The enthusiastic logastellus,
empty handed yet so scripturient;
Try to write it feels incoherent,
without words there is no audience;
Plagued with a poor vocabulary,
madness fills an overactive mind;
First line leaves that soul unsatisfied,
not able to capture a writer’s quiddity;
You can sit warm yourself by the fire
believing the Muse comes on command;
When will raw emotion understand
it takes tools to pen what you desire;
Go out communicate in person
you’ll pick up a new line every time;
No longer with a struggle to rhyme,
No longer riddled with guiltroversion.
Your fabrications are all that ring true;
You do what you do holding a motive;
That bawdy neon sign reads ‘Ballyhoo’.
Why am I attracted to corrosive?
Patchwork display of broken art you drew,
complete picture is the gift that I give;
I can’t do artificially flavored
unable to stomach empty handed.
How many owls can I hold? I wondered as they appeared.
They were perched on each limb as the night rider neared.
I cannot handle this volume, the night rider said in a mean way.
But we promised them you would, I said. My mood was gray.
You should have asked first, the night rider said in a snippy voice.
He is the cousin of a neighbor of my sour great great Aunt Joyce.
I cannot accommodate them I told him. I was just waiting for you.
He threw up his hands and stomped off, his words turned the air blue.
“We can stay here,” the head owl told me in a sweet way.
You have always been welcoming to us each and every day.
The night rider left empty handed, and pouted a bit.
I thought it was humorous when he had his little fit.
When I was younger I had
an answer for everyone
and everything
A word of wisdom
or encouragement
for every situation
But the longer I live
the less I have to give
Not sure whether
I ran out of words
along the way
simply spent my share
or whether, sometimes,
there are no words
left for anyone
to say
Yes, the longer I live
the less I seem to
have to give
Oh I have love-
and empathy...
Enough feelings to
drown the world
in a Biblical-size flood
of emotion
But nothing more
no other store
of things to say
Seems every time lately I
leave my house
I see someone
homeless, down-on-their-luck
desperate, quietly pleading
voices softly whispering
as not to disturb
their last dangling
delicate shred
of self-respect
and dignity
Which is hard
because there's not
much dignity in
begging for the basic things
like food, or shelter
from the cold
And while not yet homeless
I can't help, as I'm too
down-on-my-luck, too
And I wonder
what the difference is
between me and you
and them-
we're certainly no better
just people, jars of clay
what's to guarantee
that that won't be me...
someday?
I reach, stretching
for that elusive brass ring,
holding onto what I believe is my dream
Sitting there beyond the giraffe and the zebra,
shining for those smiling riders
holding it in their hands
I watch, still stretching
as the glow beckons from their fingers,
small shavings of light
Teasing me as I go around
again and again, stuck to cotton candy remnants
on a popcorn strewn saddle
Snickering, giggling
little children with plastic daisies
in their hair find humor in my desperation
Hearing in motioned questions,
the happy music blaring from neon mirrors
reflecting this fading image
Spinning slower,
the rabbit no longer moves up and down
as laughter replaces the calliope melodies
I exit, empty handed
looking back at the big smiling clown waving goodbye,
realizing it is just a sign of things to come
You called me handsome,
I don't have a red cent in my hand!
Demanded and Empty-Handed
On themselves, so much they had demanded
But from Olympics came home empty-handed
After all of the sincere effort they had put in;
In four years, will have to do it over again.
Many things we all may have to face
If you finished either fourth or fifth place
A medal might never be in your sight
And will pray to win one again tonight.
James Thomas Horn
www.poetrysoup.com
Stranded in a dream
Unraveling at the seams
Chasing never ending screams
Followed by hollowed empty trees
Swaying in the wind
Searching for something I'll never find
Blind
Afraid to fend for myself
Journeying across the face of humanity
I sit in wonder
Trying to understand my own humanity
Insanity soon surrenders
Forgiveness bellows in my ears
I've seen my fallacy
Left to fend for myself
I hate to be alone
With no one here to take my hand...
the rhyming comes easy
cadence makes its call
and I stand empty handed
with nothing at all
I shoot from the hip
but the aim is slightly off
and the target means nothing
nothing at all
I write the music
and you write the song
we sing it together
though we are alone
I hear the lyrics
and you feel the dance
when winter has ended
and we took a chance
we kiss and we part
and time passes quick
months have a way
of lighting a wick
the pleasures were ours
and we sing one last tune
but it is never quite over
for me and for you
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