Picking up the trash
I brush past you.
You say: "mind the ice."
I smile - a mental picture
of my comic duck-walk.
Halfway to the garage
I hear your voice again,
as if your throat were within mine.
I feel your salty gravity
as a presence dipped in my blood.
At the sink,
you kiss my cold fingers
hum a song from ‘Frozen’,
while stirring hash in a skillet.
her charcoal mind makes meaning of colors
Favorites included turquoise, orange and yellow
Red is always prominent in her frontal lobe
Dancing and singing, leading her into her own society
She used to dabble in cobalt but there was insanity in it
A poison that can turn your dendrites into mush, right?
No one has ever used the word serene or calm to describe her art.
A mental picture appears as her muse subconsciously creates.
She feels she is clear-headed, though there is insanity in her family
Her artwork is continuously clever, concise, and colorful
People respond to it on an aesthetic plane
Red leads the way
Ageling thoughts that once did bloom like swift-lings
on a cleaned faced mind by the morning sun of day
We sang songs of glory in our living room
sailing on through the years that went by like lightening
We savored every mental picture every image,
of a life well spent...
Picking up the trash
brushing past you.
You say: "mind the ice."
I smile seeing a mental picture
of my comic duck-walk.
Half way to the garage
I hear your voice again,
as if your throat was within mine.
I feel your salty gravity
as a presence dipped into my blood.
At the sink,
you kiss my cold fingers,
hum a song from ‘Frozen’,
while stirring hash in a skillet.
The dog is look-listening,
the way dogs do,
head turned sideways,
alert.
Trying to figure out what happens next.
Nothing much does.
AI. man
An important city was bombed a hundred times
during the long horrid night
I read one person was killed; how amazing is that
The newspaper report does not ask questions.
I have a mental picture of an AI person who looks
like a man in his thirties, knows everything and
speak every language you can think of, except
perhaps a local Indian speak in the Amazon
you can’t knock him over as he is gyro balanced
and his political opinions are pro-authoritarian.
He lives in Ukraine, whose army is indestructible
the leader is made of latex and sprayed on beard
tells the naïve and adoring audience he has won
the war for us in the West, but a can of lubricant
wouldn’t come amiss
“Students make delicious treats for seniors”
What a sacrifice those students are making
It warms the cockles of this old man's heart
Such a sweet and unselfish undertaking
“Teen pregnancies drop off after twenty-five”
Well, I certainly would hope that's the case
That's a dirty big family in any man's language
For the beds, you'd soon run out of space
“Veterinarians take over as panda mating fails”
Okay, now I've got this strange mental picture
It's definitely X-rated if you ask this old guy
I mean really, we should show some respect
“Stiff opposition expected to casket proposal”
It's kind of what you would probably expect
Given the condition of the deceased inside
I mean really, we should show some respect
“Head of African country seeks arms”
Wow! Just a head and a couple of arms
What a weird sight that would turn out to be
Most people would sure be alarmed
“Studies have shown that obesity rubs off”
Well, if that's the case, I'll be a-rubbing
Every day and night till my skin turns raw
Till I get back my happy old zing!
is it a vision of what's
yet to come?
or an illusion of fantasy?
what mental picture
do we see
behind the darkness
of our eyelids?
I still see the place,
My mind visualizes it
as it was twelve years ago.
We never get tired of watching the office and I’ll never get tired of you
A picture is worth a thousand words so what is a memory tattooed
Don’t blink because if you do you might miss a memory
Things are going by so fast today feels like God pressed fast forward
Pause this is the moment and I want it all, beauty and flaws, curves and claws
Nothing is perfect but you’re looking pretty close to it
Come a little closer and put your hand in mine
Flash…picture is taken and my, my, my she is so divine
How’d I get so lucky to call you mine
Low key maybe high key we’re married and I’m still crushing on you
Writing this a little past year two
Pictures in a group but I only see you
You blinked, ok take two, oops I wasn’t ready take three
No matter how many takes the pictures will always be perfect as long as it’s you and me
p.s. click…I’m going to tattoo this mental picture…
Poetry reading in Paris
Paris, six or seven years ago
I was invited to read my poems in front of an audience
At the time I wrote many pro-Palestinians poems
and I had nothing good to say about Israel.
I read my poems for a packed audience, but when I looked up,
must of them had left.
In the room there about five none Jewish people left.
The man who had invited me was a Moroccan Jew we got on well, but he had not asked me what poems I was reading.
He had disappeared with the others, and someone came to switch off the light.
Paris didn´t impress me much. I had a mental picture of the city as it was in Hemingway days, more fool me.
All was not lost the Shakespeare book shop took in two of my
small books, who knows they might still be there.
Each and every day,
I am grateful for the time.
Aware and in the moment,
which is temporarily mine.
And, looking at my mother
asleep and in her bed,
I add this mental picture
to the memories in my head.
How blessed to be the chosen
and, to really understand.
For the chance to take this journey,
together hand and hand.
Written by,
Sheri Lynne Evans
July 7, 2019
Picking up the trash
I brush past you.
You say "mind the ice."
Underneath the concern---humor,
a mental picture
of my comic duck-walk.
Half way to the garage
I hear your voice again,
as if your throat
were joined to my belly.
You sing to yourself
as you fix a meal,
I feel your salty gravity
as a carnelian
dipped in my blood.
I carry you back to the kitchen
still singing in my breast.
At the sink,
you wash and kiss my cold fingers
as sotto voce,
you reprise a song from ‘Frozen,’
while stirring hash in a skillet.
The great Grief
A black man was leaning his head against a wall crying
Other somewhat whiter people came carrying flowers.
a day of mourning not for frolicking
On the other side of the river, so many deaths and
A princess was murdered in a tunnel.
Mass grief I was caught up in, full of sadness eyes
Full of tears, I dried my eyes on a laundry slip.
On this day it was allowed to cry lest some should
Think one was overly sentimental and embarrassing
Passers-by.
Meanwhile, I have a mental picture of some strange
People, on the other side of the river of sorrow. laughing
And pointing fingers at a gloomy sky.
Catch A Batch of Poems
This is what I have to do.
Poems are floating around
in my mind so I must catch
them.
Mental picture has absorbident catch,
Of my poems all existing in big batch,
Am never shrude;
Another viewed,
Waiting and existing for me to catch.
Jim Horn
Fit picture fond with finesse fine,
Style your own pond with poignant lines.
Grace what you trace with precious face,
Keep a calm trace with tact you ace.
Do what you do with a clear heart,
Act now on you to frame wise start.
Art in fond gaze a vision clear,
Follow deep craze as image cheers.
Visual form thrills the inner child,
Forge sure and feel that impulse wild.
Take time to see the form as proof,
Each thought now frees the pictured truth.
Calm feelings stain that moment grand,
Relax and gain deep lot dear friend.
What comes to you follows grand feel,
Act as you do that vivid will.
Start wealthy thought to gain grand grounds,
Prize plot and lot as affluence found.
Leon Enriquez
08 February 2017
Singapore
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