.
"take'er edvard"
back
but eve
"((back))"
")>
*jamez...i mean edvard;
we're all funny ')> (like that)
.
yost
different uv
timez
thuh day
*shez spell'd with the
astute think
('tiz not she'z <]')
That shady spot
in Central Park
was our hangout
on long afternoons
as we watched balloons
rising higher than a hawk.
In that bench on Central Park,
we hugged and laughed
so mindless of a passerby;
we heard a hungry baby cry,
his mother caressed him
the usual tantrum:
a game of Drive Wild.
Those kisses of spring delight
mixed with soft sighs,
hummingbirds came around,
they stopped and watched;
weren't they amazed
by our smooching?
We sensed their craving,
it excited their sight.
On that bench in Central Park,
we had the keck of a wild time,
ready to quench
the flame burning
in the magical serene twilight...
while butterflies were flapping.
Who could wish for much more
in such a perfect, calm scene?
Is it now the same one
as yesterday so vivid and keen?
Me – Irish catlick working class:
mantillas, martyrs, Maynooth, Mass.
You – a literal Lutheran lass,
all pretzels, prenups, Mama Cass.
It never could have ever worked:
those ambiguities that lurked
were knees that, one day, would have jerked,
and we’d have wound up Douglas Sirked.
Your Nancy Clutter beats my Holden
(less Marlon Brando, more Karl Malden).
The pond we’re on was never golden –
winter white-out wiped out Walden.
I would have wearied of your sermons,
short Sheridans and shallow Shermans,
your Sophie Tuckers, Ethel Mermans,
poe-faced Pennsylvania Germans.
Ignore the stranger on the shore,
by Stan and Stella set no store.
Don’t give a damn what Della wore,
or Mary Tyler any more.
He said he’d watched a tutorial.
He said symmetry was a myth
fueled by Big Geometry.
I laughed. That was my first mistake.
My second was passing him the scissors
without asking him about his dominant hand.
(It was vibes. His hand was vibes.)
Snip.
He called it edgy. I called it
accidentally spiritual—
because seeing your own scalp
before coffee
is a kind of awakening.
He apologized by making pancakes
in the shape of angels.
I joked, You know these look like ghosts.
He replied so sincerely, I don’t see it.
And that was the moment I knew:
this is who I chose. The kind of man
who conflates confidence with capability,
specters with satiety, and bad haircuts
with love.
I could have done worse.
That bald spot grew over,
like a lot of mistakes—
as if nothing had happened.
But when I hear the snip-snapping
of blades testing the air, I still flinch.
Just a little.
Which is to say, I’m older now,
but still not immune to vanity,
or apology, or pancakes,
especially when they’re fueled
by good intentions.
When Vincent stumbled home that night through a drizzle of rain ~
what was going on inside that teeming, torturous brain?
Did he blaspheme heaven with every profanity and curse?
Or did he gaze in awe at the stars of his exploding universe,
and try to make of their blue and yellow light a poultice for his pain?
From this window open to sunshine,
one may think that it's not raining
on that lonely road forgotten by time...
but raindrops won't stop falling!
That was the only place of solitude and peace,
the furthest place where we couldn't be seen by others,
warm grass was the perfect bed so soft to eager fingers,
while above noisy seagulls performed a dance!
It's raining on that lonely road,
raindrops erased our footsteps
mockingbirds flew around us,
we didn't mind being followed!
From a wide window over the breezy, balmy bay
the young composer at the piano hits high notes,
their sound delights the painter with hair color clay;
he draws scenes dipping his brush in pretty colors!
It's raining on that lonely road,
no dreary rainy day thrills anybody;
we all have a past secretive world
that echoes with a sweet memory!
The sentinel sound of a hummingbird brings me back to summer
a time when the grass barely touched the shoots of heaven
and the sky so new was alien to the sun
Pathways were open to souls as they shimmered in the light,
at the threshold of new discoveries.
There I stood within the awesome breath of youth
barefoot, walking on hot stones without a flinch or worry
the entire world was a buzz with vibrancy and sweet delight;
Glass panel memories rev my aging thoughts
I remember yesterday, living outside myself
a spitfire gamine setting fires running wild
Like the wings of that hummingbird I flew into
a primal day as stark as the beautiful petunia's
that bloomed by the bay;
Oh how I recall the momentous beauty of it all
the hummingbird sounds that thrilled,
on that first hot vestal summer day.
Sometimes I have this urge
The urge to cry aloud
I do not let it purge
I fight that big, black cloud
That tempestuous surge
Does totally enshroud
Till I am on the verge
Of being, by tears, cowed
I let myself submerge
In emotions that shroud
In time, I will emerge
Stronger than any crowd
Two tales of note regarding notes:
I watched my grandson’s band
And thought it was amazing, so
To take those thoughts in hand
I sent a little email
To the teacher, so she’d know
She deserved appreciation
For a well-delivered show.
She responded right away and seemed
Delighted I’d reached out.
A little note can lift one like
A whisper, not a shout.
The second note was written by
A doctor who’d not shown
For an early-morn appointment
(And his office didn’t phone).
The note was an apology;
He had a touch of flu
His toddler twins had passed to him,
As children often do.
That correspondence made me think
That notes, today so rare,
Don’t take a lot of effort
But let people know you care.
You know,
Life is a finite thing.
Our most precious gift,
we are only young once,
full of mischief and vim.
So, live it with gusto,
live it in bliss.
Have a great run,
Dismiss Bitterness.
Yeah, bask in the sun,
while your time exists.
You Know,
Life is a fine thing,
some time it will end.
Though On That Day,
A New one Begins.
Putting on that deceptive mask
can deceive some or many,
why take a useless risk?
Hiding your guilt is very wrong;
redeem yourself from sin,
look beyond deception,
don't do any more harm changing
looks and moving along...
carry in yourself an honesty
that's worth keeping!
What was yours
could be taken away
from you suddenly,
what was precious
won't last for long;
look yourself in that clear mirror,
understand what's wrong
by being the person they despise,
taste the bitterness of a lie...
now, let someone else cheer!
Putting on that deceptive mask
can deceive some or many,
why take a useless risk
and not consider the contrary?
On that date
In August, I met my fate
Two months later she became my mate
Lunch on my shiny red tray,
Simply is, the luscious part of my day.
Swiss steak, simply made to perfection.
Mixed colorful veggies, is my culinary selection.
The scent of a warm, wheat roll wafts up my nose.
I have the sense, that after lunch, I will with comfort, dose.
Steaming French coffee and a fresh baked chocolate cookie!
A quiet nap after that for this poetess rookie.
1/11/2021
1pm PST
Arrogant and full of conceit,
thinks he’s part of the elite-
seeking that which gives a boast,
not thinking ‘bout what matters most.
Parades around swagger with pride,
way too much, if I must confide-
he fears not the end of all time,
and strolls toward the silver dime.
Then you ask me, “why should I care?”
and I say, “OOOPS! I didn’t see you there-
well if you must know what I mean…
poured caffeine on Jean on the trampoline!
August 30, 2019
SWAGGER Poetry Contest
Line Gauthier
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.