Long Unusually Poems
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If you were to confide in me one black, obscure night
With your unusually soft eyes on the brink of tears,
Your heart and soul compacted in the fretful thoughts of woe,
I would gladly listen, with a perceptive, distinctive, and tranquil glow
If you would but spill upon me the swelling pangs of your core,
To forget how to utter the right words to express your hurt,
To launch all fears in floods of sorrow, icing spectral fractals fly
I would hold you in my arms and free you—I would try
I would try
I would try,
To banish all ghouls that threaten your might,
To fight away the fools that envy your light
To penetrate the inner snake that in darkness does bite
In earnest blow I will let him know he is toothless in our sight
I must be strong—for you, my precious commitment
To let you down would tear my purpose away
For if it was I trapped in your enigmatic place,
You would soon hold me with determination and grace
You have freed me in your efforts, of a pain I cannot word,
You have tied your soul upon me with the strings of need and must
And in your strength I have cast out wicked shadows that do sprout
Of your love, never once will I ever again doubt
Because you always try,
And when we try together, we rectify
I am not surprised at what I see.
The outside tables at the café are empty.
Despite its reputation of being the best in the city.
To entrepreneurs, it does not look pretty.
You probably think the place does lousy business.
The winter is having a lot to do with this.
For a southern city, it is unusually cold.
The temperature affects both the young and old.
To sit outside, not many are very bold.
Sitting outside today would not be nice;
especially when the drinks have a lot of ice.
Inside is where we both have to go.
Would you like coffee, a latte, or cappuccino?
On the menu, you see selections are a lot.
Today, it is a good idea to drink something hot.
Robert Pettit
Café Musings Contest
February 4, 2014
Last Night
Look up there.
Do you see the seven sisters?
The night is unusually warm.
I hear speeding cars going down Broadway.
The freight train is screeching across Canobie.
Purple-blooming jacarandas cry petals of rejection.
You sat on the curb and told me it was over.
Told me you were now seeing Bob from work.
I am happy for you if that is important to you.
I am happy he pleases you sexually when I could not.
Look up there.
I see the seven sisters dancing like queen stars.
Dancing stationary as with stones set in black marble.
You and I are through now.
No more naked romps in the dark den at midnight.
The candle is lit there and Mahler music still plays.
But vacant now are your gentle taps on my back door.
Missing now is the dark-skinned 19-year-old lady I desire.
Late at night now I lie on the shag carpet waiting,
Hopelessly waiting for your midnight tapping on my door.
But you never show up although you gave me hope.
Is it really finished? Last night
I fell asleep there as Mahler’s fourth symphony played on.
I dreamed of you sleeping naked by my side.
I am a thinker of sorts;
One that is rather selective.
I tend to bore unusually easily;
Perhaps I am mildly restless.
I am okay with challenges,
But even blatant testy rules can be
Presented with greater simplicity.
I am not bad at word search puzzles;
But it seems that my vocabulary
Vanishes with crossword puzzles.
I really do not stress about poetry
Contests that are above my pay grade.
I simply move along, giving others who
Are Much more skillful than me, an opportunity
to swim in waters too deep for me.
I am not a writer, but I write.
I am not a poet, but I write.
I like music but cannot sing.
I am not given to much talking,
But I have a passion for walking.
It is far less painful to stay in my lane.
I like rhyme and a little bit of rhythm.
And believe it or not, I can even dance,
But only behind closed doors.
I must say that I feel extremely
Blessed to be a part of such a talented
Community of poets encouraging each
Other and releasing the healing power
of words to thousands around the world.
She was taken by bears, that was the consensus,
dragged off in her sleeping bag; tracks confirmed.
Later the child was eaten, but not before she died of old age.
She lodged with the Grizzlies, growing sturdy, unusually hirsute
for a human girl, but pretty in a wide-bottomed way.
Frank Goddard and his hunting buddy Pete
had her in his sights one winter. He almost pulled the trigger
on his bolt action 30-06, but saw she was different and with her cubs.
They were leaf-mossed bundles of mewing need.
She was foraging for dead squirrels.
After one exceptionally hard year, an old bear warned her.
“We should have chewed you up, buried you in the forest
in juicy frozen lumps for when the hunger gnaws.” Said the bear.
She cried when she left the bear clan and her cubs,
but she stayed in the wilderness. Her limbs lost their ursine strength,
her body shrank, became twiggy and hollow.
A party of campers from Cleveland claimed to have seen her
buzzing through the tree’s, humming.
She grew wizened. No new leaf uncurled in her, then she died.
Bob Turner found her remains as he led a group of Eagle Scouts
over the ‘Big Hole’ mountain pass one summer. She had kept the
sleeping bag, she had made it her totem, a thing she wore like an animal
spirit. Scavengers had eaten most of her, but the bears killed the animals
and brought them back to lay beside her scatterings.
The Scouts took pictures and reported the find to the Montana Rangers,
but the Chippewa Cree had removed all sign of her death
by the time the Rangers returned.
It’s a beautiful sunny warm October morning.
Unusually warm for this time of year in Saint Paul, Minnesota.
I’ve decided to drain the pool.
The sun flickers beautifully off the water.
The wind blows and the wind chime chimes.
I’m happy and grateful for this day.
I’m melancholy too.
The cold is coming, it’s inevitable.
You feel it and smell it in the early mornings and evenings.
I have the pool net for cleaning and as the light flickers and the water trickles like music with the wind and chimes accompanying.
I sift leaves and debris out of the sadly shallow pool reminiscing about the bountiful moments of joy and laughter with my lovely grandchildren.
The too short summer.
Remembering their sweet faces often happily dirty with food and popsicle remnants and other mystery stuff.
As I sift and reminisce.
I look into the net only to find a rather large and rather dead grasshopper.
I feel sad for this guy.
This little being. Who probably desperately needed a drink of water. Only to find the thing he needs to sustain him now kills him.
I’m deep in thought.
Completely in the moment.
I’m sad.
But I have to move on.
The cold is inevitable.
I cannot think about a grasshopper.
The Azure dragon wept for the snows'
White had washed away and now spring has
Sprung but all was so unusually gray
And he was lonely as a soul could be
For he was the only Azure dragon left in this world
Was he a miraculous creature of size and
Stature eyes of black claws of glistening
Red and the most beautiful Azure blue one
Could ever imagine shiny and clean from
Head to toe every scale every inch the azure
Doth glow. But his lonely heart was sad and
A wreck no one to love to cuddle and bed. He
Flew to the mountains he flew to the sea but
The only Azure dragon he could find was he.
His tears fell like the warm spring rain and
Silently he prayed. Oh God of Creation can't
You send me a mate. To love and cuddle and
Go on a date? I am not asking much of
This beautiful life but please God of Creation
Send me a wife. He dozed off to sleep his
Face in a pool and awoke in the morning
To a huge surprise. For the image reflected
Before him was one third of his size. A
Beautiful maiden with lovely blonde
Hair alibaster skin lips of red roses and
Eyes of Azure blue. She looked upon him
His tear streaked face and hugged him
And kissed him no fear in her grace.
And suddenly the Azure dragon shrunk
Down in size for a man he was hidden
Though no one was wise. And they loved
And they cuddled and lived a long life
And the God of Creation did indeed send
Him a wife.
No one would ever know because he was cagey
The children were in the car but they did not see the body
It had not started smelling yet.
She had only been dead an hour or two.
They were asleep by the time he reached the woods.
He began to dig, but the ground was unusually hard.
He had not figured this in. One of the kids woke up.
Began screaming for Mommy.
If she did not stop, she would be joining Mommy.
He had no need of kids in his new life.
It would be easy. A couple of whacks over the head.
The kids were small, and he wanted kids with his new girl.
He looked up and saw a tree staring at him with his wife’s eyes.
I Tapped Into the Flow State
I tapped into the Flow State today
Oh, what a marvelous day.
I tapped into the Flow State today,
Step aside make way!
I tapped into the Flow State today,
Everything’s going my way.
I tapped into the Flow State today
What the did you do with your day?
You ask me how let me show you the way:
This morning began unusually so,
An idea sparked:
Be one with the snow.
Outside I wandered, the air crisp and free,
Until I met her a magnificent tree.
"Embrace me," she whispered, so gentle, so slow,
And at last, hand and branch became one in the snow.
I tapped into the Flow State what a wondrous day,
The wind didn’t push south; it led me north to stay.
Guided by whispers, by nature, by chance,
I danced with the universe in a wordless trance.
It is over sixty degrees today
Unusually warm for pre-March Kansas
I sit on my porch, sunbathing
Wearing corduroy slacks, a jacket and tennis shoes
A swift breeze gives my face a bit of a chill
My fingernails are black, so I do a little grooming
What did I get into? The black comes out as crumbles.
My dogs are overjoyed that I am out here.
They run up and down the length of the porch, showing off.
Every time I think I will shake the rug, a dog lands on it.
There is a siren sound in the distance, it has desperation
Our ears go up, but none of us bark
We are as respectful of that siren as a soldier could be
I look at the remnants of woebegone snow
It looks sad, knowing its days are numbered
A late February day in Kansas
Porch sitting and listening
Curiously no bird sounds
I hear a neighbor for a brief second, only a few words
Advantage of living in the country