Long Clackety Poems

Orphaned Slab 
         by Odin Roark

They call me a foundation
once supporting siding and stone
wire
plumbing
shingles

Through the doors of my house
trailed family and friends
across kitchen floor
slanted slightly
letting Benny’s agate...

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you got a brain in there you're reading this
when's the last time you found yourself using it
 to continue assembling the puzzle pieces
in the proximity of an existential grievance
minus the usual cheap suit wonderment
in agitated...

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It was shiny and bright sitting under the tree.
There were other things there, but that's all I could see:
a Lionel toy train on a circular track!
The caboose was maroon and the engine was black.

And to...

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[Stanza 1]
I DID NOT know your name when we met on the train
destinations like ghosts who have lost their bodies
Onward we road the rail with thunder and destiny

[Stanza 2]
each way station a detour from malaise...

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The poem you wrote missed my heart
it had no words of emotional chew.

After reading the words, what could I say
you'd said them all but they added up to okay.

When I slithered over the alphabet,
I smelled...

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Leaving a darkened space
Dumbfounded amazement at the scene
Feel the absorbing fabric of self and place

Brightness consumes, permeates
Mind becomes
Light is simultaneous thought, so ceasing

The eyes retire at the sight
Of seeing
Such motion and color

It moves clackety, yet...

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The brownie brigade trotted around the block.
Marching with their feet going tickety dickity dock.
I listened to their shoes going click click click.
The loudest one was my own browine, little Nick.

We are marching! The oldest girl...

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She's a chunky bullet,
at three years old
with plastic beads in her hair.
And I watch her
amazed.
No father.
No mother.
But for a grandfather's love...
And OH is he slow.
No catching this little snip of wild grass-
growing out and inner...

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My mind goes clickety clackety
Down yesterday’s track.
I chase it hard to slow it down.
And possibly bring part of it back.
It spits in my face,
And kicks my shins.
With my imagination in full throttle,
I never do win…

My...

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     Whoosh! Swish! Clang!
     It's the six o'clock kitchen band!
     Whoosh of paper towels off the roll.
     Swish as...

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