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Michael Shoemaker Poem
Cream Puff, le Magnifique
You say that you put vanilla pudding in a cream puff?
I thought this was a misdemeanor or a felony.
Oh, cream puff, what is it about you?
With the first bite, I instantly hear
the first eight measures of Debussy's
Clair de Lune, not from a piano,
but the orchestra’s string section.
Doesn’t everyone?
Your pillow of puff is your golden crown
and below is a white cream
that could blind the whiteness
of the brightest clouds on a summer’s day.
To eat you is like breathing blissfulness.
And so, you see
my roommate fair
I am justified
hucking that tennis ball at you
down the hall
when you made off with
- the last cream puff- so stealthily.
Copyright © Michael Shoemaker | Year Posted 2023
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Michael Shoemaker Poem
Sun Conures
Brazilian blue bliss
from hot savannah rise these
squealing screechers then
land so near me peering through
whited eye rings warily.
Copyright © Michael Shoemaker | Year Posted 2023
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Michael Shoemaker Poem
The Cost of a Human Life
I sat as an observer
in a state’s superior court.
First-degree murder was the charge.
Cold blooded calculated murder was the act.
One teen on a sleepover was beaten to death
from behind with an aluminum baseball bat.
The teen pled guilty and the sentence
before final plea bargaining was two years.
The mourning wail of the dead teen’s mother
rose far beyond the failing plastered court ceiling.
What is two years?
two visits to the CPA to pay taxes
twelve tire rotations
two World Series
four dental cleanings
two spring plantings
how long I have procrastinated
sweeping out the garage
twenty car washes
two work performance evaluations
for one human life.
I sat as a witness
in a state’s superior court
as part of society
guilty.
Copyright © Michael Shoemaker | Year Posted 2023
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Michael Shoemaker Poem
Stars of Clarity
It's a mysterious nonmystery.
As I contemplate numberless
stars with the same mind
that counts out my correct change
at the checkout stand at the supermarket
I am baffled by the mathematical infinity,
An expanse of beauty I see
and yet I do not feel alone or distant.
There is something right on the outskirts
of the soul that suggests stars of clarity
and lets me know I am in some way more a beloved brother
than rejected outlander
to these living rotating masses of hydrogen and helium.
So glad you are here to hold my hand.
Copyright © Michael Shoemaker | Year Posted 2023
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