Short Goer Poems

Sea monster emits
screams to frighten beach-goer...
as an angel weeps.


Entered in Carolyn Devonshire's contest,
" Nature's Revenge "...

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The Obsessive Theatre Goer

Culture
Vulture  

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Contest: Stand Alone Footle
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Placed 2nd
© 21st November, 2017...

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Bright
summer 
days ahead
swimming pool as
golden seaside haunt
children building castles
suntan folk blow warm kisses
blue sky chatter from wonderstruck
beach goer swept up by atmosphere 
of oceanic green tide’s sweet ripple 

Posted : 31st May 2022...

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You are a writer?
Yes
What do you write?
Poetry.
POETRY! Big eyes now.
Mostly, I agree.
Is there MONEY in that?
No.
Big eyes swiftly leaves my side, to speak to another party goer.
I pick up my notebook and pen, listening to all of their conversations.
Hoping no one else sits down....

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I saw a lad at the movie
He thought himself rather groovy
Laughing during sadness,
Growling during gladness
I thought he was rather goofy.

Then, halfway through the picture show
Everyone turned sour on him, though
He didn't seem to mind,
The crowd became unkind
And the usher said he must go.

written August 23, 2021...

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The seas gentle lapping licks
at children's feet,
bathes the beach goer 
in a cooling wash to freshen
nerves from summer's heat.
The afternoon settles down 
beneath the drowsy shade 
of beach umbrellas
and colourful tents and begins
to dream its numbing dream. 
Yesterday, just beyond 
the reach of someone's sleep,
the same calm water
took a life not far from where
it now bursts tiny bubbles
to tickle little feet....

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The critics gave it 91,
The audience much lower,
A fact that only would confuse
The average movie-goer.

Though ratings are subjective,
They help us to decide
If certain cinematic feats
Are really worth the ride.

The timing worked and so we went;
To me, it came up short.
My husband, though, concurred with
What the critics did report.

I guess, to me at least, it seemed
To make a lot of sense
That 59’s the score awarded
By the audience....

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As we face the reality of life
We hear the sounds of slap to our faces
Where we beg to live for another day
And thorns are kept in our flesh

We were told to prepare 
For peace in the times of war
But how can we when we don’t 
Understand the peace piece’s puzzle

We can’t afford enough for the day 
Than we are to save for tomorrow 
Told to provide what we don’t have
Our future flew out of our hands
So when will we do such thing
When the goer goes to the grave?...

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what if perchance he said it? She asked me.
This was an odd woman
sharing personal information with me at a party
I had just met her.

Why don’t you ask him? I suggested.
We are not speaking, she told me haughtily.
Do you care if he said it?
Not really.

Why spend time thinking about it then?
She stared at me for a second
Then rushed away.
To speak to another party-goer.

As I walked past them I heard her say
“What if he said it?”
I walked a little bit faster...

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