Careful, calibrated responses
Neutral showing of emotion
The words breathe empty as we talk about the weather
In my cautious approach, I tell myself to
Just play it safe
Be cordial
Don't engage
Assuredly, you tell me
That your love has moved
But, I sense reservation
A dare to keep feelings concealed
And an avoidance of guilt
And sadly, that leads me to believe
That this superficial attempt to 'Check in'
Is merely a checking out
Cross Checked Bibliography
David J Walker
Is it difficult to comprehend
We are the words in
A
Book
between Book --- Ends
And live Day to Day
At the reader's pace
following
Page to Page
Until
We simply
Fade Away
Or some 10 chapters in
Our existence simply Ends abruptly
Like a Murder Mystery
And we look to find our
Names
in the Perfect
Alphabetical order in an
ancient bibliography
I am pretty sure
I see
A big wet Thumb coming
And a
Page
Turning
And I don’t know yet
If I am included in
Tomorrows Type Set
Or If I will be
Another forgotten
Character
Sitting at my desk, pen poised to write
I was going nowhere fast all day and all night
When my Muse suggested I check out the Soup
See what was up with my friends in the group
So I turned to the poems of those that I follow
They soon had me a-whoopin' and a-hollerin'
Jan's sweet marriage proposal gave me new hope
That she and I would -- LOL -- soon elope
Sam K's delightful, serendipitous 'Poets at Play'
had me planning a virtual picnic by light of day
Mike Gentile's tender poem had me nearly in tears
while Ilene Bauer's had me smiling ear-to-ear
And so many others deserving of mention
Sandy Adams, David McHattie had my rapt attention --
When I finally finished in a short hour or two
All I could say was, "Poetry Soup Poets, THANK YOU!"
Well oh well, it's another new day
Checked for vital signs, all seem okay
Good for a while yet
Fooled you I bet
This old codger's still got more airplay
Checked for Change
While walking I soon started wishing,
In pocket for money was found fishing;
Checked for change,
Then did re-arrange;
More money to me God will be dishing.
Jim Horn
i wash away the harmony
caught up in your grip
thirsty for a century
Freud told me id slip
house of empty bottles
mirrors obsolete
peers often meet
while Jekyll starts to sleep
cant bare to train my iris
a different strain of virus
a closer threat than isis
the under checked vices
hear me
im coming from a low point
tried to smoke an old joint
woke up saying oh boy
barefoot like tolstoy
recounting the many facets
opened up the faucet
morning time hospice
my body just an object
time lost thrown away
demon as a stowaway
nothing left for me to say
do i want a motorcade
bucked but i get back on
which way am i riding
sunsets only an hour
somewhere it has its rising
Need My Numbers Checked
Know I need my numbers checked
To see if some can be correct
Will keep both fingers crossed;
In the trash may be tossed;
Or be winners when they inspect.
Jim Horn
Rather than my car being wrecked
I should have had my head checked
See Series game much does cost
Regardless if they won or lost
From my choirs was sidetracked.
Jim Horn
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poets/top_100_poets_most_poems_all_time.aspx
Well oh well, it's another new day
Checked my vital signs, all seem okay
Good for while yet
Fooled you I bet
This old codger's still got more airplay
Marie McCaid was a hotel maid.
She tidied rooms where guests had laid.
On opening Room thirty-four
the odor sent her to the floor.
One guest had clearly overstayed.
There was a lady stock broker
who used clients' funds for poker.
One customer got wise
and to the lady's surprise.
Saw fit to up and croaker.
Where have I lost it? I have searched through all the cabinets and cupboards.
Might it be in the bedroom tucked inside sheets of lavender?
Nope, only broken memories in glass frames, my knuckles smeared with red.
What mayhem has embarked in this kitchen of strewn pots and pans?
The reflective stanless echoing a once dancing era of full hearts, an elastic band that stretched your smile.
Only now they have been painted black with grease.
O wait now I remember where I left it.
With you, inside a throb beating chest, locked with steel bolts.
-Mitch
I could cuss you out using all kind of bloody profanity,
that will cut you so deep,
it will enlighten you about your anatomy,
but the God in me, makes me...keep...
my mouth closed...painfully.
The amitigated audacity,
of you to disgrace my intellectual ability,
just by looking at me and
assuming my urban apparel means,
I may very well be,
just as stupid as you are honestly.
I could dance circles around you
yet you are not worth the steps.
I could dress you like a scarecrow and
put you in the south of the Bronx or better yet,
write you a poem that will make you forget
how ignorant you are to
judge a book by its cover.
Instead of allowing my feet to leave the Earth,
or reminding you that I could be the cause of your rebirth,
I digress.
I smile at you knowing
that you may be doing your very best
to survive.
Despite your judgements of me,
or cackling all type of female discriminatory beliefs
at me,
I do not judge you.
I simply walk by.
You will get yours
before I lose mine.