He schleps constantly at noon
Through declivities and straight roads,
Bearing messages sealed by the hands
That laid them bare in the first place.
Sweat caresses his face, forming one mass of
Earnestness in every breath of delivery.
“Hello,” he says, “your mail. Your package.”
My palm breathes harder, having neared his.
I sign the delivery paper and reach out for the
Package.
He is fussy with time and gets rewarded when
The Christmas bells chime slowly
From wintry belfries posting blandishments of
Yuletide.
Merry Christmas!
A bright coin rolls into his palms and greases them.
He welcomes titbits of news within crimson cards.
His lungs inhale airs of chaperoned champagnes
Amid the voice of canticles, soft and secret.
when you wanted to give me
you never said for a while
salavic eclipse per epilepsy
test of the taste then a bile
like a swing in the atmosphere's mood
scared earth passionate puke
next the sky seemed to be soothe
catharsis resetting her view
I never held back
like the waves pulling her muse
contractions of zeal moistened hard
supine sand tracing the tune
chaperoned by a virtuoso,
torrent complimenting the blue
undaunted, feigning its strokes
catharsis resetting her view
This mouth counted its syllables
tossed each subsequently
watched them dance dribbles
erected a mood in your feelings
like the wind and tiresome trees
the former a bow from the latter drew
shriek a shudder, tortured trees
catharsis resetting her view
I'll love no more,
feelings transmogrified into glue
like winter firstly to the earth draw
catharsis resetting her view.
19:10:16:14:06
*Note*: A reflection on the French form of Poetry entitled 'Ballade'. Let it not be mistaken for 'Ballad' of tragic attributions.
Our fifteenth year, you and I
If we were married, the ‘crystal’ mile
And oh, we have had our highs, breaking up lunchtime fights
Breaking down novels line by line
Translating Shakespeare to Spanish
for those nonverbal in this language
Dulcet quatrains melted into rounded syllables, thick on my tongue
Still we manage to tease out delicate images
And the consolation of a paycheck educators receive
Not enough to ease the mirage of beach
Allure of waves and palm trees
In rude January (the ultimate schoolyard bully)
You and I have chaperoned this prom, attended this play
Coached this race, given chase to elusive grades
Counted victories in syllables
Pivoted around yawning youths, heads down
or kids attempting to find favor with last minute Starbucks gifts
And still we sit in sweet September
Whole and hopeful, rested, restored
Once again to go around this playground called high school
2/1/19
A Girls Night Out
They were there, the girls,
each attired in appropriate finery,
clashing generational coifs,
varied displays of fine jewelry,
diamonds, gold bracelets, barrettes,
classic stiletto heels, sparkling sneakers
and a well worn, sensible black shoe.
Four beautiful women going out
and I the lucky man to attend them.
My daughter, beautiful, bronze skinned
excited to be chaperoned by dad,
My wife, radiant and proud to be
a part of this after dark quartet.
Moms, and Grandmas, fretting
over their children and
Great Grandma fretting over
her children’s, children’s, children.
Happy and proud, to share an evening
with each other, alone, together.
And I, the chaperone,
the sole invited guest.
John G. Lawless
5/31/2014
Memory’s Shadow
by Odin Roark
There was a time
She’d float beside him
Their footsteps in sync
Their heartbeats in unison
Even at midnight
Central Park imbued their love
With colors and honeysuckle fragrance
Lake’s shimmering moon-mirror
Sending ripples through enjoined hands
But oh the face
She knew not a grimace
Nor any sadness
Her smile
Hope’s subtlety
Passion’s caretaker
Time passed
Clouded skies
Like cataracts of mind
Faded that lovely face
Their fantasy stroll
Became but silhouette
And still…
A bench remained
To sit
Dream
Listen to each other’s breath
While rustling leaves
Drifted away
Seasons passed
Strolls became nurse-chaperoned
Movement by wheelchair
Breath by oxy-caddy
His bench still stands
Warm to the touch
His nurse always stops for him to listen
As memory’s shadow whispers
“May I hold your hand?”
Preposterous melody won't exist,
Inside a piano without the chord's beat
Aubade is formed when dolefulness emits
Nails the body to where she always sits;
Ordering her fingers to start a writ.
Corners her world with piano as a friend
Heaves fro the melancholia life has sent
Obsolete in the past yet still remains
Rest in the hands of the hellion of dents
Deceiving the chords life composed to mend
Carted away from the womb of thy mom,
Dispatched to fosters as a surly wan
Ego disappears to the children's scrum
For years she can't find her ruined life's sum
Guided and loved with the help of the rank
An afflatus for three hearts to collide
But deep beneath, she had always been mock
Called in by her fosters as out of luck
Door to door, she lagged capitulated
Reminds herself the poem she narrated
Misses the time her heart elevated
Falls for a man who's crossed-dressing blended
Solitude before but now chaperoned
Laminated by her man's trifle tone
Timbre has echoed when they broke the stone
Do you hear the sixteen chords of her song?
DISILLUSIONED BY ROMANTIC POETS..
SO MANY EMPTY WORDS..
AND EPITAPHS OF LOVE..
HARANGUED BY CONSTANT DOUBT'S..
TO MANY QUESTIONS ASKED..
OF TRUST AND EXPECTATIONS..
CONFUSED BY SIMPLE LOGIC..
DON'T READ BETWEEN THE LINES..
FIND A REASON TO BELIEVE..
CONCERNED BY LESSER WORRIES..
MY HAIR IS GOING SLIGHTLY GREY..
AND MY WRINKLES SEEM TO SMILE..
DISAPPOINTED BY MY FRAILTIES..
A MAN WHO CAN'T BE TRUSTED..
I HAVE A ROVING EYE..
DISENCHANTED BY THE WASTED TIME...
FAILED HOPES AND ASPIRATIONS..
ARE SITTING NEXT TO ME..
CHAPERONED BY LONELY HEARTACHES..
SINGING SADLY IN THE STREET..
EMOTIONALLY I'M OUT OF TUNE...
(this brownarmed girl will sleep
with goodman)
testing the white waters at lunch
she in a blushless
cheesecloth frock
chaperoned by one vased fuchsia forget
me not
coyly sipping cantharis tea
verbalizing
circling a triangle
words slipping from breath moistened lips
like fire thirsty moths quenched by flame
washing their hands
clean of angelcake memories
she keeps a picture by his bed
a stranger and the children
in sun day best
& each night is the longest month of the year
Globules exist on the midst of arrival
where seraphim traits flaunt a celestrial worth
in dynamic shapes blowing sepals from cluster
their transgress to unification and form.
Hint, like a penchant as pleasure disperses,
while chaperoned whispers oblige with goodbyes
collected as options yet duly by number
and from the upheaval their coming was gone.
Where chapter from which was begining to end,
the between was invited, promoting the force
compare them as angels, who asked to remain
I believe in a God who shall forth multiply.
Do miracles happen, who separates this?
the division of soul in the end of one's life?
who promised this land as a paltry half price.
Making faith the believer, combining us all.
The singular loss which is minus extinction
and hopefully by chance it is even by half,
tempests persist to destroy all the trust
a master diguise from the form that it was.