I resent having to be patient when
that’s not a virtue I much value
Why can’t I enjoy being in love
oh yeah, because you’re not ready to
be that guy I long to please.
I resent that in the love department
part of you is a clumsy teenager
and you expect me to teach you
what you’ve never bothered learning.
I resent that you have trouble understanding
when all I do is clarify expectations
and I leave the rest to you.
I’m buying into the bull and promises
that you do want this to work ~
Bull because from this angle I see
a hot air balloon that is having
a hard time getting off the ground.
Lineku: 3 stanzas of 5-7-5 lines each line having 5 or 7 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
The radiator whispered like breath
beneath the old window
(half opened for mercy)
where cold fingers of air
braided themselves with steam
and the snow stayed only for seconds
dancing above the sill
in the breeze.
The sofa, burgundy and bruised,
sagged like an old confession.
I curled into its velvet hush
and watched the cupola burn gold
(above the parking lot at dusk)
through the veil of falling snow.
This was my aerie,
thin-walled and tranquil,
where I painted, and read,
and wrote my way
into becoming.
Below, the café breathed
lentils and clove,
hippies hunched
at secondhand tables,
hands wrapped around chipped mugs
(arguing softly about Hesse)
as incense tangled with the steam.
I read Siddhartha in the original,
while Han Fook waited in the margins,
quiet as smoke,
his silence teaching me
to listen without answers.
Hot Breath
excited crowd waits impatiently
earthquakes shake the ground
lava heated boiling water
pushes towards the surface
hot steam spews from the vent
anticipation grows, ready for the eruption
a mighty whoosh and the vented steam
reaches for the blue sky
for a duration of ninety seconds
the crowd is awed by natures power
with a gurgle the steam cloud
settles back into the earth to await
another cycle
Wade in the Water
While you can
Afore it steams away
Like the whistle of
A boiling kettle
To the boy who studied by the roadside resto’s dim flicker,
muffling jeers with pages turned in stubborn hands -
each “You’ll fail!” dissolved into the steam
of instant coffee, your only shield against the dark.
They said your mind's just a room with locked doors,
but you wore down the keys with every sleepless night.
The floor where you crouched to hide report cards
now holds letters addressed to cities far and wde.
Your palms, cracked from scrubbing car windows clean,
now holds invoices and keyboards, but still bear the stain
of soap and sweat - quiet proof of the hours
you traded for a future no one else could name.
You don’t shout your wins. They hum in the calm
of a rented flat where silence feels like peace.
The child who clutched pencils like lifelines
smiles, finally, at how far a stubborn heart can reach.
-
Please always be my bluebird
My love for you is true
A door inside me opened
Into the room you flew
The door then closed forever
It's only me and you
I'm sure that we'll find something
That we both like to do
The whistle blows, the chugging starts -
A steam train ride in France -
For those who like to try things
From the past, this is your chance.
Since when it’s time to turn around,
The leading car’s unlatched
And driven to a turntable
Before it’s reattached.
The locomotive then gets cranked,
By hand! one circle ‘round.
The engineer next drives to where
The once-caboose is found.
The train is reconnected
And goes back the way it came,
Passing trees and giant rock formations,
Looking all the same.
An aqueduct appears and there’s
An eagle in the sky,
But what impresses most on board
As we go zipping by
Is a trio by the river,
Down below and quickly viewed,
Being very French, relaxing
Near the water, in the nude.
It's imperative to alter the narrative,
so get out a round of ream.
There's a knot in the plot,
a lost theme with out a seam..
You pause and you pivot.
The script leaves you livid,
falling short of your dream.
Stopped, stalled between acts,
little time to retrack,
as your pen is running out of steam.
From time to time, some people bath on steam of ignorance, trying to nose and bark on things that their empty minds have no capacity to understand.
January 23, 2024, PST, SPC
Steam
White ribbons ascending upward
becoming breath of blue sky
Steam
Shadows of angels shooting arrows
into the proprietary of daily peril
Steam
Silhouettes of song swirling
the moat around everyone's heart
Steam
The areola twist and turn through
April's morning rain evaporation
Steam
The lattice of earth's encompass
and collecting the goodness of all
May 23 1994
Wisps of steam float up
when evening heat kisses cold -
today’s air, a ghost.
"Toot Toot" says the choo choo train.
I think I can, I think I can,
but then again,
perchance it's much too soon
to be going far too fast
for the downhill lane.
"Toot Toot" here I come,
whatsoever!
Sweetening is the morning due
sheets of mist enveloping two
Shower curtain our naked view
balmy gazes, we see right through
Sight to behold, her beauty true
saturated, midst honey dew
Flowers shower scintillating scents upon the steam of spirals spring
March 13th 2023
The big black engine snorting,
Driven by the power of steam
The whistle blowing to trail
Far behind it’s muted scream,
Forging through the night.
I’m safe and warm inside
Enjoying every single second
Of that comfortable ride
A sense of isolation
A feeling of escape
As we steam on through
A dark blurred landscape.
In that intimate compartment
Almost like being in a cocoon
Half awake half dreaming until
Journey’s end all too soon.
Nothing quite as luxurious as
A long night journey by train,
Reality slowly returning to
A reluctantly waking brain.
Back out into a real world
Of noise cold and light
Waiting friends at the barrier
Coming slowly into sight.
The big black engine crouching
At the platform’s very end.
Whispering a steamy goodbye
Almost like a parting from a friend.
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