Conversations Poems - Poems about Conversations

Brought my daughter to physical therapy appointment She is filling out three long pages of paper work – front and back I am listening to other people’s conversations Learning about strangers keeps me in writing material My ears are as high as an alert rabbit as I listen to others I keep my head down, pretending I am not writing...

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When it came to love I had no real plan I know I wanted to connect in an intimate way with experimentation and playfulness I was short on experience there was a pandemic I’d had few ‘at-bats’ that’s a sports metaphor Much of it seemed surreal and abstract like we’d entered another realm of everyday places there was a subtle unpredictability that was unfiltered, instinctive and...

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“I’m so glad you’re alive” I told you this, maybe a little too soon With Nyx painting shadows on our faces it was a little too dark But you’re eyes were transfixed completely on mine And I was completely aware That it was a little too beautiful for just the second day I met you a little too late I wish you could’ve...

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Conversation’s bound to change As aging takes its toll, For when you meet with friends, Exchanging stories is the goal. So politics may be discussed Or movies, books or shows Or travel or the grandkids; That’s the way it always goes. Except that something else now comes To take up center stage - The ailments that we deal with And those battles that we wage: The...

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While we’re renaming things, can we please rename “United States” to “AAAmerica.” I know I’m tired of scrolling to the bottom of every pop-down country list. And ARE we united? Really, even a little? That awkward moment when you’re already said, “what?” three times, and you still have no idea what the conversation is about, but you can tell, by bouncy...

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(The Apostle Paul is waiting at Athens, and some of the Epicureans and Stoics engaged him in conversation.) Agon, Aidos, Apate, Bia, Corus and Dysnomia (talking amongst themselves) say “What will this seed picker say?” (A seed picker was a bird that picked seeds out of the waste in the gutters) Eris, Eupraxia, Hybris, Kratos, Oizys and Penthous...

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THE DAY MAY COME WHEN I WILL DIE SOME WILL LAUGH AND SOME WILL CRY YET I BELIEVE THEIR WILL BE A LOT OF QUESTIONS LEFT TO SEE UNANSWERED THOUGHTS STILL UNEXPLAINED THE ANSWERS SHALL COME THE CHILDS' BRAIN AND AS THEY LAY ME IN THE DIRT KEEP IN MIND I AM FOOD FOR BIRTH THE DAY MAY COME WHEN I DIE SOME WILL...

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Act 1: Venting As above so below, so, where are you God Because right now all I see is these bills piling up My stress is piling up atop embers of anger My patience is about as thin as a piece of paper, and I just got cut As above so below, so, where are you God Because it feels...

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It's hard to speak when my mind uses experience and thoughts as a whip The sleepless nights I've created for myself and others I can't omit I can close my eyes to imagine grassy fields but I know that the sun is hollow I spread words of warning so other people can learn and I'm not followed Because,...

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I’m enjoying spending time with my mom - we have an intimacy braided like rope. I forgot how funny she is. At the same time, we’ve been softcore arguing for days. She wants me to accomplish something this summer - to pad my med-school resume - do anything but relax. But I refuse. If I’m going...

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You have haunted the garden of my thoughts, unaware of the endless conversations, About sea butterflies and flights mingled with white, forgetful snows. I wove you into the celestial tapestries, you were my astral laboratory of dreams, A solar vagabond returning from a dark night to caress the dawn once more. In profound silence, I have tried to paint...

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He’s got plans to meet his friend, And he’s putting things in his pockets, his wallet, his keys, a set of dice. ‘I can’t forget these dice’ he says to me. ‘I did not know you had a set of dice, that’s news to me. But why on god’s green earth do you need that to go with...

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Reasons you might be a serial killer -all your lampshades are made from human skin -all 3 of your chainsaws are always fully fuelled -your wallpapers is hundreds of pictures of a rocking horse ridden by a gorilla -you live in the basement of the asylum with all your ex therapists Not to do with the poem but could zombies...

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This was last Christmas - 39 days ago - doesn’t that seem like ancient history? We were in Lisa’s (parent’s) 50th floor flat, in Manhattan. It was mid-morning, we’d done the present thing, and it was coffee time. At 42°, the city was surprisingly warm, drizzly, and the weather service had issued a dense fog...

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Our unsung slurs fill the night air, blurred words become a make out song; All the careless talk was too strong; Your hands like flowers in my hair I feel just like a millionaire; Here and now is where I belong, our unsung slurs; Reckless conversations declare what we have denied all along; Star crossed and so very headstrong; It’s like cuss...

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