Short Rolodex Poems

A lady who loves oral sex
Took to bed 3 cowboys named, "Tex"
One was well-hung
One for his tongue
And the third for his Rolodex...

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writing this
next poem
i think i
wrote

this before
but my mind's
rolodex suggests
something similar but

not quite
the same
but the
same

though 
i want to 
pen a poem
in present tense

my time has
just ended before 
posting this this will be 

my past...

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I've been wanting to call you,
but the rolodex was trashed decades ago,
and the laptops got Alzheimer's.

I need a Bakelite dial phone
one heavy enough
to withstand some heavy breathing.

When the living and the dead communicate
they need the right tools.

Love never dies they say,
yet an I-phone has a microchip
that has everything, but a heart....

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as I wander on this beach
alone with my thoughts
that are so deep
thinking about a path to take
contemplating all that’s left
putting mistakes in the past
lessons learned and filed away
to be recalled when needed
an accordian file of those I’ve hurt
a rolodex of pain received
I face the future
not with a clean slate
I reflect on what will be
an obscure crystal ball
dictated from the power above
the high tides and green grass...

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He works alone
in cavernous stockrooms,
or as a night watchman
guarding unwanted things.
He is never behind the counter.

He is the man
who has the social skills
to fill racks.
Occasionally he is found
as a clerical error,
still at work in a defunct depot
long since depleted
of function.

A yellowing Rolodex
may yet yield a contact number
like a mythical footprint.
Someone may need to call him,
but what shall we call him?...

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He works alone
in cavernous stockrooms,
or as a night watchman
guarding unwanted things.
He is never behind the counter.

He is the man
who has the social skills
to fill racks.
Occasionally he is found
as a clerical error,
still at work in a defunct depot
long since depleted
of function.

A yellowing Rolodex
may yet yield a contact number
like a mythical footprint.
Someone may need to call him,
but what shall we call him?...

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she has sent
me so many
photographs

some i see
to cry others
i want to laugh

but she sent me
one hundred but 
truly three times that

when i want a look
i don't pick and choose
i spin them as a rolodex

i never know what 
the heck to expect
i open them then

review

but the most i've
found perhaps
profound

those photos
oh so relaxed
and readying

to sleep
i hold
dear

to my heart
and keep
my own

she seems 
eyes closed
tight and always


sleeping...

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