Best Storefront Poems

Thinking myself unborn
                       I can’t help
Wondering what the
               ...

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If you go downtown early morning
You can see the shopkeepers setting
Old treasures on the sidewalk,
Writing their welcomes with chalk
On little standing blackboards,
Inviting you inside their stores.

Honeysuckle Antiques has its window
Filled with newfound things to show,
Local crafts and the latest junk,
A fringed lampshade and leather trunks.
Its...

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three incisor teeth burst through fresh flesh...
opaque as pearls, strong as love, precious 

beautiful baby babbles assertively
mesmerized by mishmash sounds 
that her astounding mouth can make
prose poetry in its practice

as canines erupt, she moans from the ache
teeter-tottering restless to repress pain 
speedily advancing in substantial...

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The corner store across the street
Was known for all its cuts of meat
But also it sold milk and bread
And other things you’d need instead.

On Friday mornings folks would flock
To sit on chairs among the stock
To hear the music on guitar
Of Uncle Junior (TV star).

The owner’s...

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You and me,
we got a lot of storefront love
Yes, we got pockets full of
coupon passion
Discount tears are so ooh  ooh
out of fashion
‘Cause we got plenty smiles on the shelf,
and even more good kisses on display
Giving free samples to each other everyday

We are two items...

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A large toothy Chinese dragon spirits me away.
To lively San Francisco street with paper lanterns.
Trinkets of all shapes and forms. Smells wafting in
Reminding me of Sweet and Sour Chicken and Pepper Beef.

My mouth waters in anticipation of my next meal here.
A dragon! A child’s shrill...

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There is a new kid in town.
A new company.
Storefront with glass.
Headless Hands is what the marquee says.

A daycare center? Creative writing center? Nail salon?
Give up? I did. Headless hands tattoo.
Not sure I would want someone without a head tattooing me.

I am still pondering the why...

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Long deceased actors
‘play-acting
On an unobserved TV
set
blaring from a
vacant living room.
In the kitchen a
widower
tends eggs
splattering in a
pan.
Then came a loud
interjection
from the room
beyond, “Hey,
Stella!!”
sending through him
a trembling pall
memories of his wife
Stella
who had died many
years ago
and never gotten
over it.
Still as a
storefront manikin
till the last memory
faded
he realized what
taken place:
the...

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Mirror, Mirror…
by Odin Roark

Mirror, mirror off the wall,
who’ve you seen the most craven
of them all?

How portable your travels,
from storefront windows,
to dead-quiet water surfaces,
you remain vanity’s evil sister.

We thrust our egos willingly,
even as we treat you as a non-entity,
a mere reflective surface,
yet…

Your nocturnal savvy--
your ability to...

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Walking Meditation
                    by Odin Roark

“And I thought marriage was hard.”

Taking Meditation for a walk
nags me with why I’m such a failure at this.
It knows what I...

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Miasma  Ripening
                by Odin Roark

The chaff of greed
Feeds the consumer-compost,
While urban disquietude
Marches in lockstep.

Decomposition rages…

Choked roads of sunbaked gridlock,
Spider web into house upon house,
Creating cubic-waste upon cubic-waste,
Richer,
Poorer,
Fancier,
Shittier.

Drive by Reality…

Poor...

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This morning I went walking 
and talking to myself
seeking solitude, peace  
and an inner plenum full of wealth

Leaving the familiar surroundings 
of my own house behind
I managed to set a steady pace 
that helped open up my mind  

Walking along familiar roads
leading back...

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Through forded streams, nostalgia seems, to be a sense of Nordic Dreams
The pathways to yesterdays, appear to retreat to ample schemes.
Broken nails and nightingales lighten up your brooks and streams.
Take a lock of broken stock to see what truly seems.

Lilt repose in lily throws, is...

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. for public domain

All Day Tomorrow

( a cast of characters in song )

Homeless Jo and Jane:

We've got all day tomorrow,
to wait by the New Jersey shore,
to beg for a nickel
'cause we're in a pickle.
No end to us being so poor.

Tonight let us rub off our...

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“Santa Fe”

Santa Fe, Santa Fe, 
Oh Santa Fe,
Take me home to Santa Fe.
Where mountain peaks 
Are bathed in gold.
Where artists and seekers
Come to unfold.

Where natives live in ages past
Stair step terra-cotta 
Rise on desert floors.
Where artists come to paint and play
Calling all to Santa Fe

Dream...

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