Charm is a big-butted gal, he said proudly.
In a braggadocio way, and he said it too loudly.
Her ma in the kitchen smirked and repeated.
He was swiftly kicked and repeatedly cleated.
For that big-butted gal did not take it too well.
Now Charm is in jail in a small tiny cell.
He is more careful now to think before he speaks.
He tiptoes softly, and cringes when a floorboard creaks.
That big-butted gal has changed his personality up.
He jumps when you drop a plate or a cup.
She is also big-butted, and visits Charm in jail.
She also feeds her cat and brings in her mail.
She lies, quietly reclining,
her flitting eyes
beneath porcelain lids the only sign of life,
save for slight rise and fall of maiden breast.
But in her dream . . .
she soars beyond her narrow, provincial world
where tales recorded in approved books
are her only adventures.
Moonbeams beckon,
luminous trails of stardust swirl
gilding the fluid pathway of her flight.
She wanders aloft, observing narrow streets,
foreign to her wide and planted avenues
where one walks protected, shielded
from the rough venues of common life;
there dwell
the weak, the halt, the maimed, the depraved,
those whom poverty and cruelty have crushed
beneath ponderous feet abuse and hurt cleated,
seeing an encapsulated view captured by inner eyes
that sense her privileged world
has lost step with humanity.
Courage is conceived; resolve is awakened:
a Florence Nightingale is born.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, May 16, 2014
Thoughts that thrive on scattered dreams
shoot through the mind like laser beams
Hunger echoes a hollow song
Voices merge, intestines long
Lips are dry, and tongues are parched
Memories are pressed and starched
No miming board can take the heat
Hot irons that scorch the hands and feet.
Cold days flow into brackish nights
on borrowed hopes and collared pride
Answers wrapped in braided woes
Crushed, then scattered by angry toes
Worry stalks in cleated shoes
It leaves a track of pallid blue
Just when it seems to reach the rise
It folds then doubles up in size.
8 June 2012 4:33 pm
Piggy tails and finger in nose
eyes so blue an untied shoe
crew cut hair and dirty socks
running jumping don't care about clocks
red baseball outfit and soft cleated shoes
haveing too much fun to feel any blues
pony tail, blue jean shorts
green striped shirt and giggles and snorts
all running and playing in mcdonalds play land
eat a fry and tag a hand
Smiles explode when they hear
the name that makes a childs heart cheer
Heres to you, you wonderful clown
thank you for making smiles from frowns
It's a two-wheeled cruising machine -
alloy spokes, bent handlebars,
custom seat and paint job...
yet, I get these very odd looks
and wild laughter when I pull my bike up
to an establishment that advertises:
"Tonight is bike night - Cheap beer."
Is it my biking shorts?
Is it my cleated shoes?
I know it can't be my custom machine...
everyone at the bike trail comments
on how nice of a two-wheeler I have!
I've even gotten dates because of my bike!!
A man on his custom cruising machine
out to get a couple of cheap beers...
I just can't figure it out!!!
They walk alone together down the bright white line, their
Voices garble against the humming hordes as the
Tautness of the moment lays out like lacquer in the dustlight
Of our dreams, life feeding moisture under cleated white grass.
Talking angularly and stepping away from the parabola now they
Stop to admire the scoreboard like field generals
In the infinite march of Time's conquest.
They turn back into the red zone and ennoble their strides and
Emblazon their courage against the dizzying starscape.
In your footsteps,
Feet-bottoms cleated with thorns
Stirring emotions of pain
As they jab into the clouds' backs
Beneath the feet on your selfish body
Burning with pressurous threat
Commencing the clouds to cry tears that fall
Hence, soaking me wet.
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