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Frank Bohn Poem
Time escapes my mind
All the clocks show the same time
Still, I will be late.
Copyright © Frank Bohn | Year Posted 2015
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Frank Bohn Poem
Today I squashed a slug.
He was not a bug.
He did not bite, tickle, buzz or otherwise molest me.
At best, he was the occasional plant nibbler who feasts on my weeds.
He was making his epic journey across my stoop in his dilated time.
I really feel he would of made it, but I may have drank too much wine.
An oyster without a shell, a mollusk with no sea, he had no rock to climb under, so instead was killed by me.
On this fading day I vow, no matter what, nor where, nor when, nor how.
I will never pour salt on another, never bait one more, never make a careless step out of my front door.
This will be the last slug I kill through any reckless act.
This is not just optimism, but a solid fact.
Copyright © Frank Bohn | Year Posted 2015
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Frank Bohn Poem
How so very convenient!
In the microwave
No cooking for me tonight!
Copyright © Frank Bohn | Year Posted 2015
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Frank Bohn Poem
From some place high and far away.
Not too far away.
A concrete habitat gilded with glass, steel and twinkling electric light.
I like to watch the city from afar.
Like a voyeuristic deity I eat it up greedily with my eyes.
My minds' eye cannot grasp it all, the complexity, the multitudes of people.
This is how I, above all else, humble myself.
Because I am but one drop of water in a fathoms upon fathoms deep ocean.
Like everyone else, I must go with the force of the tides now and forever more.
We are all powerful when our droplets come together into a single massive wave.
We erode, steadily but surely, the obstinate rocks on the shore.
This is love.
Perhaps someone can see me.
A tiny silhouette of a man, holding a railing somewhere.
I will wave hello just in case.
Copyright © Frank Bohn | Year Posted 2015
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Frank Bohn Poem
I like the dark quiet places.
Where, after the moon has set, and all the creatures have fell asleep, only the silent stars burn tiny holes into the midnight black of the sky.
My peace comes in this quiet limbo.
Where I am the only one who hears my marooned footsteps echo off the vacuum of space around me.
My thoughts, many seemingly unrelated, coalesce into a calm sky of reason much like those stars above me.
Each tiny pinpoint reaches my eyes from a multitude of light years apart.
They do not touch, until they hit the retina of my consciousness and are focused.
Every now and then, a stranger crosses my path on these dark, quiet walks, and we greet each other with a perfunctory nod or tip of the hand.
We are each ships passing each other through calm murky waters, seeking our small promised land of peace.
This is all that's needed, that second or two of acknowledgement, for so much more has passed between us.
I haven't found that eternal peace just yet this dark, clear, unforeboding night.
There is nothing scary for me in that darkness.
For there will always be another time to lift my anchor, and lazily set sail again.
Copyright © Frank Bohn | Year Posted 2015
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Frank Bohn Poem
One after another, after another, after another.
They throw themselves against the walls and pile on one another, the not so near precipice looming far overhead.
It will never be attainable, this goal.
For we are told to step on one another, and ignore all else but our vague understanding of a good life.
I understood this as I looked out upon the desert.
Out among the multitudes.
Pain, fear, suffering, all wrought from desire darkly clouded their visages.
Never be content with what you have, their faces told me, always strive for more than you need, because you are told to.
Now I believe them, I have taken it for truth.
After all, I am no messiah, I just want to be like everyone else.
Now I jump down, so far down, so very far down to the pile, and take my place.
This is progress, never being satisfied with what just what you need.
Copyright © Frank Bohn | Year Posted 2015
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