Best Spare Poems
I cried for so long, so many nights,
and now no more tears can drop,
I'm all out, do you have some to spare,
cause you know once I start, I can't stop.
I go on for days with a heavy heart,
no tears fall, though inside I'm crying,
I feel empty, hollow, dark inside,
a soul dead, and still is dying.
Can I fill a bucket from your well,
the sun came out, dried up my rain,
I'll take them carefully, try not to spill,
cause I've got a need to ease the pain.
That feeling of washing away the sorrow,
with trickling tear-water, clear and cool,
soothes the soul, relaxes the ache,
can I dive right into your swimming pool?
I need to pour out your flowing brook,
to keep me crying a river for today,
I want to hold despair in my hands,
please let this melancholy feeling stay.
Out of Water contest
placed 14th
my time is torn with thoughts of love
labors worn from pretending
things i wish to come
hopes tied up in the labyrinth
of my mind
wishes all used up
prayers running out of time
writing lots of poetry using the line
"a relentless search to find"
the other half of myself, all mine
The One
the want, the need, the answer to my greed
who? is the question the quest is launched for
what? is the subject. irresistibly amore
i cannot quell this instinctive quarry
it must go on for eternity
until i feel whole
only then will i reach my goal
when? you know the answer is always now
where? anywhere
How? with all my heart and everything
i have
with quick wit and foolishness to make her laugh
with repetitious revisions or romantic gestures
with elocution of vows and phrases
make her believe the end of my days is
when she leaves me alone
Brooding on that love
a true feeling rejected
confused and perplexed.
Never should we love discard
unless no spare room in heart!
July 8th, 2018
spare change
he takes shelter in a cardboard box
old newspapers for a bed
threadbare clothes rumpled and dirty
a concrete pillow for his head
picking up used cigarette butts
from the crowded littered street
dumpster diving for table scraps
searching for something to eat
huddling in an open doorway
on a cold cold winter’s night
battling to keep warm
swiftly losing the fight
asking hurried passers by
if they have change to spare
no one gives a second look
no one seems to care
a salty tear rolls down
his ruddy weathered cheek
what has happened to his life
that it became so very bleak
March 5, 2020
Holidays can put a lot of miles
on the gastronomical tread ...
That last slice of cake
will have you wobbling to bed
So you better hope you’re at home,
and not somewhere else instead
Because now you’re starting to feel faint,
too much turkey is giving you the meat sweats
You’re hearing sounds from Thanksgivings past,
those plump birds are cackling at you in jest:
Hula hoop
Jiggle, jiggle
Jelly, jelly
You got a spare tire
around your belly
Chicken coop
Wiggle, wiggle
Yummy, yummy
You got a spare tire
for a tummy
Kick, kick the ball
Roll it down the hall
Hit the bottom bunk
You got a spare tire
in your trunk
Skip, skip the rope fast
Don’t jump, jump slow
Silly grin ear to ear
You got a spare tire
in the rear
Then the Missus shakes and wake you
out of your childhood dream stupor
She tells you to get your coat, it’s time to go;
the car is warming up, and she’s ready to roll
In the sleigh car, you both quickly jump in
Gotta move thru the snow, ice and wind
But the car hits a frozen bump, and a tire goes flat
And the Missus tells you there’s a spare in the back
Now so warm, you don’t wanna step into the cold
Clinging to the heat inside, you don’t wanna let go
You know the Missus knows you’re just stalling for time,
so you tap her behind, and say: Which spare, yours or mine?
I know you're out there ...
I can hear you ... typing, rat-a-tat-tat
I echo it, but place with intent
each finger-step, just SO
each notion a necklace of keystrokes
individually-knotted ...
pearlescent beauties, round ...
~ I squeeze my mind of chaos, tamped and blessed
Thoughts gossamer, these tapestries I've pressed
'Tween leaves of crimped reprieves, if dispossessed ~
I scream without a face
my voice of subtle silence howling windward
I scratch messages on cell walls
my red breath burnt with the truth of negligence
exquisite sculptures ...
the words dripping like stigmata
Madonna's bloody tears, each precious ...
~ I place these golden dreams in phrased bequests
Bright dazzled shining gems of hearts expressed
Adorned with tender odes to thrum their breasts ~
how do SUCH ears not hear?
how can such breath-embezzling eyes not capture?!?
should your own gray matter dance a-tongue
its metallic tang of truth would be lost ...
I would BEG you hate me ... with every fibre
but that is not love's opposite
THAT demon is the monster called 'indifference' ...
~ I knot the rope wrapped 'round my throat, aware
That you and yours are pleased to kick the chair
Is there naught ONE poetic soul ... should care?? ~
... not one?
She wanders through the rubble,
Tears streaming down her twisted face.
Red eyes mixed with black eyeliner.
Her pupils shine green among the dancing flames.
Branches snag her tattered clothes,
Causing her to fall.
On hands and knees,
She has no will to stand.
Chains and locks on her wrists and ankles,
Not letting her move.
Too weak…
She’s losing the fight.
Days of crying and sobbing,
Such pain.
Screaming on the inside,
But her voice won’t work…
Care Every Where and Much To Spare
Christ has so much care to share;
All over earth and was everywhere,
And His love,
From above,
He sent to us with much to spare.
Jim Horn
My wife said that I should change
my PoetrySoup. Not sure how to
do that.
Beauty bleeds through skin
Infecting all which festers
So deep within
The skeletons cary such secrets
To disgrace and shame Gorgeous
Saying it no longer forgets
We both know what's going on
Spare us the pain
Please, just walk away
You're like a magnet and I'm the steel
It's surfaced and reared its sinful head
Would I partakein this temptation?
Beauty leaves me scrambling,
Reaching for anything firm
Safety net's burnt
My closet's filling and going quick
I shouldn't have let myself fall for you
It's time I just quit
I feel like I can move forward now
I have completed what I think is my legacy ?
I've staked my reputation on it
So if you want or feel the urge to comment
Please go ahead make my boring day
As to me even criticism I do not mind
At least you took the time
I will be fine I am in my prime
Buddy can you spare a dime
Or a second of your time
To fill in my comments line
Antisemitism is back in vogue
thanks to a world gone rogue
Some say it’s a fairly recent disease
spare me the laughter please
It’s been around ever since Patriarchal Days
infecting all of history, an age-old malaise …
Why did Jacob flee Esau, journeying to Haran
Esau would have murdered Jacob, had he not gone
And who did Jacob encounter at journey’s end
none other than Laban, at first a ‘good friend’
Laban invited Jacob to stay for free for thirty days
though he eventually swindled his nephew in so many ways
Lied to him again and again, switching his bride on his wedding night
endlessly changing his wages and working conditions – slight after slight
Finally told his nephew: Your wives are mine, as are your sheep
expecting Jacob would bend to slavery without so much as a peep
But to Laban, Jacob never once did bow… instead he fled
then challenged Esau’s 400 men, backing them down…
Murderous Esau, freedom-denying Laban, cooked up twin recipes
for legions of antisemites down through the ages, into our century
Your mother always yelled at your father to fix the nail protruding from the kitchen floor.
“It’s going to hurt someone someday,” she would bicker,
but your father hid his face behind his newspaper as she spoke.
The nail remained sticking up from the ground,
but you taught yourself how to walk around it
just like you taught yourself when to exit and enter the room.
Your mother’s heavy voice was like a fire alarm
telling you to evacuate the scene and leave your father in the flames,
but there was nowhere for anyone to go---
he forgot to build a fire escape.
She tried to leave hints for him around the house:
A hammer on his pillow,
spare nails in his pockets,
but naturally his fingers picked around them
like playing a guitar.
She had given him all the notes,
but he preferred to play his own tune.
Eventually she had given up on shouting,
for she was tired of hearing only her echo.
Each couldn’t feel the other.
He could not hear her words that dropped like stones,
she could not hear his weightless language of silence,
and you could not speak in a house enclosed with two deaf parents.
One day you came home and saw that your mother’s side of the bed was made nicely
like it hadn’t been slept in for days.
It was cold and stiff, preserved like a shrine.
That same day you went into the kitchen to reach for the phone,
but tripped over the nail emerging from the floor
and went clattering down beside it.
The time for frost has not arrived, the morning sunlight’s dampened
by the chill of evening dew, the grass still grows though slowly now.
Within, chill copper pipes ping, once again breaking the silence of night.
The field mice come unwelcomed to their winter nests inside my walls.
Morning glories, mere days ago abundant now shiver in the shade.
Dropped seed must wait until the springtime’s sun to rise, to grow.
Clothes in closets all packed high, shelves to ceiling, must topple down.
Release the felted wool, the flannel bright, the knitted sweaters of Iona.
The pumpkins wait impatiently upon a field of green, crisped, vines.
Still connected to the prickling twine and fan like leaves, the blossoms fail.
And, I reflect within a picture perfect room, of what has been and what is.
The light of day’s a graying tone of mourning, whose length slowly fades away.
First Published in Eunoia 4/6/14
Is there a memo motionless meaning that co considers
the let me know not the in between time of soul space that swells
spit in time and all things youless and common/uncommon in a new raw
omniplural potpourri vs a humnopre-salient cap-able anti
impractical public a anonoymous -----let it be the me behind
the windless wheel well of counter culture communation happy
ig no rant dance given to adulto frown friends with no
inner countenance to the opposite of their children's
heretofore genetic anaglous inheritenance, happenstance with the all degradratory of who's who on first impractical **** annoyance given to parentosociosuck prevelances.
Let it be me and my behold every endurance
behind the wishless wheel wonders like stale bread kisses that
will leave a bastard/***** beholding another ever unpresent illego negligent
my me mine me behind--as an ever ill gotten gain gopher behold!!
I offer no ill indifference to a an **** ego indifference, as it wanes itself
in an annotated post partum parental quandary with all of the estrogenous misgivings that minus all of our copious relative holiday misgivings; hope/love/angst/fear/fake fornication that co comprise our inner grasp gasp being to err offend everyone in our inner nature neighborhood never openly negative of your own offspring offerings as they relate to your perfectly PC credentialed crassness of age coinciding with the
all year round as life asked of us relatives to/fro in/out closed/open/in/out/add/subtract/distract, ect, ect, ect,.
Far from first inner circle seconds included and removed offended defended included/excluded as to their proper "tudes" to be later revealed related as to a toddler tranquil trance perfectly placed belovedly behind a two tone parental (irr)rational regal rememberance
that reveals a riviteing rancid rationale reward right vs mostly wrong.
Matching sibiling ill will/deeds and useless non needs can lead to a covert cancer covered man-nipulates meanlip measures of misgotten memories factly misered measured mandates. Welcome my friends to the drone that never ends, human race, human race; youngins' all youngins' all.
Spare change jangles
in my pocket
makes me lean to one
side*
your music warms the
subway station
I gladly give my
tithe
*New Scientist -
Dec. 1995