one side of our eyes
evil persist, other side
stagnant thoughts of good
Al Juman style haiku © 1/12/2001
Categories:
drags, 12th grade, betrayal, character,
Form: Haiku
Engines turn-over only to drift backwards
into the on-going.
Cats cling to kids and kitchens.
Discarded are the shopping shoes.
Stale ideas grow dust clouds
in that space between our skulls
and heaven.
Paints for store fronts
are brushed aside
forced to hide under long
unclimbed ladders.
An ill-wind adds gossip to tongues, but where?
The talkers are not listening
and the silent have surrendered.
Tree roots clack and crack under street lamps
buried, yet they creak as loud as
any brittle-bound Grandfather clock.
Small towns struggle
to trim the sly slow weeds
that mesh and bind
their collective ramshackle histories.
Categories:
drags, poetry,
Form: Free verse
I cannot trust my husband to dump the trash, so I insist on taking it up.
He has squirreled so much crap back into this house
I make him put it into his office.
His office has six recliners, two beds,
and a stack of three couches. It is crazy full.
There are books, sweatshirts, and eight
not-quite-all-there sewing machines in his man cave.
It is a hoarder’s den of mice-only-know what.
I watch him cart in a box of cat litter.
He does not yet realize it is where I put the used cat litter.
It shouldn’t take him long….
Categories:
drags, humor, husband,
Form: Prose
Looking at you now
I tend to wonder.....
When death comes to visit
I hope he DRAGS you with him.
Categories:
drags, break up, death, deep,
Form: Prose Poetry
As treatment drags on.
This confinement we do not find fond.
Alive I shall be, as I live in this prison.
They will release me soon, after the evil in me has risen.
There is no one that will take me back.
I shall allow the pain to swell, and for my nightmares to attack.
I shall soon be freed into the forest.
I shall find new scars each time I rest.
I am waiting in the wild, but please don’t assume…
That I wish to go back to my old tomb.
Categories:
drags, mental illness,
Form: Rhyme
His life does not progress; it drags.
The few possessions he has are in plastic bags.
He has little or nothing to eat, but his heart still beats.
He has no place to call his home. He lives on the streets.
Nobody he knows is willing to give him a new start.
Life is not living when it is out of a shopping cart.
inspired by another member's poem
Categories:
drags, poverty,
Form: Light Verse
Make little rocks out of big rocks, no hands have prison clocks
X's are the days on a jail calendar, the ball and chain
Time drags on
Categories:
drags, life
Form: I do not know?
-
i am fragile
i do not understand
i want to snap to denile
and act like this is all pretend
tomorrow i will wake up
and my friend will be alive
i will open my eyes
and he will have had survived
tomorrow never seems to come
for he's still not back on earth
why do wishes like this
never seem to work
how many tears will i cry
until i understand
my dear sweet friend
really wont be back again
Categories:
drags,
Form: I do not know?