Each day, I walk past a lingerie store.
In the windows are posters of women I adore.
Looking at them makes me feel so glad
because each of them is scantily clad.
Mannequins wear items of silk, satin, and everything nice.
Some of those things are on clearance at reduced price.
There is an especially large-sized bra they've got.
It reminds me of a double cannonball slingshot.
I'm on my way to work, and I have to leave right away.
How convenient it is to have this store along the way.
OF LIVES PAST a haibun prose envelope
Perfection is an illusive pastime ,an unending quest that hides delusion in uncharted waters on life's path.Distractions,obstacles spring up unannouced, by chance,opportunities deflate in despair.Again,again,the siren's call. beckons innocent naivety,nothing is simple one is alive.
uniquely ourselves
littered by our obsessions-
loneliness cries out
One is alive ,each day, breathing,eating living, yet separate, alone but part of another,blood smeared by genes linked ,chain by chain in generations pattern.We wait and wait in line,repeating the same mistakes,treading the same circle.Imaging progress is reality,pretending we are wise and certain.Never to wonder why!
You may hear me recite this haibun and much of my PS anthology on youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro.
Catch my short forms @strandpoet on twitter
driving past a wish
parking in the neighborhood of go
enjoying the view of there
smiling fully at the fact that here i am
nothing beats the feeling
it send my heart reeling
my head can now be cleared
only to be refueled by cloud angels of enticement
here i leave the blinds and curtains open all day
here i leave the bedroom windows open all night
here i welcome the sunshine and praise God for the beautifully swaying rhythms
i just may stay forever....then again....the largemouth bass of reality is always there to remind me....UNFORTUNATELY!!!!!
I meander past a rippling stream,
my hair blowing in the wind;
was that my name been called . . . softly.
did it sigh in the tangled trees above,
I twirl and swirl to only bird songs;
my name is but an echo . . . whispering.
I wake suddenly in my hospital bed,
lost in a sea of pain drifting;
gasping and struggling . . . breathing.
I was lost in a vivid dream,
and I was searching and seeking;
then I lay still in my bed . . . weeping.
_______________________
July 22, 2012
Poetry/Verse/Past A Rippling Stream
Copyright Protected, ID 12-704-628-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym
Submitted to the contest, Beginnings Matter,
Sponsor, Richard Lamoureau, First Place
Submitted to the contest, Wait,
Sponsor, Black Eyed Susan, Fifth Place
Featured poem, Week of July 29, 2012
whistling past a graveyard
Devil may care, but I have no regard
I walk among granite tombstones
six feet below are boxes full of bones
I find myself in a dark, dark room
only to realize it's a witch's tomb
gravedigger has bodies to retrieve
on this night, Saint Hollow's Eve
I placed a mirror behind me,
So it could see where I was going.
Was truly tired of its daily invitation,
To look at just me again and again.
I walked that day beyond self-center,
Away from an isolated cold that was only me.
Moving ever so surely within a drifting warmth;
Then arms I'd never known began their embraces.
I was watching them for once instead of just self,
Plate glass image vanity suffering no more illusions.
Finding older is an indispensable sacred friend;
This face of my spirit emerging from temporary skin.
I am such a lucky one to have recognized my reality.
Traveling beyond this mortal vision to grasp all minds,
For they are truly the maps that will lead one to paradise.
No windows stopping in own eyes will ever bring me there.
Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved
"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."
© 2014 Robert William Gruhn
Russian melodies are
haunting
The USSR has
faded into dust
The menorah lights
shine as usual
but tiimes have
certainly changed
As Tolkien pointed
out (paraphrasing) there
is a "new power"
rising in the world"
America is
changing
A. Ginsberg - a latter day
prophet
Spoke of
"The Fall of America"
perhaps he
was correct
We Americans may be living on borrowed
time
The time of change has certainly
arrived
Peace - poet brothers and sisters
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