I always miss the laughter,
That makes and solves the disaster.
On the top of our voices,
We used to make fun and noises.
One tiffin but several hands,
Rounded with friendship bands.
Outside the class we stood,
Making as much excuses as we could.
A dark and a rainy day,
Expecting maths teacher to be absent everyday.
We are like the birds that flew,
Missing the memories which are very few.
I want you to be my friend again,
I always miss the laughter we gain.
I would like dark chocolate, but I need you
Cadbury alone won't do
I'll climb the Himalayan for you, because
When I'm with you, really with you
Grand Central can come in, yet fade thin, as
I bask with touch of you
Fierce, yet mild well-rounded honeybee
A die-hard Christian man forever, because,
From Okinawa to Timbuktu,
History's fiercest touch to your faith you've faced.
You're continental, universal
Unforgettably cultural
You're my drug of choice
Sweet chocolate could sedate one's voice
But you! You're not terribly sweet
Your bitter changes to firm treat,
Then I know for sure,
You're my Don Juan.
*
our rounded sycamore
symmetrically sound
waiting to be drawn
photographed by many
the perfect model for a family tree
in my grandma's yard
I feel reverence and appreciation
rounded sycamore
Rounded earth appeared
when populated caravel
of argonauts, dipped
was in seas never before
browsed ...
Behold, going up to the North all perceived
the sun little by little rising
from the edge of dawn ... apparition
ghostly in the deep blue ...
On-site verification, halo
vaulted earth ...
Primal phenomenon
sphericity of
planet... !
I’ve got no beef with McDonald’s or Jack
‘n the Box weighing down American towns
with greasy sacks in thin hospital gowns.
They’re just a couple of clowns selling crack
to cavalier carnies who’d like fries with that
six thousand calorie corpulent noun
with a large diet Coke to wash it all down.
Where I live (Houston) everyone is fat.
Me, you, black, white, brown, yellow, straight, gay, trans:
fat, fat, fat. Even the bum, with nothing but
a cardboard savior and his corporate name,
who begs from corners with two open hands
that dropped Vietnam, is blessed with a gut
that knows for greed to starve would break the game.
Rounded edges soon taking shape
shine once glitter meets the seams
year old troubles washed away
but still fractured in empty dreams
Colours dipped in virgin sand
search out pebbles not yet missed
distant glances roll from the sea
send in surges sealing nature's kiss
Night time dwells with lunar drifts
shoreline pushed back with the breeze
midnight memories soon dispersed
rounded edges overcome life's bursts
Responding to James Frasers' "Lips of Velvet Touch"
With eyes of beauty
Powder blue rounded petals
Silky is her bum
Jared Pickett........8/28/09
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