I paint a smile on my face, mid-poem the smile
begins to crumble.
Who are these dark angels that cast such shadows
over my laughter.
The brush falls from my hand, now I sketch in charcoal -
teeth gritted.
Wishing to portray the sun rising over a pastured valley,
struggling for sunrise hues,
plucking eyebrows with frustration.
hands snatch up an artist's palette to mix and blend,
to gather together a comic image of a free-willed poet,
a notion both ridiculous and profound.
Shaking a shaggy head, splashing on a new grin
the valley explodes into light,
a rising sun rains down its golden radiance,
the canvas reflecting each shining word.
Alas among these sparkling sounds,
Deadhead's Moths emerge through the verdancy,
they also are grinning, as this poem is captured
by an always hovering, dismal shade.
Once more a drear charcoal bleed's through
a paper reality,
doggedly painting a clownish grimace,
as joy and sadness merge and mingle.
The books, two floors high,
levitating toward my upper limbs.
Not costly. Worth every penny.
Spread out by the tablefuls.
Grateful for this claustrophobic,
pyrophobic atmosphere.
Pages fingered, on bindings linger -
what’s the subject…who’s the author?
Snatch up before the next in line. Don’t
get left behind. At the end of the line with bags, boxes,
wagons, carts, kids. Hand full of dollars spent
sans burns, scars; no heart attacks.
Smiles upon smiles find
their way back to the packed parking lot.
At home, a lovely spread of books.
Picasso sold only one painting to his brother.
I have sold at least ten to my best friends, maybe fifteen.
So can I die happy? Not yet.
Never understood Monet’s consistent drawings of tree after tree
Until I began painting the same face over and over and over
and over and over and over and over and over and over and over
Never getting it “right”.
As soon as I am satisfied with it, I can quit painting. Right?
I snatch up six canvases. Draw them out one by one.
Always starting with the eyes and eyelashes, then the nose.
The same exact face, the same pattern.
Sometimes I give her elf ears. Other times she has a pixie chin.
But the eyes and the nose are always the same.
The exact same. Just like Picasso and Monet
I am stuck until I feel I have gotten her
exactly right.
Then I can
Die
happy….
Wild as ivy vines climbing up pines,
in the outskirts of nature
where mountain lions purr,
my lungs expand like the open land.
Breathing in peace, as rippling as a creek,
watching an eagle snatch up salmon,
I witness the cycle of life: unkind but providing.
Abiding upon a log bench, quenched
with dampened sun, dappled by branch shadows,
trickled with yesterday's torrential rain drench,
I bathe in thankfulness for abundance.
Smoked venison smothered with forged morels
satisfies my wild senses, with plenty to share.
Cares become lost in uncharted territory,
flung to the wild winds, blown like dust
settling upon lawn-like leaves
where fungi's forestry teeth eat them like treats.
3-21-2020
Wild Country Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Gypsy soul
you thought you was something well said. Hypocrites
as long as my heart pumps and my brain works my feet still grounded firm
i will always fight and chase after my other half of my gypsy blue eyes flame soul
endless dreams sleepless nights , mamas gypsy little girl is my reflection like the outside looking in nice i earned my love , wasnt handed or bought.we are still walking out our faith staying humble in missing times ,those angels above there big golden wings are at our peek , even though she will never walk we will see each other again holding hands running through the beautiful pearls of bright light protected forever hand in hand , if you would stay out of our way let the god sent be little gypsy soul dosnt want evil snakes trying to bite her in the face
when she closes here eyes she sees her real sweet life deep down you cant take that gypsy love away, imprinted on a stone , you cant carve that gypsy love away anytime soon. so shew be away. go snatch up some else gypsy love leftover fruit cake .in my eyes You was the creature that through my stone far away karma will get you heartless
creature of the underworld
Ideas begin to percolate
They pop out of me in bubbles
Floating out the window
Stopping traffic
One hesitates
Apparently feels badly.
Changes directions and floats back.
I pop it and reptile, banana, and Grand Canyon fall out.
A blue banana riding a pink reptile
At the Grand Canyon float into my dendrite field.
The banana whips out an I-phone and begins taking selfies.
In the tiniest voice she says “You won’t believe where I am”.
“Where?”
“In someone’s head.”
Rhymes begin floating out of another part of my brain.
The rhyming part. I have a phrenologist bust.
I look at it but do not see any area labelled rhyming
So what good is it?
The rhymes are singing now, in a lilting sing-song way.
“I will get them!” the blue banana yells.
She begins chasing the rhymes.
She brought two back.
Scramble and Bramble.
I snatch up verdant, perceptibly and goose as they float by
Or maybe these are just my floaties.
I am unclear now. Is this real or another dream? I shut my eyes.
"This is no place for you!"
She woke from a sound sleep.
The message was from her sister.
It had made its way into Pink Faerie's dream.
She looked around.
Bluebird was grinning at her from the other side of the bird cage.
"We can leave," she told him. "All you have to do is fly."
Bluebird knew that this sounded logical, but he was afraid.
"What is stopping you?" the pink bird asked her.
He wanted to eat her, to consume her, to hum with her set of pipes.
He shook his beak and turned away to snatch up his red cushion.
The interloper had her dirty bare feet on it a few hours ago!
Bluebird's mother had advised him never to fly.
"You are a klutz," she had told him. "You better try to get worms
That are dropped by flying birds who have too many."
So this is what he did. The Pink Bird left after a bunch of jabbering.
Blue bird was thrilled to have his home back.
Completely alone, wanting to be out there, but he dared not.
His mother's words kept coming back.
Weirdly enough, so did the pink bird's words. Who would win?
I have no pearls of wisdom for you,
you wouldn’t listen in any event,
I’ll give you no advice,
no beatings will be any good either,
it’s not the gift that you need.
You were there for the casting of the die
but you somehow think you’ll survive.
I won’t tell you how to snatch up
the light bright lies that you’ve missed,
and the countless truths to follow,
the realities that so awkwardly escaped us
are a gift that you won’t accept.
I’ve seen the witless blundering
and transgression to shame us both.
I have no sage words for you,
but I have a single round in the chamber,
so I’ll take you out behind the shed
and in the daylight that summoned me
I’ll gift us a gift far greater.
14th December 2018
Commitment is a permanent show
where love is its harmonic sound.
I'm not really down with that show
although I will feature the crowd
But somewhere across the stands
I am sitting in wait and in hold.
The chances are within my hands
Let me sell you this gold!
I can be that glass of water to quench your thirst
I can feel for you a love that intensifies
I can be the one you turn to when the lights go out
I can be for you,
I can be,
Whatever you desire
I don't want commitment
I don't need proposals
All i need is you time
Get drunk in the incense of time
I will be lying in wait
Waiting to snatch up my prey
Why bother with love, why bother with pain
Feed the beast through lust
I can be your sphere of influence in your life
I can feel for you a tender side you want to deny
I can be the voice you silence in the dark
I can be,
I WILL be,
Whatever you require
That Bench
He goes there every day; to that bench in the shade;
Where his shoes have formed small clearings in the gravel;
where his wool sport coat has rubbed smooth the paint.
He goes there every day, to that bench in the shade
where the squirrels eat straight from his hand
as little birds frantically snatch up seeds he's sprinkled about.
He goes there every day, to that bench in the shade
but not today…and not again.
08/30/15
Submission for Contest: The Sense of Touch
Sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
oh how the days they fly
> they soar above the clouds
> with the flutter of a heart beat
> and memories resound
> time is an endless thing
> that the days seem to forget
> as they fly much too fast
> for humanity to get a grip
> and we try to catch the days
> as they leave one by one
> but we stumble and fall
> teetering on oblivion
> And as humanity sits alone
> with only the Earth and its wonders
> we beg for more time
> to explore
> to wander
> Because the days don't just fly
> they run faster than light
> and we can't keep up
> but yet we still try
> we snatch up the days
> all the ones we can reach
> the days that run slow
> and the hours we can keep
> because time is a precious stone
> worn around our necks
> wisdom and love and pain
> are used to polish it
> and our time is our days
> and our days are our lives
> and without all our days
> then we could not fly.
THE END
When the jaws of death
Snatch up your loved one
The only thoughts
Suitable for the moment
Are ’****! Bloody hell!
She wasn’t even ready yet,
I wasn’t really done with him’
But you can’t cry them out loud
So you just go on and let
Them hot tears flow.
When the claws of death
Grab up your dear one
The only feelings
Suitable for the moment
Are’ why me, oh! Why me
So many words and joys
Left over for us to share!’
But you can’t scream them out loud
So you just go on and let
Them hot tears flow.
When the shadow of death
Swallows up your beloved
The only words
Suitable for the moment
Are’ he gives beauty for ashes’
Strength for fear
Gladness for mourning
Peace for despair’
These you can sing out loud as
You let them hot tears flow,
Silvery fish darted with slippery speed
As a group - as one - a call to heed
As a group - as one - did all react
Whether threat was false or threat was fact
So the body must heed the call
React - as one - from big to small
React - as one - to surge ahead
As by One Spirit we all are led
No deliberation is required
Whether fresh or whether tired
When reacting to a threat unknown
Or perchance avoiding a threat that’s shown
For the nets are in the water
Nets intent on death and slaughter
Nets crafted with one goal
To snatch up each and every shoal
The game of love is not unique
We can play it many ways
So why not try some tongue and cheek
To set a love ablaze
I’ll start and give a big ole’ hug
Represented by an O
And place it center where it’s snug
In Lover’s Tic Tac Toe
You answer with a tender kiss
In the left-hand corner
Your luscious X will taste of bliss
Now the game is getting warmer
I’ll mark an O below your kiss
Soon my hugs may form a row
Wait, your next smooch has gone amiss
By not blocking me below
It’s time to snatch up victory
I’ll place an O for three hugs
But that lapse would end this story
Coz I’d lose without your love
I think we’ve learned how to play this
Timeless game of Tic Tac Toe
We both share a hug and a kiss
No matter where letters go
Sometimes, I used to feel,
like the Lord
had forgotten about me.
Like, me and my stuff
had been put on the back burner,
until I could figure out,
whatever it was...
whatever it was...
whatever it was,
that HE wanted me to see.
And, sometimes it felt like...
whatever lesson that
was meant for me to learn,
I couldn't learn it.
And, whatever points
in this life game,
that I needed,
I didn't have what it took,
to earn it.
Like, the devil had time,
to snatch up my list of dreams,
set it on fire,
and just burn it.
So that all I could do,
would be, to think of my dream,
and with tears in my eyes,
just yearn it.
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