#9: Days of Paper Roses
Do the numbers--dogs don't count--just survives!
Then everything, be as close enough, still,
of this and that, thoughts begin and end, thrives,
truth betold, none were measured boundless will.
There's a bold statement, typed on front pages,
rolled off the presses, just to impress us,
splashed inklings midst papered, of such phrases,
... rolled and impressed, settles the dust--minus.
High-topped towers, the light of day, shadows,
thought-filled days, wages paid by subscribers,
of The Times, Gazettes, or Tribune Heralds,
flighters, fighters, there too were paid--writers.
Dawn paper rolls, notepads ... night closes,
they blossomed they did like rows of roses.
Categories:
notepads, allusion, analogy, appreciation, culture,
Form: Crown of Sonnets
When I was in kindergarten.
I learned to write.
Between snack time and recess.
We had sharp pencils.
We weren’t trusted with pens and their ink.
We learned about letters.
We learned about penmanship.
We learned about perfection.
Now I’m 19.
I’ve just discovered the magic of paper with no lines.
Of a collection of pens and markers.
Maybe my spelling isn’t perfect…
Maybe I’m not in college…
These days I just take my car and my pen.
I write on napkins and hotel notepads.
I finally learned how to write.
How to write and write and write.
Categories:
notepads, age, writing,
Form: Free verse
No Wait in Vain : Poets Meet
For decades I waited
and you did not come
to listen to my rude insertion
finger a sound at back of my throat
and the vibration of my name
For decades I wanted to meet
a small mountain as I read her
plain words in innocence
a bell in her Heart rang deep
with children running sweet
For decades I longed to touch
a struggling mottled moth
as he ached for new wings
smooth ebony cheeks
passionate with letters of adoration
For decades I watched for
a painter to mirror my songs
uncover a talkative witch who
still trampled from place to place
broken shoes echoing my silent breath
For decades I wanted a smooth ride
where conversation was free of tasks
words on both seats of equal length
with ripe apricots for the scoffing
almond chocolates wrapped in red
So I upped my thumb to a veteran one
who read from his leathered collection
notepads and pencils strewn about
space in warehouse oozed slivered glee
No wait in vain !
Categories:
notepads, age, appreciation, mirror, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Back then before upheavals upheaved,
people were gracious
but lacked a common sorrow -
it made them a little dull.
Occasionally a local danger
would excite but rejoicing
and grieving never became universal.
Then came the Messengers,
the Messiahs. Devils
followed them like hyenas
to steal their words.
No wonder some wrote poetry
in notepads they carried around
like alien history books.
What with all the heavy heaving
and the collective maddening
we all need a personal testament;
something to believe in. Right?
Categories:
notepads, poetry,
Form: Free verse
A jazz musician
wonders back
to his days at the keyboard…
each note over practiced
until melody pure
and magic releases
A poet in laurels
wonders back
to his primers and notepads…
each word placed in order
until imagery calls
—and syntax digresses
(Villanova University: October, 2021)
Categories:
notepads, music, poetry,
Form: Rhyme
Their grinning heads cover the fields for acres
A sea of happy mini suns, welcoming us to Kansas.
We stare, amazed, having no idea this was possible.
There are photo moments and we take them all.
A gift shop sports stuffed dogs and cats,
With sunflower headbands and kerchiefs.
Everywhere we look a plate, cup, tumbler,
letter opener, Christmas ornament with a sunflower
This is sunflower hell my husband observes, so I send him to the car.
He can wait for me. I pile sunflower notepads and pens into a basket.
A lady wearing a sunflower apron, hat and socks smiles at me.
She gets closer and whispers. “Be sure and look in the bathroom.
Of course, I do and am not disappointed. Everything fancy.
Sunflower rug, sunflower chair, sunflower faucets.
I have to admit I was very disappointed by the plain white toilets.
Until I saw the sunflower toilet paper.
A woman carrying a child wearing a sunflower bib walks past.
“Where did you get it?” I ask her. She points.
Good! Sale rack! A manager comes over and offers to hold my basket.
When I get home with the bib I remember my youngest grandchild is five.
Categories:
notepads, flower,
Form: Narrative
Here take another pill,
they say it make you feel better.
Forget about the side effects,
they don't matter.
The remedy is worst than the disease.
There's no such thing as cure.
Just these prescribed drugs
and the list keeps getting longer.
Never mind what your eating.
Never mind your environment.
Keep writing on those notepads;
gimme, gimme more.
I need some more,
can't take the pain.
I wanna be numb.
Categories:
notepads, poetry,
Form: I do not know?
I haven’t written in a while
I seem to have lost my voice
I'm not sure where or when it left me
Or where to find it
I have a feeling its in different pieces
Shards of echoes
splattered inside old notepads
pressed between the cinderblocks of 10th grade biology
Humiliation is a powerful numbing agent
Paired hand in hand with cheap liquor
I can’t remember who I was angry at
I wish my face belonged to my brain
I wish my brain belonged to a body
That wasn’t itching for eternal rest
I wish my bones didn’t feel like shoes that don’t fit right
Too small, but you pretend they will stretch
Up until the point that the blisters can no longer be ignored.
I wish I hadn’t stopped reading books
I wish my parents watched sports, and smiled, and owned decorative pillows
I think my voice was suffocated
By boys who saw nothing but a mouth
I can talk now, but I’m mute
On autopilot, with closed captions written by you.
Categories:
notepads, anxiety, childhood, depression, loneliness,
Form: Free verse
Over 1200 poems I have constructed, written
bled, cried for, endured tremendous insanity
What do I have to show for it...
just more pencils, just more pens
5 more unused notepads
and a decaying, boring, repetitive, bland outlook on the rest of the world
If I were to clone myself, I'd beat myself black and blue
for reasons I can't uncover
for I scribbled all my mistakes
and silent distastes
Love, what infamous notion did I ever truly believe I'd find it
I'm only 18
the only my age believes in are flings
what a blasphemous thing
Am I overrreacting to my recent weeks
I could be
Don't remind me
I am aware some lives are worse than my mine by 10x
but I'm not living their lives
just dwelling in my own personal mini tragedies
As the hour sinks into 9, I sink into darkness
ever so slowly
I have the urge to seclude myself in my cocoon of covers
but it's been said and done
I chuckle at the thought that I was believed myself invincible
hahahahahaha
....I'm only indefinitely vulnerable
Categories:
notepads, how i feel, nonsense,
Form: Free verse
Follow the poet to the bottom
Their scrivened souls lead there
Electric verbs and climatic curves
Stoking notions of hoisted up hairs
Winding down the patchy canyon
To laurel beds on librettos grind
Waterfall nerves and augury spurs
Urging seshat to wield her rhymes
Follow the poet to the bottom
Thats where they’re lost and found
Candles abuse and notepads recluse
Glazing infinities pre-trial rounds
Parading patterns of rickety roads
Past old poems plagued in a frame
Battled rudders and carving rubber
Skidding below to avoid the reign
Follow the poet to the bottom
Below the soil and above the sun
Atop sappy moss and clueless frost
Molding truth’s molten hand numb
The poet's work is never done
The poet’s cause has not begun
The bottom is the highest rung
Follow the poet down the gun
To bullets aimed at broken glass
Aimed into perfections noose
Aimed into perceptions shoes
Follow the poet
Follow you!
Categories:
notepads, poems,
Form: Rhyme
You never know when,
a “black death” thumb instead of a “green” one,
will murder your flowers while,
you’re on vacation.
Co-workers, well-meaning;
can slaughter your workplace joy
if you ask them to,
plant-sit in your absence.
Like the pet hamster that,
you had as a child;
beloved plants fall prey to,
untalented or uncaring hands.
Never stolen like tissues, Pens and notepads;
plants re-greet you while,
hanging onto their last breath of air.
Now, aren’t you glad you came back?
Categories:
notepads, flower, poems, poetry,
Form: Prose
At the end of the night,
you walked her up to the door in the light.
What you expected next would be a delight.
You did not get that goodnight kiss.
Your girl discovered there was something amiss.
While you waited for a hug and a squeeze,
she told you she could not find her keys.
Standing there alone was certainly a drag
as she searched frantically through her bag.
She pulled out:
Lipstick
Eyebrow pencil.
Nail clippers
Chewing gum.
Peppermint candy.
Emory boards
Hand lotion
Nail polish
Mouthwash
Aspirin
Cotton balls
Paper clips
Pens
Pencils
Notepads
Earrings
Pennies
Nickels
Dimes
Razor blades
Shoelaces
Mirrors
Sewing needles
Spools of thread
Combs
Brushes
Cell phones
But she could not find her keys!
This evening turned out to be a fright.
There was nothing to do except say good night!
Based on the hit song of yesteryear "She Can't Find Her Keys" by Paul Petersen
Categories:
notepads, dedication, music, nostalgia,
Form: Rhyme