This look in my eyes is all i have sometimes.
The fact that she can see my soul and I'm grateful.
Those times they see a revealing fear
that turns into a fearless drive.
she will see what i have is hers
she will see a want for greatness that i need her to be apart of
A yielding smile
A glance of gleam
A bounce full of joy
A glaring vison and dream
She's chaotic
Vigorous and playfully vicious
Unpredictable and all wound up
Safely zealous, energetic and always driven
In spite of my limits
I found what moves me so
The love of a woman
Good, true and grace in bond
I challenge myself to stay challenged
As the sun slips behind the horizon
my mind slips behind my courage
all my best moments are with her
She's chaotic
Vigorous and playfully vicious
Unpredictable and all wound up
Safely zealous, energetic and always driven
She's all i can take and I'm glad
Odds are not good for Herkimer to breed
The kind of person who always succeeds
For Herkimer himself failed
Wound up in the county jail
I’m sure this just makes your little heart bleed
New confessions have come to light,
let’s leave our sins on the dance floor.
Now’s the time for a crisp encore,
we’ll push aside feeling contrite.
Walk the line keep every groove tight,
the divine path you can’t ignore.
New confessions,
make the Devil pray and take flight.
Caught in a relapse once before,
wound up all but out of favor.
A heart pumping will make room for
new confessions.
I just got a new computer
It’s such an adventure for me
I tried to type my name on it
but never found the ‘G’
Then I tried to pay a bill
That was really fun
I wound up paying five times too much
before my clicks were done
O.K. Time to check in with Facebook
Hadn’t looked in an age
Typed my log-in info
Zuckerberg deleted my page
Well, nothing like 'first-try success'
and nothing like a new toy...;
I've just found my favorite hammer
to teach it the meaning of 'joy'
Memories turned bittersweet
Starting to make the room smell with the foul stench of our corpse’s rotting meat
Here lie our bodies in a vicious defeat
Shall we take a seat?
As our time seems to be up
With the little life around our remains
We might still flip a dime
I choose tails to make you mine
You choose heads to put us to bed
That’s how we wound up dead
Finally put our sob story to a tragic end
Aftermath of the denim dilemma
Lead my mind on a path to remember
Brain repainted pain as amethyst art
Make lemonade of lemons despite broken red heart
Nerves wound up in my stomach like intestines
Full of words verbs hopeful suggestions
The unspooling as we drift away
Growing apart in our own way
No longer the apple of my eye
Broken love wings no longer fly
Blue and brown eyes no longer cry
But look ahead for love in a new life
A hole in my door I don’t need anymore
It’s meant to allow mail to fall to my floor
Ex-colleagues don’t call since the day I retired
When I reached the age of ‘No longer required’
A hole in my door with flaps inside and out
Never with one envelope sticking out
These days I think it might even be great
To receive a small note re the next village fete
A hole in my door what’s the purpose of that
Never one communique on my mat
It seems that I’ve wound up on life’s storage shelf
Should I perhaps send a note to myself
A hole in my door that lets draughts in at night
But no mail comes through it… does nobody write?
I could seal it up… I’m quite sure I could do it
For nobody visits… nobody calls through it
This chilly spring morning it’s Valentine’s Day
I look to my door and my heart tells me, “Hey!”
The envelope, clearly, is not just a flyer
For it says my name… not ‘The occupier’.
Have I an admirer, my heart starts to race
I open the letter in impatient haste
I ask myself, “Who’s sending letters to you?”
Then, writ large in red… ‘YOUR PAYMENT IS DUE!’
I
San Clemente is always a nice place and tonight, she was something
different.
wound up by a Creator’s hands to such beauty around how could one be
indifferent?
I vividly remember how beautiful the full moon was, while a slight breeze
was blowing,
serenity in the form of waves crashing; the pier empty as the moon was
glowing.
on that cloudy night, into the black backdrop, battering breezes sent
chills up my body
put on my coat, and in my ponderance, setting like J Gatsby at the dock
less gaudy, caught the moonlight reflecting off the waves.
it formed a line that seemed to go on forever, even though the dense
coastal haze.
the night looked like the cover of Ride’s Nowhere I suppose, and
I wrote this poem so that this moment in time shall never decompose
Windy days wreath icy blast into bones;
Sun rays and fahrenheit cannot outlast.
Fingertips and toes exposed to cyclones.
Beneath my hood, cold eyes and cheeks hold fast.
Sun rays and fahrenheit cannot outlast
Jack Frost; his bitter touch entertainment.
Beneath my hood, cold eyes and cheeks hold fast.
Shivers, what’s left of Autumn derangement.
Jack Frost, his bitter touch entertainment.
Blustery shadows wound up tight, let go.
Shivers, what’s left of Autumn derangement.
Awaits a pile of leaves ready for snow.
Blustery shadows wound up tight, let go.
Fingertips and toes exposed to cyclones.
Awaits a pile of leaves ready for snow.
Windy days wreath ice blast into bones.
Me – Irish catlick working class:
mantillas, martyrs, Maynooth, Mass.
You – a literal Lutheran lass,
all pretzels, prenups, Mama Cass.
It never could have ever worked:
those ambiguities that lurked
were knees that, one day, would have jerked,
and we’d have wound up Douglas Sirked.
Your Nancy Clutter beats my Holden
(less Marlon Brando, more Karl Malden).
The pond we’re on was never golden –
winter white-out wiped out Walden.
I would have wearied of your sermons,
short Sheridans and shallow Shermans,
your Sophie Tuckers, Ethel Mermans,
poe-faced Pennsylvania Germans.
Ignore the stranger on the shore,
by Stan and Stella set no store.
Don’t give a damn what Della wore,
or Mary Tyler any more.
For fame, young Zackery thought:
a train hop TikTok shot!
He struck his head
and wound up dead.
Now, damages are sought.
Pickup
Everything leans towards you, a ranch, a sunset,
one of those pink and mauve and purple jobs
torn from the pages of an old Arizona
Highways magazine. The gate to the corral
is white but all worn out and flaky, and the horses
all have wheels in their eyes and wheels within
those wheels like the transmission
of that rusted yellow Studebaker pickup up
on blocks out back. No one
drives by anymore, but there's a for sale sign
anyway, hanging from a chain, a rusty bucket
shot full of holes on the porch,
and the front door swings back and forth,
open and shut, reveals s female figure
whom the old man took in after the accident,
who lived there briefly, offering some solace,
until the boys came home on one of their visits
and turned her inside out and she wound up
weaving in her best dress down the dirt road to town
wondering if they'd ever leave her alone again.
Two nights later the horses leaped over the fence,
the rosettes in their eyes spun and spun until
they ignited, and people, even those who lived in town,
saw flaming horses plunge across the sky.
I have reasons to worry
stubbornly I refuse to send mixed messages
~ a smile I might shatter
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
I'm not a seafarer, but took a risk and dove right in,
as if from cliff height and wound up floundering
in the dark abysmal depths of a roiling ocean.
From pages of 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,'
I wore the feathered omen draped around my shoulders.
When a marriage ends, the mast is cracked, mainsail tattered.
The bottle was his failing; but the burden was mine.
His raging storm was a whirlpool of self-loathing.
Certain to drown if I lingered with him much longer,
I was in need of a way out of my wretched life.
Frowns were etched into my brow from doleful despair,
as we sailed beneath stormy skies on a battered ship.
My cries were much louder than the roar of the ocean,
but he didn't seem to care whether he lived or died.
I desperately fought to keep him tethered to my side
but he was the killick that kept dragging me down.
I couldn't save us both, broke free from the chain,
and watched Coleridge's boa floating in the flotsam.
I stood on the beach, searching each crested wave
but when the tide ebbed, I walked away.
Dog chases his tail round and round,
was he spell bound?
He looks very funny,
like a wound up dog bunny.
Did you ever feel like this crazy dog?
Are you living in a fog?
Maybe you are asking where am I going?
Is life unknowing?
Could we be chasing our own tail?
Take a deep breath and have a cold ginger ale.
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