Akin we are to Lightbulbs,
but not as may be told;
for creativity and Eureka! —
are dreams that can be sold.
We invite them their Control,
and hand over our souls;
prov'd that subtly they may embark,
and Switch us —
Bright, or Dark?
So closed our eyes will be,
whilst openess to “see”;
The circles that enclose us?
Makeshift insincerity.
Joyous as we've become,
electricity cannot run —
less so in the Dark days,
when we're left with merely crumbs.
Yet even with eyes open,
I find that it's too late,
as every word that we absorb
hits more than a mistake.
How I yearn for a new Outlet,
the farthest and unplugged,
Then trepidly I'll live the Light — in Darkness and unloved.
In my room with its broken latch
There's postcards of hens and foxes
and a disused TV set
There's a collection of analogue cameras
Some I use
Some of my lightbulbs are out
There's a book of Trakl and his Blue Melancholy
and Sylva Plath with her German Mannequins
There's albums out of time
Susan Pilsbury and Jimmy Campbell
You see the past comforts me
There's poetry of my own
some bonded others nestling on my cupboard
I hope to get published soon
The ground was full of brittle crackly things
They broke as I walked.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
I thought I was walking on lightbulbs.
I stopped walking to look and see
These things were curvy and brittle.
I put them on my fingers and wore them to dinner.
They were cicada shells
Not a big hit with others at the table.
How you feel is not enough,
You as this is less than function,
Avert the feel, replace with stuff,
Or suffer states, disjunction.
Comparing scrambled eggs to buzzing locust,
To the mumbled mind within you,
Hocus pocus, lack of locus,
There's too much to think or do.
Is it magic, the spectacle, the prance of flicked rays?
Distracting as you navigate your ways,
Through this nothing filled by gaze.
The TV sounds like lightbulbs burnt,
The filament ablaze; fidelity.
Tinnitus chimes, claiming weren't;
External cause for remedy.
I can feel the TV hum, the windows wake my earlobes,
Aghast by glass, the lampposts shook,
I'd rather nether regions probed.
I sense that I can't sense a thing,
Nothing lurks beneath my brain,
Haunting me to always bring,
The me who flees from fear and pain.
Poisons for potions,
Pills provide motions,
A corpus of nervous commotions,
Despite that, these without,
I'm better about,
But me: I continue to doubt.
The rash upon my wrist
awaits the railroad track
Nail
to penetrate my flesh
and
hang.
The cabooseman rubs his white gloves together
waiting to pass the railroad
Mail Station
and catch the white bag
that
hangs.
And onward the Train travels through
the tunnel of Hell
and then up the railroad tracks
to the Heavens where stars
hang
like lightbulbs.
A rusty old retro vintage bubblegum drop machine
Positioned next to me as I am seeing above me
Spherical lightbulbs and strobelights of flashing rainbow colours.
Brightness peeps into
yellowing net curtains;
brief wafts of a semaphore sky.
An elderly lady has planted her mind
in an apartment,
lightbulbs burn out, are never replaced;
sunshine squints through thin drapes.
Daily she shoos the world away,
discourages rumors
of unnecessary things.
Mail piles up
on her unwelcome mat.
I miss the ocean!
As everyday it was my friend.
But now I'm hot and sticky,
Being stuck inland!
I used to admire her crashing waves,
As they approached the beach.
Now all I have is my garden hose,
Sprinkling water on my feet!
The sunrise was my favorite,
When the ocean sets her free.
Now I just have burnt out lightbulbs,
Near a toilet where I pee.
I miss those days when the ocean was my dearest friend,
Perhaps I'll see her once or many times more, if I move again!
22-September-2021
I met dandelion child when I needed a friend
we met and we were friends to the end.
of course not, that would be no fun
but I did not intend to untie a pun
To gaslight again, to preach upon a chair
or telephone booth is... love
what I mean for god's sake is what is the vampire calls the hotel
trans silly viania of course you know,
that electric light bulb that frankenstein invented.
what you know or you don't know is how.
zen the lightbulb was invented? je amour
how many lightbulbs do you need in your soup kitchen?
The clouds light up like lightbulbs, as the sun sets beyond the hill
Some are tinted gray, with bright shining edges of white
They are spread all over the place, above the pine trees so still
A moving transformation of the last beautiful moments of daylight
Animals speak as birds call from the woods, chipmunks scamper fast
The air is still and warm, from this nice day to celebrate
Every minute the sunlight hangs on and continues to last
The sky transitions in full circle and it is well worth the wait
Heidi Sands
Written yesterday 5/3/20
A moths flight path is erratic
It flits from place to place
First it’s on your ceiling
Then it’s dive bombing your face
It hits its head on lightbulbs
Even though they’re really hot
Killing off the the few brain cells
I’m not even sure they’ve got
And when you turn your light out
It’s like its wings have been turned off
It sits there looking innocent
A well behaved, calm moth
But if you dare to touch the switch
And make your room aglow
The moth just can’t quite help himself...
“The moth and his break dance show!!”
The King dreamed of a contraption, a device
that would light up his night, so nice
No wax melting, no moths smelting
Not all that long ago...
He dreamed of food and drink always cold
in a box, a contraption, a device
No spoiling, no milk boiling, so nice
Not all that long ago...
O, and how he dreamed of a box, a device
to keep him cool on the hottest summer's night
No sweating, no tossing, no turning, so nice
Not all that long ago...
You and I are now more privileged
than the wealthiest of those Kings
Our homes, so nice, graced by lightbulbs, refrigeration, a/c
Are we duly grateful -- fellow King -- for all these things
big ideas
unfilled
four months of thoughts ive kept in my vacuum
twirling
swirling
spinning ideas bouncing off each other
cracking spines in empty space
shattering
lightbulbs
unlit
scream all you ****ing want
nobody is listening
nobody cares
you’re another fallen leaf
floating
held in thin air
by your stubborn pride
and inability to admit
you need some ****ing help
Written By: D. Collins 8/7/18
Absolute power is what Trump thinks he has.
Congress bowed-down and gave him a pass.
But, it is far from over. It's just about to get hot.
He'll find that absolute power isn't what he's got.
I see impeachment down the road, and charges handed down.
Removing every avenue for you to pardon your son.
You want to be like Putin, but he's way, smarter than you.
He never runs his mouth like you and your son do.
Instead of making America great, you really shocked the world.
Brought down your son, son-in-law, and favorite little girl.
So, if absolute power is what you're trying to get.
It ain't gonna happen, I guarantee you, yeah.
We hoped that one of these days, the lightbulbs would light up.
But, that's not going to happen, because we're already sold out.
Just know that, "We The People" possess that absolute power.
And, loud-mouth New Yorkers have never made us cower.
I am from the small white house
That has the small black pup as a defender
with picture on every wall
And the exploding smell of cinnamon
I am from the big family
Where education is everything
And Christmas morning are spent as a whole
I am from the tiny town
Where everyone knows everyone
Summer Nights were spent at the park
Taking little lightbulbs out the sky
With the streetlights as curfew.
I am from
The cold winter nights spent with Hot cocoa
Warming your soul and body from head to toe
And Home Alone on repeat
I am from Ice cream after a performance
And family supporting family
I am from Denise
That raised me with morals and respect
In the small white house
With the black pup as a guard
And pictures on every way
-Malaki Fleming 2016
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