At the arcade excitement waits
With games galore for everyone
An entire afternoon of fun
Saucy hot dogs and ice cream plates
Some new friendships and fun-filled dates
Lots of fantastic prizes won
at the arcade.
The enjoyment never abates
Like the shooting gallery gun,
Oh, and the hot cinnamon bun
Then, of course, I won paperweights
at the arcade.
Written October 12, 2022
[Rondine - 8 syllable lines checked by
HMS.com and PS Syllables, different
counts! aRbbabR abbaR]
Categories:
paperweights, fun, games,
Form: Other
Divorce robbed him of surprise,
left him disused,
parts of his brain tingled less,
he grew blasé, he had to improvise,
extemporize parts
that were less prone to rust and mold.
It seemed he was a bare broom,
one that could no longer sweep away
a rising sense of purposeless.
Then it was that a new surprise found him,
he began to make yesteryear trinkets
knickknacks held together
with a duct-taped nostalgia.
Walking sticks and old-school picket fences
were carved from the bones of his memory.
Other doohickeys such as
paperweights for light-headed ideas,
or knickknacks to fill in
those awkward holes in people’s lives.
Success returned, so did a new wife.
She had a lever, a jack,
to hydraulicly lift him up
when he occasionally sagged.
She used superglue on all his loose bits.
It’s wonderful what a new lick of paint can do.
Categories:
paperweights, poetry,
Form: Free verse
While in my parent's attic, years ago
I found a dark brown, tattered, leather box
and wondered what strange gift it might bestow
therein, as I released the two brass locks.
Inside, were grandma's paperweights- two rocks,
a lantern-like desk lamp that lit her page
for stories she had crafted through old age,
and fountain pen, well used, to scribe her years-
her past and present- there for me, onstage-
through gifts of manuscripts- I held with tears.
June 21, 2020
Categories:
paperweights, grandmother, writing,
Form: Dizain
ultimate betrayal
in the eyes of a bairn
fresh from the hands
of the creator
there is only wonder
at all it sees!
curiosity
at the discoveries
of fingers then toes
and as it grows
a world spreads out before
full of questions
its sustenance seems
the very air of mystery
that we have forgotten
or can no longer see
where then, comes the fear
the hatred that berates innocence
causes it to flee
from ridicule and conformity
once precious now fool.
a war veteran,
who’d lost his legs in battle
threw teacups, paperweights and whatnot
at people in his home
the child did the same
he learned what he lived.
children are empty vessels
we fill them with our lives
loves, hates, they learn from us
why berate the innocent?
whither is fled the sense of wonder?
In collaboration with Ram R. V.
Categories:
paperweights, betrayal, childhood, children, teacher,
Form: Free verse
in the eyes of a bairn
fresh from the hands
of the creator
there is only wonder
at all it sees!
curiosity
at the discoveries
of fingers then toes
and as it grows
a world spreads out before
full of questions
its sustenance seems
the very air of mystery
that we have forgotten
or can no longer see
where then, comes the fear
the hatred that berates innocence
causes it to flee
from ridicule and conformity
once precious now fool.
a war veteran,
who’d lost his legs in battle
threw teacups, paperweights and whatnot
at people in his home
the child did the same
he learned what he lived.
children are empty vessels
we fill them with our lives
loves, hates, they learn from us
why berate the innocent?
whither is fled the sense of wonder?
***
Written in collaboration with Patricia Cresswell.
Categories:
paperweights, child, innocence,
Form: Free verse
You are rock and bone,
sturdy eyes and heavy leaden shoes
line up by the doorframe like splinters.
The wood is peeling, and the
stairs cave beneath our feet in surrender.
My papa’s new wife would place glass paperweights
on every surface of the house, like tiny orbs.
I wonder know if she was trying to hold down
the whiskey bottles that were swallowed up
by each rise and fall of his chest on the sofa,
Instead of old tax forms.
I flick the lights and sit on the stairs in the dark
and think how lately
your hands are like the North Sea,
colder than the night we got into the elevator
staring up at our reflections on the ceiling
and you said, “I think I love you.”
You touch me with the patience of a jackknife,
apologizing up the thirty-seven stairs to my apartment.
“I am so sorry; you are my home.”
I tell you that homes are made of wood and metal,
and I am a human being
I am leaving you.
You kiss my toes and cry,
I shut the door.
Categories:
paperweights, absence, abuse, break up,
Form: Free verse
One day,
When books turn to dust
Aliens will wonder
What happened to us
Our computers will look
Like oversized paperweights
With no way to access
The knowledge encased
Especially the poets
On poetrysoup
They would miss out
On this literary troupe
Of like-minded poets
Who write from their souls
Pouring their hearts and emotions
Into their bowls
No soup for the aliens
They will have to make do
With wondering why
Our world is in ruins
Get Well P.D.!
Categories:
paperweights, computer-internetpoets,
Form: Rhyme
After the death, mediocre paperweights rule
on the pages of life.
The leading light will wander in ruins for
centuries.
Hot winds spray the sparking dust on
smooth posts,
desert picks up the artist trapped in confusion
I pray for the rains.
Give me a chance. I want to replay the
forgotten script.
Can you spread a blanket on the wounds
that were not mine?
Nobody gives a call. They were overshooting
the quicksand.
SATISH VERMA
Categories:
paperweights, adventure
Form: ABC