They shoot me up into the sky
I hear the crowd
The young one’s voices screaming with delight
uncomfortable laughter of the old ones
They know how dangerous I am
Not yet! I tell myself. Hold on. Not yet!
POP!
I fizzle down into gorgeous lights
I never know my colors until the pop
I am showering bits of glitzy prettiness into the sky
My pieces sparkle and crackle
I fan out like a fountain
The oohing and ahhing of the crowd excites me
Makes me want to do it again
Alas, I only had one pop
I fizzle to the earth,
satisfied,
now
glad
to
die
Your warm yellow radiant rays fan out
Following the wedded sun touching smile.
Through the dense tangle of vines and leaves sprout.
Your warm yellow radiant rays fan out
And bends down in sadness during night stout.
From your heart as dawn break your seeds stockpile.
Your warm yellow radiant rays fan out
Following the wedded sun touching smile.
8/25/2022
Her hair would fan out in the wind
She would laugh, running her fingers through it
Her eyes would sparkle seeing a friend
With all my buddies, she was a big hit.
But it was her heart that captured me
She was sweet and good, tried and true
Principled, she valued the finer things in life
She said, “I’ll gladly share my life with you!”
For thirty-five years she was my soulmate
Never being selfish, uncaring, or unkind
From our first exciting adventure together
She always had our well-being in mind.
She was special in the best kinds of ways
Our lives moved along smoothly together,
She worked hard to make our marriage great
I’ll love my Deborah for ever and ever.
Written April 2, 2022
[Read on BlogTalkRadio/Late Night Poets
by the poet on April 18, 2022]
Seventh,
In the taxi,
The driver's arms fan out
like a praying mantis, ready
for the kill. Old thin arms.
In the backseat:
the prey.
Seventh,
Today is mist.
Dark blue buildings grow high.
But disappear into the sky.
Their heavy secrets swim,
incognito,
in me.
Seventh:
I wear layers
And I was born ready
To show off a crop top cover
Over my thin pale skin.
Freakshow for fans;
I'm me.
Seventh:
I'm the killer,
Killing time with poems.
Just like Salem hangs its witches.
I wait for my trial
My justice served
Too cold.
Seventh
And it could be
Eight or ninth after me.
Life lived, waiting on a park bench.
Tall, slender ghosts and I
Moan across time:
Judgment.
Seventh:
White picket fence
Limit my lime green grass
Of home. I await my return,
Spiritual,
Cosmic.
Seventh
This is my last
True American line.
Dear Boston, please don't rain for me.
Grow your Fenway leaves and
Kenmore brick tiles,
I'm gone.
Faxing the texting words
Is now a fan out of sight
Not touching a hand
Creation of disappearance
Not sight or sound
Of human kind
Only touching the mind
Leaving the body untouched
Unable to feel reality
Thus, appearing as real
As a television show
Or a silent radio
Torn apart
Sights and sounds
Now only words
Separating the body
From the mind
An illusion of real life
As if we were
Action figures
Playing
A new game
Go
Son
Take flight
Icarus~
Be daring be brave
But most of all be vigilant
Unfurl your wings fan out and soar to independence
Navigate your odyssey with perseverance~ go forth and don't look back, Icarus
AP: 3rd place 2020
A fine damp gauze drapes across trees
As white dread locks fan out
Upon a pale blue morning sky
White doves coo, roosters shout
Come up orange sun, shine through shadows
Silhouette trees, warm
Surroundings for spring has sprung
Coming into grand form
Golden sun lift the drapes away
Allow the birds to nest
Bring the plants alive to seed, grow
To replenish the earth's best
There’s nothing lacking in the thing itself.
In some ways, it’s the very best of us.
It’s not like Marx was some egregious elf,
or Rosa Luxemburg some succubus.
The deal is, if you subjugate the masses,
they might not like it. Corner them, and they
will fan out fiercely, as do poison gases,
and pimps and prelates will be swept away.
So simple, so methodical. So why
did communism curdle and collapse?
One short, scant century it took to die:
a flimsy, flawed philosophy, perhaps?
We messed up, through our immaturity,
the grandeur of that peerless theory.
Where is that rare, elusive rain that never seems to come?
Our land, once rich and fertile, is now a vast dust bowl.
Great lightning strikes upon the ground, igniting trees and brush
as flames erupt, a fearsome sight, appearing strong and bold
they fan out like fiery fingers, that greedily take hold.
Like an angry dragon's breath, the fire is hotly blown, among
the helpless hills and fainting grass, and in the forests old.
Strong are the whipping winds as these hot vapors, flung
up to sky, around the towns and through the valleys low.
While raging fires lick the air, it's hot path ever grows.
In great alarm a call goes out, to those courageous ones
who rise up strong, to fight the blaze and conquer as they go
to take up battle by foot or plane, determined to overcome.
Rise up by strength or might, and banish this great foe
to save our land, renew our hope, for life and hearth and home.
Written on 8/3/2015
I am a master pleaser, my feelings buried deeper than restless bones.
I will shade you from midsummer sun, and you’ll never know I was crying.
My iced tea and sweet berry disguise protects you or maybe me?
Let me find you frowning amongst sprawled picnic blankets,
I will shade you from midsummer sun, and you’ll never know I was crying.
I will fan out a red-and-white checkered smile before you.
Let me find you frowning amongst sprawled picnic blankets,
I will seek a daisy from my own bouquet or share a sugar candy touch.
I will fan out a red-and-white checkered smile before you.
My iced tea and sweet berry disguise protects you or maybe me…
I will seek a daisy from my own bouquet or share a sugar candy touch.
I am a master pleaser, my feelings buried deeper than restless bones.
From the navel of God
I swirl forth
helix petals unfold
the dew of His love
glistens
in the naked morning mist
sun splashes across daybreak
I fan out my wings
like an eagle
expand my chest
take a deep blue bugle breath…
exhale peace, love and good wishes
a sweet fragrance
just for you
By Kevin Robey
July 15, 2014
I wanted you to know
Identities and stares
I'm scared that it will show
Don't know why I even care
This haunting ghost of you
Still printed on my face
Identity erased into shades of blue
For me and you to shun my grace
Now I'm erased with every breath I gave
Again and again I say, just bring the end of days
Take away the roads ahead they never paved
No final wave, I dissipate into the words I'll never say
Cascade upon me eternal seas of memories
The trees were a crutch on which I used to stand
Waves Fan out the doubt that I don't want to see
So please free my eyes from the safety of your hand
Cosmic radiation from the stars of meant-to-be's
The sea that I still breathe when we all build the pyre
Smiles all around; cause none of this was free
These memories have yet to be, as I start to build the fire
[Listening to "Fake Angels" by Lovedrug]
on loch's calm water
silver ripples fan out -
otter diving
It’s morning and darkness dawns on the shadowy recesses of her soul.
Voices from afar, echo through the hollow emptiness,
Yet cannot penetrate her comprehension.
Sorrow has befriended her
And Fear has enveloped her in his immobilizing embrace.
A spark ignites and the hatred begins to burn
As she struggles towards the surface,
Gasping for a breath of consciousness.
The flames fan out in a wild torrent of rage.
Oh that familiar prick of the needle,
And the awareness ebbs away with the dissipating smoke.
Sedation, like a wet blanket, chokes her fury
And she is forced back into her dismal, numbing prison.
She surrenders and sinks into the darkness.
Here, she will await another opportunity
To unleash the cold heat of her pain.
in a peaceful place
ripples fan out on lily pond -
colourful koi play
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