There are in between places
that we deem as our own
the slit angered crevices
of our own regretful drone
we often do it right
but sometimes, we do it wrong
ripping out our nametags
we opt to live in poverty
of thought and word
Climbing on the wild horse
of depression when we ought to be
forgiving ourselves instead...
Categories:
nametags, depression,
Form: Free verse
I dreamed once a future
with Mary and her long claws
suspended from a dragon body
captive and held by force field
hidden beneath a big cowled robe
saddened by a stainless steel trough
and a baby tended by robots.
Joesph busily scanned nametags
from angels misting purifiers.
The drummer boy stood by self-playing
digital drum and keyboard
while field hands guided home cattle
with drones directed by a joystick.
The tri-satellite video capture
appeared simultaneously
on all earthling implants
and all tipped with a click and smile
but when the three kings zoomed in
from Mars on hovercraft,
everyone reposted. Alas,
it was all an eggnog induced
hallucination cured by my analyst
mind wipe. Merry Christmas Techies.
11/24/2018
Categories:
nametags, angel, christmas, dream, mental
Form: Free verse
All The Ghosts
Families hushing
Around crackling transistors,
Like the sound of rushing
And muffled whispers,
And all the ghosts enter
Through a heart-shaped door
Where a nervous presenter
Is announcing war.
Post cards and kit bags
Are strewn in the hall,
Their tears and nametags
Says it all,
And waving goodbye
To their husbands and sons
Are the wives who will cry
For the enemy guns.
Marching tin soldier,
Like a puppet, a toy,
Not much older
Than someone's little boy,
All the ghosts mothers
And all the ghosts wives
Dream under covers
Far from their lives.
A brave volunteer,
An unwilling conscript
Toast the same fear
In fields of conflict,
"To the bittersweet irony
Of life and death"
They breathe, admiringly,
The enemies breath.
When words left unspoken,
To our heroes, are said,
Some return broken
And some return dead,
Where a million hearts grieve
As they are laid to rest
And all the ghosts leave
Through holes in their chest.
© RJVHorton2015
Categories:
nametags, war,
Form: Rhyme
December 14, 2012
Little pink coat, Mommy holding
little pink hand, the firehouse
must have seemed a marathon away,
the longest run of their lives.
Skedaddle little pink coat,
miniature uggs flopping,
one size up so they’ll
fit next year.
Nametags sewn in elfin collars,
forever suspended mitten-
sleeved jackets
in a Sandy Hook cupboard.
Good morning Ms. Davino,
Good morning, Mrs. Hochsprung,
Good morning, Mrs. Murphy,
Good morning, Ms. Rousseau,
Good morning, Mrs. Sherlach,
Good morning, Ms. Soto.
Who knew you’d be so brave?
I remember my first grade teacher,
when the hallways were safe
and nuclear attack seemed so remote.
Mrs. Lanza, did Adam
say good morning, Mom,
or just get down to
business?
We are all so sorry.
©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
December 18, 2012
These shootings occurred in my hometown.
Categories:
nametags, death, people,
Form: Free verse