Best Beds Poems
I'm a fruit of the tree of life
with knowledge of
the unknown
What I'm known to leave floats
above trees with grown broken
branches
I've grown to see that not
all soil is fertile as many
seeds are left
to languish & toil
The grounds are barren for
the unyielding & those
sowing with dirty
intent to spoil
Foiling that type of harvest
is light work
as I'm of
a heavier metal
The petals of my flowering
are yet to be seen
but are iron clad
I'm feral & the sowing of oats
breed chaos in tamed
minds of the past
We reach for what is hard to
grasp but is within our
clutches for time
is at hand
We're blocking out hate
that's been hashed as we
escape from boxes
part of a plan
The sham was meant to
throw heads while
they rested on
pillows soundly
in their beds
We make our beds & will
lay regardless
of how they've
been made
Some dream while awake
while others sleep
through
all of their
days
They spray with intent
to wilt & cover their
tracks from eyes
We evaporate leaving trails
behind like leaves
in favor of friendly
skies
It all falls to ground like
flowers at the end
of their days
Before you know it
its risen again like rain
from its puddled grave
Diminished
but ennobled,
the soldier came home
his two limbs
traded for the
sanctuary
of a deeper peace
Broken
in completeness,
his braces held proud
each battle
medaled
in the memory
—of his finest hour
(The New Room: November, 2021)
the goslings have shed ochre puffs
which are no longer in vogue
they're wobbling toddlers now
too big for the snappers' jaws
they cannot fly at all- as of yet
but come fall they'll pierce icy skies
into warm southern comfort beds
olive skin so soft and silky smooth
dark brown hair the color of poo
sat in the sun too long is what she do
and now shes bronzed and leathery too
her skin and hair turned to vermouth
aged and withered unwise to see
the color of bronze she turned indeed
now caramel swirled and autumned hair
she sat in the mirror and wondered and stared
how to turn back to the dove she once heired
the tanning bed is a wreckless thing
it wrecks and wrinkles the skin!
Written February 26, 2013
Its all this new slang
Got them banging their heads
Against their bicycle beds
And the foolhardy pledge
To ride tricycles instead
We are the kings and queens
Of the wonderful yard
Of the street corner dancers
And panhandling bards
A generation will rise
So duck and cover your eyes
We're building up through the night
No need to put up a fight
Godspeed to those approaching death
They won't get to see
What we've got coming next
You'll faint from holding your breath
This cold case is closed
No need to stay in repose
To dwell on precious regrets
That are laced with vellocet
Covers uncovers
skins of mostly selfish acts –
four-cornered romance
November 16, 2008
Faceless dolls
Ballerinas dance on beds of erect nails
giggling as they cover the bed
in sheets of red
the children watch
wish
wait and dream
to grow out of youth
embrace the numb that comes with wisdom
dance the dance of vague maids
who wear red shoes and perfect braids
In the sunny cottage garden
The hollyhocks thrive
Pleasing to the eye
And loved by the butterflies
Hollyhocks are the eatery
For larvae to thrive
Perpetuating the Painted Lady
Also pleasing to the eye
I’ve always found a beauty in it
The creases that lay like clumsy limbs
Corners of gowns coming unashamedly away
From the cotton skin
All proud in its off-white softness
I check hotel beds
imagine them lurking there
shudder at the word
shorten it to just BBs
the very thought makes me sweat
* Bedbugs
As a kid growing up
watching the old black and white TV,
I was puzzled to see Ozzie and Harriet,
a married couple,
retire to sleep in twin beds
So I asked my mother,
do you and daddy go to sleep in different beds?
My mother just laughed and said, no child ...
and don't you believe everything you see on TV
I took her advice to heart
Turning on the tube,
and separating the image of reality from actual reality
is an acquired skill
The simple will get duped,
they can't adjust their thinking to see
outside of the seductive programming loop
The creators of the image of the twin bed,
I call these unseen Geppetos ---
Puppet masters
They love to pull the strings
They want to control your perception of reality;
make you be fearful of things,
fill you with an urge to buy things
Even make your soul stop feeling anything
when you see others struggling ... suffering ... dying
Don't lie down in their twin bed,
don't let them separate your heart from your head
Marital sex is based on two adults in loving agreement
Two become as one,
there's no twin beds
How can I make love to you
if we're not in the same bed together?
Unconditional love don't come with strings attached;
not then,
not now
Not ever
This girl of mine,
there's things to be said,
between the sheets,
she's amazing in bed,
she sheds her clothes,
i play her game,
she might just bite,
this girl ain't tame,
seducing me,
sex on her mind,
it was plain to see,
her high heeled kind,
clothes on the floor,
the lights dimmed down,
a smile is all that she wore.....
she sipped my coke,
smoked a rollie,
satisfied,
she led beside me,
every night,
we're always on,
she was always hot,
her blue eyes shone,
she tanned her legs,
we broke some beds,
then combed her hair,
and took some meds,
i fell i love ,
with those blue eyes,
her body, her mind,
and that smile.................
until the next time....
We should be content in our white linen beds,
Dozing as clock hands spin around,
And shadows rise and fall upon the wall.
So what magic is this,
What spell persists to wake us?
The ancient incantation whispering at the keyhole
For 20 years or more.
Not heard until now, as another ordinary day breaks.
Such a light pours through our window this morning,
Not seen or felt before.
Dazzling as it bounces off sleepy faces and falls into our laps.
Won't you dip your hands in the sunshine Julia,
And put them to my face?
Sleeping on air-beds
Awake to nature
Laments and lulling
I search dream chambers
Among hardened sheep
A-raft I float
Sub-con, confab-
Like the low fire-moon
Groaning madly
And now, Sun!
Loving Host,
Bring Breathe back!
Trees swim
Lives glow:
GLOW!
A push-button blood alarm
scans the receptivity of softly ticking ears.
It is the ever-wakening
never snoozing
internet jungle calling.
Fasting birds as large as velociraptors
insist on being called parrots,
a raucous conversation hardly heard
as it filters through
3-D printed flugelhorns.
A cell awakes vibrates within an ear socket
demanding its early morning diaper change.
Little silver bells are clanging,
A sub-audial cacophony of eager voices
discharging their erotically-charged salvos
Devices cry to be fed.
Now subliminal texts tattoo
a finger pulsing moment.
Thumbs are itching to be mugged, in-plugged,
abused in a bath of warmed-over news.
The scaly parrots are now too loud to hear,
we are near
our minds nailed to a printing block
and tapping impatiently
as reality is swiped this way and that.
The racetrack is galloping,
white rabbits are being
yanked out of top hats so rapidly
we can only blink our replies
in a hand-held, wide-eyed chameleon sky.