They call me weed, as if my name itself
is a curse spat between teeth.
I do not grow in obedient rows,
nor do I beg for the gardener’s hand.
Like the poet’s misunderstood words,
my roots clutch the cracks of forgotten places~
a shrug, an insolent in a vacant lot.
The wind combs through me, rustling my leaves~
and, like a poet, I answer only to that.
Like the writer hunched over a page
no one will read, I am my own audience.
People walk past me, boots scuffing near my face,
too busy to notice how I bend but do not break.
Oh! What freedom I have in being overlooked~
Censorious shears do not scare me
nor do worldly stakes measure my beauty.
Let the prime and proper roses preen in their curated beds.
I am the sentence left untrimmed~
the wild ink bleeding through the margins,
alive, stubborn, and creative where I was never meant to be.
Sunlight on the street,
It's too bright!
The pavement's black;
Something's not right.
My eyes scan for shade
As I blink my dazed eyes;
Caught by surprise
While we played.
Bad enough looking up
To catch the darn Frisbee
In all this blue sky sun—
Now, I can't see,
Listening to it roughly slide
On the street,
Behind me.
The gravelly
Scuffing
Groaning stop—
Playing in my mind
On repeat:
The Frisbee
Blaming me
For letting it land
On the street;
In the blistering
Summer heat.
the heat presses down like a drunk cop’s boot,
metal fences shiver in the sticky Florida sun,
concrete walls spit their old secrets at you,
black mildew crawls across everything,
like it's alive and goddamn winning.
men with broken teeth laugh in corners,
playing cards with cigarette ashes and dreams,
the guards walk slow, like they own death,
keys jangling like a bad symphony,
boots scuffing, breaking the silence open.
sweat pools in the cracks of your skin,
rats wiser than the wardens,
paint peels in long strips, like shedding snakes,
you hear screams, sometimes,
but mostly you hear the waiting.
somewhere far off, a dog barks—
but not for you, not for you.
When sat before a blank page
I sometimes feel as lonely
as I imagine that blank page must feel
however
that blank page is also
quite stark and challenging
daunting even
it seems to be anchored there
legs apart
fisted hands lodged firmly on hips
chin tilted slightly upward
conveying the message
“C’mon I dare ya, I double dare ya!!”
looking at that blank page
I question myself
is what I’ve got
good enough to fill this page
to half fill it
to scribble on it
even a line or two
or will I just sully it
like a young boy
trampling and scuffing his way
through virgin snow
both page and snow
far, far better
if left well alone
however
like that young boy
I do trample and scuff my way
through that blank page
and view my efforts
with a more than probably
unearned sense of pride
but
and here’s the rub
like that young boy
I feel pretty good about myself
as I step back
and view my handiwork
be it good, bad or indifferent.
how long have we laid here
side by side
for an epoch's breath
of starlight in a roving universe
enchanted moments
see a night of a million years
until day slowly unearths us
from our play
but clinking and scuffing
distant voices loudening
muffled soon unmuffling
to a crisp and a brightness
the yellow hurts our eyes
how dare they disturb us
you are carefully wrapped
and put into a box
loaded and driven away
they are still digging around me
with their small shiny blades
and tickly brushes
I thought we'd be together always
we were not far from eternity
we had made friends with forever
I can still feel your scales beside me
I wonder how the other dinosaurs fared
in The Great Bang
In the dusting of springtime squeeze
Sweet-scented of yesterday glees.
Recall of rose bloom and clear days,
Of mirth and warmth in many ways.
Meek breeze bears the whiff of ripe life,
Fresh beginnings and cease of strife.
The world rouse from its frost slumber,
Nature's grace is once more wonder.
The birds sing their sweet melodies,
As they build their nests in the trees.
Bees buzz around, grasping nectar,
Butterflies dance in quaint vectors.
Let's bask in the charm of the sun,
And hype blooms that ne'er strove nor spun.
Written: June 05, 2023
In The Dusting Of The Springtime Sweet Scented
Thoughts Of Yesterday Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
You without scars
Where were you when the rest were climbing trees?
Scuffing shins, scraping our knees
Where were you when the hardest lessons were learned?
With everlasting reminders, carved in flesh
Where were you when we left home?
Bound to roam, into the danger of a world unknown
Where were you when we tested our limits?
Our endurance, perseverance
Where were you when we surrendered to love?
The draw of the rose and its thorns pricked with blood
Where were you when we were young and foolish?
Heedless and reckless and without regrets
Where were you when enemies came?
When we fought them back with steel and flame.
Where were you when we were living?
Collecting our scars as proof
Each raised line, joining together
A roadmap of a life lived
Every step, every mistake, every challenge overcome
Where were you who stands today
Flawless, unblemished as a blank page
Where were you?
Did you live?
Wallflowers were once your favorite bloom,
so you suddenly plucked me from off the wall.
Half dead, but not yet in the tomb,
you treated me like your little doll.
You revived me to speech and gave me a name,
aligned my character to please your own.
I belonged to you, you'd assertively claim.
I was flesh of your flesh and bone of your bone.
Alone at the courthouse, we would wed
in spite of warnings from both sides.
I was somewhat alive, not yet dead,
scuffing through the room with cautious slides.
Your love was sudden, then revealed illusive.
When I revived, you became a zombie.
I guess better neglectful that abusive.
I became a part of you as you became a part of me.
12-8-2020
Aloofness tangible
No one looks up
Rushing from
One hearing court
To another
Judges in robes
Looking stern and grim
Lawyers dressed in uniform
Parading in formal gown and collar
Such tension in the air
Everyone here
Has business to tend to
None of it pleasant
I would venture to guess
If these marble floors
Could share the secrets
Of shoes that walked across them
Pacing racing pounding scuffing
Litigation mitigation
Chasing justice of the peace
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
L,
Fog wafts
enraptured
enthralling euphoric emotion
light forshadowing jazzy blues
and I ache at your every move
through the rivers of time
you've captured more
than thought
pain pulses
in the background
sensation taking center stage
slow and seductive
stripped to the core
stelletos
scuffing up the floor
doors open
winter breeze swallows
waters churn
electric the night
wired
there is no flight
we never sleep
the city comes
alive
the horns blow
I take you in
notes hint of tomorrow
licking my lips
I taste
endlessly
passion filled sin
Pep-talking walkers were strutting.
Round ladies were jogging,
strollers pushed by
the quick and the plodding.
Teenage girls flouncing.
A ball thrown still bouncing.
Kids were shouting,
shouting.
The pond went round and around,
a circle of sound.
They were texting, yelling, tripping.
Kids skipping, noses dripping,
flip-flops scuffing.
Round and round the people went,
while the sky made a big round-eye,
and I feebly clinging
to its edge.
I constrict and recoil from the bitterly cold wind
The sun so bright it hurts through the clear sky
Soft melancholy music bounces from the perfect acoustics
And I drink my despair ravenously as I cry
My winter's pain is almost too much today
Profound sadness shoves me violently,
tearing my old sweater
scuffing my worn shoes
I mutter some passive nonsense to myself
Hoping tomorrow it will all go away
Hoping tomorrow I'll find someone besides
me to accuse
New boots, pressing on my heels,
still stiff, not yet broken in,
stomping on roots, beds of needles
dropped by towering white pines,
scuffing on gneiss and granite
as they pound down the trail.
Have been walking since early morn,
a long trail on a high peak
in the far north of New York.
first break in the rain in a week,
makes for a very wet trail,
but a hiker goes when he can
and always watches the skies.
Got up to the peak, saw far clouds
moving quickly on the wind,
zephyr pushing them from the west,
so I double-timed it down.
I know that it’s coming soon,
weatherman was wrong again.
Glint of glass and chrome through trees,
sure sign of trail-head parking lot,
take off bear-mace and big knife,
change my shirt and clamber in.
Relax and breath for a moment,
muscles tense like coiled springs.
Then a drop on the windshield,
another and another, slow at first,
the heavens open fire on us all,
big, downpour drops ring off metal.
Tired as I am, I will wait,
rest a bit until it slackens.
At least I’m not still up there…
The Internet On a Sunday Evening
Fall hollyhocks hug adobe walls;
Sun streaks in purple mountain canyons,
Stars as bright as chips of sun,
Beckon me to my childhood home.
Cottonwoods shedding on sidewalks;
Winds blowing sands and tumble weeds;
Though tall trees are now my lovers,
I still long for and remember these.
Playing in ravines at sunset;
Painting faces and horses on rocks;
Singing songs from nickel song sheets;
Scuffing oxfords and bright white socks.
Your eyes meeting my eyes in our morning pledge;
Neath the flag before settling in class.
I see on the internet you’re gone now.
Oh, this Sunday evening will pass.
I had never left you,
Hey you, are you listening,
Hey hey you I'm not footling,
When the sun was down,
I was your light,
When your mood was down,
I brought your smile,
You never were alone facing the world,
I was always there but you never realized,
I had never left you,
I had always protect you,
Why you didn't realize that I always loved you,
Hey you, are you listening,
Hey hey you, I'm not footling...
?when there was no way looking,
I was your hope,
When you were struggling,
I was scuffing my bones,
I was working behind, behind for your way,
I was always there behind, but you never realized,
I had never left you,
I had always protect you,
Why you didn't realize that I always loved you,
Hey you, are you listening,
Hey hey you, I'm not footling...
?
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