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Deryl Mccauley Poem
I am the prologue to the book unread, a
Haphazard shuffle of uninteresting side notes,
Jot down during commercial breaks of Wild Kingdom,
Crumpled atop a cold congealed T.V. dinner. Some kind
Of meat in gravy shades of brown and grey.
I am the finished third chapter written
And forgotten in favor of cartoons, broken
Crayons and ice cream, left dangling
On the precipice of meaning waiting
To be relevant- at the edge of a magnificent
Forest- Magical fantastic happening two steps away.
I am the magnum opus literary
Work- from the author yet to write,
Stuffed away among old schoolwork and bad drawings and
Absent doodles, dried glitter and
Macaroni sculptures.
Copyright © Deryl Mccauley | Year Posted 2017
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Deryl Mccauley Poem
Every sting of the belt can be timed with
your shouting. A perverse syncopation musical Crack!
You can feel the displaced air just before- Did you know
that? I read somewhere that a whip breaks the sound
barrier just as it breaks polyester-cotton blend and flesh.
Sweaty fists gripping chain cross-ties, muscles
tighten and strain- I can feel the trickle slow
and meandering lazy rivers of warmth. It should
tickle- squirming against the sensation
I’m sorry Mom! I really am- Be a man! She screams
How would I know how? All of them
Left you
Left us
Left me
The sonic boom hurts my ear more than anything…at
least for now. That and the warm throb of a Mother’s love.
Copyright © Deryl Mccauley | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
Deryl Mccauley Poem
Loud and unapologetically from rooftops
Backyards, front yards and
Windows of passing cars,
Scream!
talking is a waste of time, lines of
people cars lemmings waiting,
red lights, No Green! Concrete
blacktop unbroken but for the occasional flag.
New patriots without answers. Don’t care!
SCREAM! Because I do…
Sit in silence, left or right noisy flags waiving
In a thunderous wind without meaning, hidden
Maybe in silence-refuse blows across a dusty
Street, plastic bottles and greasy cheese-stained
Wrappers, boarded windows-closed shops.
SCREAMING! Talking is a waste of time.
Copyright © Deryl Mccauley | Year Posted 2017
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