gone dysfunctional, calling me a bug.
(man) Yeah that's right, dried flowers lack essence.
(woman) Me dry I am lustrous.
(man) Yeah ok
(woman) Lets stop this one, two step on my shoe game.
I'm still at awe whenever you're around.
(man) Ok I prefer you and you prefer me
Their is no ultimatum.

Neither Half of Any Equation - -

Offerings all-inclusively controlled,

  consummating thirst's affectations

   eliciting truth's darkly responsive swallow

        of pretenses pseudo-poetic poison,

            flamboyantly feverish flavors from

  gingered confections to Puffer fish toxins,

   testing temperature's comfort zones

      artless surrender of lucidity's aesthetic

    yielded in winters' disenchantment - -

   discontented,     smugly wrapped

         in tissue paper sweater's passion,

    fumes of moonlit intoxication's sips

       mid earthy disillusionment ticking,

  ventured to inhale magical heady elixirs

       within fusions of distorted disdain,

 glass was neither half of any equation

   merely a containment for elusive sunrises

       and hourglass sand trickling down on

   timely castles built betwixt skies' hallucinations,

    sucking life downhill like an absentminded cool trip

         drunken in fury's quenched neurotic afterthought

Absentminded Brent

~Absentminded Brent~ 
(Rhyme)


When somebody looks for him,
they find that he's never there.
He's the kid that people never see
In the classroom, emptied, they find his chair.

When the teachers run the list of names,
They call out, in fact, for Brent.
But Brent he's always full of games,
He just came in and just went.

Who knows! to someplace no one knows,
So they miss him all the time.
He's so often in the come and go,
or wasn't there at all, anytime.

When he's at home his parents call him,
but Absentminded Brent, he's someplace else.
He's either fighting with Big Jim,
or bullying and scarying little Kim.

He hides anywhere and everywhere,
of his own shadow he's so very scared.
So he goes to his very secret place,
and prays nobody will find him there.



Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2004



January.09.2016

A-A - Aye

A- My Letter- Aye

Why- Y? No- A

This first letter of the Alphabet
Seems so simple, yet so complex
Explains my brains, history and mystery
Some makes sense, same profound, some slippery, 
some confused and, At times blistery

A- My name.  Aquarius – my sign, no shame
I live in Awe of Antiquity – add a small Army to my Acclaim
I claim no fame- just the American way.
Awe in so many things- simple praise to the “A”-
May I start with Ale and Apes- not together mind you
Ale was my way- red or blonde- I'd pack it away
Apes were my salvation from Ale-  to Ax my Aloof decay-
Animals became my Attraction 
my Abstract Ambition to Ardent – AGAPE-
Alumni to personal escape-


Ankh was a chosen forever symbol for Avenging Ambition
Of Allegiance and Appreciation
An Absentminded Argument for my own Awe
Defending it was a guffaw.
A stronghold of an Ablazed Angels Amour-
Belief's Anchored Ardor.

Art Aspired from hundred of Acres of Aquatic life
Appreciated by husband and wife
Acoustic strings ring in the night
Alight passions of two Aquarians hearts, desire
and playful sprites.

Absentminded

Today I dropped words

between cracks in the pavement:

half-written screenplays.

My muse, a cappuccino,

conjures romance while I sip.

Lost From Sung Lips)

Your e-mail engraves a smile while opening its contents.
I wanted to reply, to share a thought, 
but my daughter reminds me during that curiosity, 
an obligation to buy new shoes.

Being careful not to lose this thought in the pocket where I found my keys,
I placed it with a melody, a familiar whistle on tongue tip.
She with I weave like a zipper into traffic talk about school, friends, photographs
we found ourselves still framed on 6th and G. 

Placing her hand in mine with careful grip, 
she stops in time to save a purple flower called moment- 
forged loneliness- alone in the parched concrete seam. 
Placed it in my shirt. Seemingly protected by a giggle she looks for shoes;

She is only thirteen, tomorrow she will be sixteen
maybe laying in her bed with a realized 
pain of the first kiss placed with ruse. Not today. 
Today, we drove home foolishly to the radio,

as your thought is misplaced from absentminded lips.

We pull into the driveway.  She kisses my cheek 
within a single brush stoke of innocence; 
suddenly redandblue skyandsun understand the simplicity 
of the single purple flower (that replaced your reply,

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