Short Awnings Poems

On a corner one day
And another the next
I pay a high price 
Just to be in debt
As awnings sway
And angels pray
Keep me safe another day
I owe you not now or then
But my pain is forgotten
Your spoils displayed
Decayed and rotten....

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my artwork is in the raindrops of your memory
my yearning for flashback fantasy motivates me to confront you
as the miniature blocks of ice begin to form on the desert of my lips,
i suddenly remember why i always douse acid in the eyes of the awnings of my mind.......

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Sunset Awnings

She sits
on a park bench
sharing
her wisdom
		with pigeons.

He walks
slowly
one old dog
conversing
		with another.

They walk
blindly seeking
“friends”
		“screenbound”.

The sun sets
on life’s
		experiences.


John G. Lawless
©8/20/2017...

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Awnings and brick,
faded by the sun,
Bay windows 
reflecting memories
long gone,
ancient chimneys,
cracked and chipped now,
have weathered the years,
yet still stand high.
Slate sidewalks and quaint shops,
give life to days gone by,
as I sit here
within a dream,
of generations passed on....

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Where fatso's by the fireplace
His wicked fingers teasing
A velvet suit shows ashes on
for yuling peoples pleasing

When awnings on a window top
reveal a shadow stalking
And presence through a livingroom
embark on children's stockings

That all who come to care at Christmas
Know Santa's on his way
when all who glow by fireside
are Christian for the stay...

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Halted growth
Battled water
Moistures talking
Above the lawless
Days first lies
Desperate sights
Knowing not what they've done
Another March
Visits the spun
Cotton bottles broke
Twice plucked thorns 
And checked
Doses of fringe
Corners of binge
Testified ends
Of witness 
Miracle or Martyr's 
Awnings in futures
A dancing dismay
Pleasant awkward May...

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West, the winds of morning billow,
Buffeting the cloudy pillow
Of a death-grey sky.
East, aborted sunlight stumbles
Up the cloud-stair, where it crumbles,
Tumbles, and the pieces lie
Rain-smashed, as the wind bolts by.

Down below, the merchants tighten
Shutters, awnings—storms will frighten
Customers away.
God and weather know no reason,
Man’s a puppet, any season,
White or gold or green or grey,
Sunny—snowy—rainy day....

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West, the winds of morning billow,
Buffeting the cloudy pillow
Of a death-grey sky.
East, aborted sunlight stumbles
Up the cloud-stair, where it crumbles,
Tumbles, and the pieces lie
Rain-smashed, as the wind bolts by.

Down below, the merchants tighten
Shutters, awnings—storms will frighten
Customers away.
God and weather know no reason,
Man’s a puppet, any season,
White or gold or green or grey,
Sunny—snowy—rainy day....

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We wander through Geylang
Dark.
Darker because of the crowds.
Each street a new country.
Each selling its similarly unique wares

We watch the girls,
Neither of us talk much, 
Just drinking coffee.
Counting the Mercs and Maseratis.
As suited men dart into cheap hotels.

For a short stay.

The rain starts 
The shadows of temporary non loneliness hide under awnings
Or dribbling branches.
Ever hopeful.

We finish our coffee and trudge home 
wondering...

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