Details |
Laurie Slicer Poem
Hypothesis:
Hurt is
Whether you want it
Or not
Experimental Design:
In whatever a day is
And while appearing sane
I will work my way through
One bottle of drugstore scotch
One nickel bag of back alley weed
One 10-year-old’s scrip of Ritalin
Results:
Scotch hurts
And I want a dime of weed
And a grown-up’s scrip for Vicodin
Conclusion:
Hypothesis proven -
But damn
I don’t care anymore
Copyright © Laurie Slicer | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Laurie Slicer Poem
One
One,
Alone
Aches the mind.
Leaving alone
Leaving me alone
Kills my soul with cold pain.
The body of my lover
Leaves me loneliness to survive.
The body of my lover
Kills my soul with cold pain
Leaving me alone.
Leaving alone
Aches the mind.
Alone.
One
Copyright © Laurie Slicer | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Laurie Slicer Poem
When I was a kid
I rode Saturdays on
My Friend Flicka
Sky King
Roy Rogers
And Flicka’s boy
And Sky
And Roy
Hauled bad guys
Off to justice
Never seen again
Never
Never
Never seen again
Back in a barn
Me and
Annie Oakley
Held our ground
Shooting them down
Waiting for a hero
To cart them all away
But no heroes
But no others
No other heroes
Showed up
We killed them all ourselves
And didn’t surrender
Or even pretend to surrender
Because
We killed them all ourselves
When I was a kid
I rode Saturdays on
My Friend Flicka
And bad guys
Always got caught
Copyright © Laurie Slicer | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Laurie Slicer Poem
I don’t understand this baby boy.
Why is he so rare?
People rush to see Him sleep.
Why do people care?
Three Kings kneel in the straw.
Why do they come where He lies?
The mother sings as she rocks her son.
Why are there tears in her eyes?
I don’t understand this baby boy.
Why is He the one?
A shepherd said He was born to God.
Why is He God’s son?
The animals speak of a heavenly grace.
Why can they talk this night?
They say He’ll make all people free.
Why would He bring us light?
I don’t understand this baby boy.
Why does the night sky glow?
I hear He loves me as I am.
Why should He love me so?
Tell me what He wants from me.
Why can’t I understand?
He frightens me with His quiet smile.
Why do I fear His hand?
I don’t understand this baby boy.
Why does my soul feel strange?
He holds my life in His open hands.
Why do I know I am changed?
Copyright © Laurie Slicer | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Laurie Slicer Poem
Celebration chaos
Deafens to silence
This heartache
Fallen from my hand
Still holds
Shadows of desired risk
Dance to me
Sky boy in dreams
Copyright © Laurie Slicer | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Laurie Slicer Poem
And a touch too tender
Skims my cheek
Shakes my suspicion
Of what I am
He sees me
He knows me
And still
A touch too tender
Finds me
Wanting to believe
And a touch too tender
His incandescent breath
My disbelieving breasts
Wanting to provide him
A submission of openness
And he takes me
With gentle lips
Life feeding a hunger
And a touch too tender
But he listens
To how it must be
Knowing my fears
Waiting patient for time
And a touch too tender
Is a touch just right
Copyright © Laurie Slicer | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Laurie Slicer Poem
This tragedy is a farce,
A play within a play.
The king says one thing,
The queen another
And the pawn, lying broken
May never recover.
Romantic sop,
(he’s quite the fool)
Watching the battle go on
and on . . .
. . . and on the warfare continues -
A game of Armageddon.
With despotic palaver
The pawn is sent
To the enemy campsite
To sow discontent.
Rhapsodic dolt,
(he’s quite the fool)
An equerry running from side
to side . . .
. . . to side with those in grace.
Insane the thought of victors.
Hollow heroes
With noble guile
Bewitch the pawn
In villainous style.
Quixotic soul
(he’s quite the fool)
Standing in line for a Judas kiss.
Copyright © Laurie Slicer | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Laurie Slicer Poem
Come, consider his story,
People not used to fear.
He tells a tale
And we entrust him,
But he and his kind,
We simply disgust them.
Prosaic dupes,
(We’re quite the fools)
Praise God as he goes on
And on . . .
. . . and on he tells of glory,
Battles won - in time.
Salute the flagged boxes,
There’s no disagreeing.
Trust in his word.
Praise to his being.
Dim-witted lot,
(We’re quite the fools)
Blood-letting assaults for days
And days . . .
. . . and days transform to years,
Numb to a fall from grace.
Treacherous idols,
Allaying fears
Between each smile,
Count souvenirs.
Addlebrained chumps
(We’re quite the fools)
Selling our souls for a penny a pound.
Copyright © Laurie Slicer | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Laurie Slicer Poem
I was little
My dad called me
Medusa
I owned
Feral hair
Curls
Snaking
Untamable
Fierce
Growing independent
In any direction
Like me
He said
He said it
With pride
And I believed him
Why wouldn’t I
He was my dad
He knew everything
So I converted to
Independent
I pretended
Fierce
I grew
Untamable
I became myth
Medusa
One who kills
One who dies
For the sake
Of all men
Copyright © Laurie Slicer | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Laurie Slicer Poem
I had him
For no more than months
It didn’t matter
Months were fine
A transient encounter
But now I have him
For more than time
And he makes up for
Those before
Who crawled off
Who couldn’t stay
Who I imagined
And he taught me
In the midst of joy
Is love
In the midst of tenderness
Is acceptance
In the midst of surprise
Is awe
And in the midst of passion
There is only now
He gave me now
When he danced
Into my life
Leaving me to whisper
His name alongside God’s
Copyright © Laurie Slicer | Year Posted 2021
|