Short Dog Eared Poems

I hope that you know, 
even when I don’t say it;
You run through my mind, 
filling the spaces and lines;   
That dog eared page I turn to....

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aisles of antiques
corrugated with named streets -
cups, saucers and book bindings
…stomach’s churning. i’m paying,
booking with dog-eared treasures.

7/27/2021...

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Once, poems on paper.
Books to be marked.
Dog-eared pages,
left open, carried.
Cared for, like a loved one.
All of life in ink.

Poets still write.
No restrictions,
pleading, pandering
or publishers.

Unlimited digital
parking spaces.
Will they be found
in the future?...

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As I Was Walking In the Snow

the snow, a fattening marshmallow 
like Leaves of Grass lent to Longfellow
same dog eared look
of well read book
it must be old, it’s turning yellow


©2/16/2018

submitted to – As I was Walking in the Snow – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Kevin Shaw...

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On my 60" HD TV.
I saw a ragged child with a sunburst smile.
Wearing a patchy blue dress
more dirt than fabric on it.
For fun she was rolling a bent bike tire.
With a thin stick down a dog-eared road.
Somehow, she kept the ancient tire rolling straight.
She kept the tire on the straight....

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Mounds of papers, ragged, uneven as if elbows flaring at angles severe
   Pens akimbo, dog-eared reminders, fading memorabilia
You-Name-It was all piled there only yesterday, only yesterday
   
Somehow dumpier now that it's been stripped bare of
   What gave it character, its empty drawers ajar...

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I read you like a book
the cover fading
the binding cracked
pages dog-eared 
and yellowing
a book I have read
many times
and still reread
contentment in your story
comfort in your words
an old friend I cherish
the ending sad
never changing
but still I read
page by page
chapter by chapter
a book I love...

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True Love is like a pair of comfortable slippers
that go together, but don't quite fit
but have room to grow and give
when their lived in.

They get worn and a bit dog eared over time
but, become so hard to throw away
because they are comfortable and familiar
They are betterl as a pair
than in their own 

.peter Dome. copyright 2012....

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Fragment

In, that petal drooping dream,
I take the reluctant morning for a walk
Its head propped up on a speeding reel
Of flickering moments
Tasting of stale salted sweat it
Drips into and darkens
A sunless compressed thin day
The growling,dog eared pages display
A fang torn night,
 it swallows stray secrets, and
Colours another day.
Early o clock !...

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There once was a fellow named Musk.
Who bought a blue bird out of love,
He fed it the first amendment.
The greenies condemned him to death.
Turning blue when they swallowed his tusk-

They flashed the dog-eared race card
To blot out the man of the stars. 
For they fancy only obedient sheep
sheered sheep to pad the globalist dream
They'll drive Musk into the mountains of mars-...

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my heart has come up missing
the search shall continue long into this life

I think of you not for the pleasure 
of a clandestine rendezvous 
no not the shallow ego of my loins

the perception that you will answer when I call 
brings me back to the caress of your fingers 
through my hair, your eyes softly in mine 
the nooks and corners that gave us refuge

these etched mementos 
some dog-eared 
some new...

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The What If Game
By: Miracle Man
August 8, 2020

Quite often, even dog eared pages of a book,
are also deserving of a match.
Because no one senses the pain that lurks behind a smile,
we make the assumption that some moments don’t matter.
But sometimes these pages contain footsteps
that have taken us to locked gates.
Where, with no key, we stood as an intruder, 
And waist deep in what if’s.
...

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headlights streak dark skies
street lamp diamonds
last load of blankets in dryer
water laps on imaginary shores-
the glass door is locked
dog-eared book read over and over
an hour since the last guest checked in
stories of another time and place shared
the end of another chapter
television news- same story, another day
computer screen flickers
message placed on social want ads
meet-up requested
a cup of coffee
or more...

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She Dog was not thrilled when the interloper appeared.
Whoo Pooh was a cute little thing and not all dog-eared.
Master was yelling, “Whoo Pooh this and Whoo Pooh that!”
Whoo Pooh was bouncy, exuberant, wiggly and rather fat.

Whoo Pooh followed She Dog all over the house
He acted like she was her hero; she felt like a louse.
One day Whoo Pooh called She Dog “mama” one day.
From there on in, they were besties, I have to say!...

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Don't be mistook
Every face is a book
That tells of a story
The closer you look

Around the eyes
You can read every line
The laughter and heartbreak
Wrote out over time

A crease in the edge
At the turn of the lips
Dog-eared smile or frown
To later be read

It's all there of course
In chapter and verse
As the title suggests
From our best to our worst

All in the look
Not always understood
Telling a story
As every face is a book...

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Pieces of poems in my mind,
here a broken word
There a webbed line
It’s absurd.

Once vital viscous webs,
Now dried with distant days’ dust,
Blowing in flows and ebbs,
Of bright dawns to dog eared dusks.

Life’s experience may be the milk
That feeds the spirit.
A poet's being could starve ,
if he lived to fear it.

Birds of a feather stick together,
the Spirit is still preening.
Poets muse in whatever weather,
wisely we never stop weaning…....

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Good, Bad, Indifferent
Written: by Miracle Man
3-21-2020

Life is packed with unpleasant recollections,
I’ve wasted precious time pursuing false hope.
Looking hinder, I acknowledge my imperfections,
Now days are spent clinging to a knot-less rope

Today, contemplating passed time, isn't easy,
seems life has been lived in seven year stages.
Some we're great but my current stage is queasy,
my life's book contains very few dog eared pages.
...

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I am the dawning man                        
The waking limb                                    
An unbowed willow                      

You are the dusken girl
The tangled sheet     
A dewed down meadow

We are sown seeds
Folded into the earth
Whose roots weave
And cannot be unpicked

We are green leaves
Laced with silk
In whose curl
Transformation sleeps

We are a chrysalis!

Love seen in a Rorschach!

A dog eared page of poetry
That is sealed with glue...

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Like a limb blown off in a Sixties' war 
Will haunt with a ghost of it's own; 
No way to scratch the itch, 
It's all in the mind, 
Whispers "surprise!" every once in a while. 

To me you have become this way, 
Gone but shedding traces; 
I feel the phantom pain 
From when I was whole, 
In the absence of your being there. 

Then to everything I miss, 
My dog-eared days compile 
Sorrowed scrapbooks of emotions, 
It's all in the mind, 
Yet my tears are always so real…...

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O what forgotten providence,
to which my soul falls victim
on and off and on again,
indecision marking each page 
with dog eared brutality.

Know not, want not, we 
could never truly return
a moment as inconsequential 
as that which marks. . . 

Providential Dreams whose ends 
are more mutably cataclysmic
than their begins.

Can only be born of indecisive 
wonderlust,

Impendent scenes are nothing but
Providential Dreams
As providential dreams are nothing
But necessity....

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