What of a small sweater,
of days of a warm heater,
cooked as you laugh
when I never lusted.
I respected her as a friend,
sure there was attraction,
but she was only nineteen
and I was forty-seven
Yes, we were like a married
scrambling egg of a couple
but she in my eyes was a child
and no way was I going to go there....
bounced off each other with comedy
but I knew my place of humanity.....
I never made a move you idiots.
Big news! Sponge Bob married Miss Piggy!
Got pregnant and named the kid Twiggy.
Piggy's sauce was the boss,
Twiggy sucked up the sauce,
But, it made Twiggy a bit jiggy!
Her thirst for Piggy's sauce wouldn't stop,
Sucked it down to the very last drop!
Then Twiggy kept yellin',
Her belly kept swellin',
Looked like a seed tick ready to Pop!
Poor Sponge Bob, had no clue what to do,
So, he bounced off the walls till he knew.
Had to drop to his knees,
To give Twiggy a squeeze,
Leaked sauce on herself, Bob, and Mom too!
Excitement built up,
riding the hot air balloon
with my two daughters.
Turned to fear for falling fast,
bounced on the ground, and then dragged.
The frightening ride
happened in New Mexico
sixteen years ago,
did not dampen my spirit
for riding another one.
Felt no excitement
nervous from the prior ride,
calmly went for it.
Magic moment in the sky,
view of sunrise and balloons.
There was a time I didn’t know my worth.
I didn’t know my purpose.,
I’d felt that way since birth.
I would talk to other girls at school,
but when they formed their cliques,
they did not find me “cool.”
Not cool enough to be part of their group.
I was just their sidekick who
got left out of the loop.
Broken, I was losing my strong will,
but neither was I the type
who could just stand still.
I looked for others like myself; boldly
I bounced back, giddy, in junior high school,
where I formed bonds of gold.
For a long time, the old barn had quite a lean
It was still shocking when it finally fell.
When you came around the bend
it was comforting to see it
blushing in the sunlight.
It was a great loss when it finally succumbed.
If it could speak
would it speak of great sacrifice
or hardship and Goodtimes.
Would it converse with antiques and machinery
or the shadow of a barn cat and a frayed tire swing.
The old farmer had quite a lean just before he past...
don't believe he ever retired.
He bounced up and down those dusty rows for half a century.
There was a lot of wisdom and a sprinkle of secrets in that lean...
a quiet ferocity coiled in those ancient-bronzed Mits.
He lived through two world wars and fought in one.
He served- fed and cleaned up the messes of the elite.
He prayed over and buried everything that he loved....
The city slag still called him simple and backwards.
There is something noble about an old farmer
securing his gate at dusk.
He breezed in after a whirlwind tour of the local pubs.
Feeling muggy, he drifted up the stairs like a silent mist,
but was greeted with an isobar across the back of the head.
An icy stare froze him to the spot, followed by a maelstrom of words
that bounced off the walls, pounding him like giant hailstones.
Then fighting against a hurricane he slipped in a pool of hate
He glanced up to see her chest swelling, then with an avalanche
Of abuse she predicted a cold front coming in…
I stood on edge of stream
crystal clear and cobbled,
with stones jagged and rough,
smooth flat and rounded.
How could this rumbled jumble
or rocks and gravel have got there?
Which stone was tossed and thrown?
Which was skipped there by tiny hands
trying for eight skips or more?
Which was placed strategically in
a row of stepping stones for dry-feet
to cross the stream to the other side?
Which stones slid and bounced there,
from way upstream, carried by
the last raging snow-melt torrent?
My path through life has similar
ups and downs, with slips and slides,
rocks and gravel, all rumbled
and jumbled together.
With the legacies of the ways I've found to
skip, step and slide,
to reach my milestones in the
sinuous stream of life,
riddled with scattered stones.
It is not but a tiny ball of yarn I say as I roll it around in my hand then throw it away. The littlest furball sees it and squalls a hiss which made her mother even twitch. She pounced and rolled and bounced and scolded that teeny tiny ball of yarn until she molded it upon her four paws. Down on her back it was a balancing act which then brought a smile to my face in fact. Oh my goodness the cuteness and the pureness addresses each part of my heart. Her eyes alight as her brother jumps in or on if you will. Within a moment it is a torrent of hisses and scratches which the ball of yarn matches by somehow staying together. As the claws turn to paws each lies on their and pauses if only to draw more air. Then again it ensues two frisky kitties on the loose as the ball they did choose for theirs.
Brown face is a strainer for tears
Like lace they fall poetic to all
A ribbon of red bloody fears
You still call but I no longer talk
What occurred is reality set in
I’m no longer your prisoner
No longer your passionate sin
No longer your world to live in
I see your smile and see denial
You only loved the idea of me
But not enough to make me queen
Not enough to share my dream
I wanted simple things a true embrace
Remembrance of special occasions
To be loved in a safe place
But you could never be so clever
I’d never ask you to cherry change
You are who you are even if pains
Not your fault I was so in love with love
That lightening struck out of luck
And love wasn’t enough
It’s not enough when it’s just a cliché
You cut me out like cardboard heart
For a public masquerade
You only see my figure and my face
You misread my spirit my soul my faith
You don’t see me you don’t read me
You don’t breathe me you don’t feed me
You don’t need me the same way I need you
Her smile, the softly ringing bells of her laughter, the newly discovered talismans against encroaching death.
The delicate light, faint but growing, that first lit and warmed her own glowing freckled skin, danced in her eyes like the sea in the summer, bounced off the glints of auburn in her hair until she seemed lighted from the inside like a lantern...and as a lantern would, drove the darkest, heaviest shadows from the corners around her.
Oh...this...SHE...is what is meant by the divinity...in feminity. I see. Her face, these eyes, the heavy slope of these breasts. They are the design that completed creation and made it right. They are beauty and joy and life. The curve of this belly, the unafraid openness of this soul that invites and offers rest. It is comfort and it is peace and it is sacred. At once she is the warm home fire that draws me in and the precious marble statue, cool and pristine, blocked off, in my mind, behind proverbial velvet ropes, art, not for hands like mine to touch...
Oh, but I would die of exhaustion, making her smile, keeping her laughing...and humbly watching her gentle, holy light.
Bouncy jouncy lemon cake
Made by grandma who loved to bake
Rolled into balls, it bounced fine
We did not like lemon, orange or lime
It’s one in the morning.
I zoomed into Lisa’s room
and threw myself on the bed where she lay reading
in a near virtuoso, Fosbury flop.
She bounced, jostled by my mechanical bed wave.
“I hate goodbyes,” I said, indignantly.
“You’re not strong on hellos” she said, not looking up.
“They’re so bone-marrow deep,” I went on, “they steal hope away.”
“Did that sound pretentious?” I asked her silence, a minute later, somewhat self-consciously.
Lisa took the yellow, #2-pencil out of her mouth—just long enough to answer.
When she studies, she chews on them, seemingly eating them like french fries.
“Yeah,” she says, “but I get cha.”
“I know,” I said, smiling at the ceiling, because in a rooted and real way, she always has.
I’d be a different person if we’d never met.
I feel very grateful for that.
“Your boy’s flown?” She asked, using her pencil to hold her page and finally looking up.
It was an ironic, near-rhetorical question, she knows he’s gone and she knows I know she knows he’s gone.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
.
.
Songs for this:
4am by girl in red
Don't Stop The Music by Rihanna
blushing! by BETWEEN FRIENDS
Standing under the hot sun
The sand of the beach singing melodies of tingling to my toes
I watched your summer body as the sun kissed it
Running away from the waves of the ocean
Your curves and edges bounced
Speaking volumes of your succulence
You were happy and full of life
Turned a few heads in your direction
You became the reason for many erections
I didn't mind
None of theirs will feel your warmth
The sun can kiss your body
I'm the one going to kiss where the eyes of the sun cannot reach
Young Woman
You were not made
You were carved
You were not created
You were built
God had nothing to do with your creation
He is too conservative to create such a gorgeous weapon of mass ********
Damn!!!!
ABSOL
You must not be a teacher my dad said
A teacher can’t afford a loaf of bread
So I just bounced all around
From job to job, town to town
Got a teaching job after dad was dead
Entry in 'A 5-Liner on Your Life' contest
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Date: March 13, 2025
An idea was imprisoned in such a bind
It bounced about within the precincts of the mind
What did it mean I heard you say
I didn’t know about it right away
For it was not alone in there
And had to survive a longish stare
But what was missing in its story
Was the truth in all its glory
What will be written for the ages
In history as you turn the pages
Will it be corrected with a stroke of the pen
Or will the stroke win in end.
© Paul Warren Poetry
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