Image by Glenn Buttkus
When the door closed,
he panicked and chewed
his way out.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Just Fogged Up
Image borrowed from Bing
Just Fogged Up
Laid back on my bean bag
Flitting
Fog lined in haze
Corners of my
Copper donned space
Light up and breathe
Grievous; I set the mood
Withal rhythm in sync.
Coquet colors cover
Surface in;
Enigma
Silent hums wipe off
That Grey shade
Solitude grace;
This perennial phase
And zephyr,
Not one, but a flock
In colored attires
Whisper
Shudder
I lift my clogged glance
Staring at weird shapes;
That flies in front
With a blend of trance..
Fantasy I embrace
And grin..
They smile!
Slow in motion;
That what engulfs
All’s mystery here;
Where I fly now
This strike of;
Euphoria
Well done!
I light yet
My Mary Jane;
Inhaling
With all life
That’s living within
I bless this bliss..
Shrill what's not yet..
Night bestows;
An illusion
Strange patterns
Race across this horizon!
Lurking deceit or
That what lingers are;
Risible,
Peaceful souls
Twilight
Shakes the second
Green of more;
What I see around
Relief there's more
Tribute to you..
This cannabis
Light I over;
This pipe from the;
Sands of Italy
That what a gaffer
Yielded me
To own in time
Furnished with
Rosewood rims
Carvings of
Greek figures that lure..
Majestic!
I cram the top..
With green and what's not..
Sweet
It kisses my breath..
I let it out
Like a French kiss
With tongues..
A twist!
It changes!!
I choke on this;
Ecstasy!
Mind crunched with
Memories;
Thoughts;
Happiness and myth..
I fall back..
Think it's the dose..
Those clayey drops
In my throat
Dripping through
What I breathed..
They suffocate!
Help me let out
And I sneeze
Rehash
I sneeze..
I look for an answer
And I get what I seek!
'Twas not the green
I littered within
My dreamy chamber..
'Twas the pepper
From the little blue dip
Mumbling in flavor..
Phew!
What colors can do
Shake you out of this sense..
I lift those
Clogged dabs again..
Stare at what's left!
Does my room;
Mirror what's my
Reflection
Or does it portray
What I feel??
Coz' those slimy shapes
That flies in front
Still exists...
After me shaken
And sound!
They smile again..
Slow in motion
That what engulfs
All’s mystery yet
Where I fly now,
This strike of
Euphoria
Well done...!
Simi Simibg
aka: Fiducia
Posted over on her site Rivera's Flame and Ice
Listed as #76 over on Magpie Tales 71
Fly Free
Image borrowed from Bing
Fly Free
What the earth
Unbound
The sky
Unwound
Her elemental colours
Unfurled
Her new colourful banner wings
High into the air
She could Fly Free
Gaia's topsy-turvy gyrations
Keep proximity grounded
Gravity soon free fall away
always
To Capture
distant patterns of the lost echo
of a thousand flapping flags
winging it
all the while
a lone lonely bird
encircled our encampment thrice
then flew wildly past
a fury of frantic frenzy
to the opening to the north
and all those below
whose names were called to come
were bound on this home bound train
to find the Great Beyond
always right here
and now
Fly Free!
Jane Jones
Posted over on her site Service Only
Listed as #88 over on Magpie Tales 71
Howdy Duncan Managed Our Team
Painting by Norman Rockwell
Howdy Duncan Managed Our Team
in the Junior Baseball League in 1950.
Twice divorced, without children,
Howdy liked his Schlitz too much.
Our team was his only other pleasure,
but we were taking out licks
at the bottom of the standings,
embarrassed and blaming our manager.
Gus Thurman arranged a petition
for Howdy to be replaced and
brought it around to our houses.
Of course we won our next game.
Howdy was boisterous and thrilled.
After he thanked the umpire and
shook hands with the losing manager,
he turned with a smile to his team.
Just then—at that very moment—
Thurman handed him our petition.
Howdy read it carefully, studied all
our signatures. When finally he raised
his stricken face, we were all looking
at him from the bench, our mouths open
like a row of empty, baby swallows.
It was dusk and shadows were long.
Our girlfriends waited and watched,
their tawny legs crossed in the bleachers.
A distant freight, full from the mills,
whiffed its way through the switches
out of town. A covey of dirty wrappers
flapped up across the first base line.
The neon sign in the window
of the Cricket Bar and Grill
across the Eighth Street bridge
blinked once, then came on full.
Paul Zimmer
Posted over on
"Howdy Duncan Managed Our Team" by Paul Zimmer, from Crossing to Sunlight Revisited.
Bad Dreams Are Made of Teeth
image borrowed from bing
bad dreams are made of teeth
Unfortunately
there is no morphine
for this kind of death
it is painfully slow
with only wood
to clamp in your teeth
and wait for rigor mortis
the impulsive breech
so naively embraced
is like sugar borrowed
from a neighbor
when it is time
to return the favor
only a handful
of detritus remains
a good screen death
is always impressive
so bite down hard
on this stick in the mud
Tess Kincaid
June 2011
Posted over on her site Willow Manor
With A Little Stretch Of
image borrowed from bing
with a little stretch of
with little stretch of
the imagination, the
world is an
oyster, all roads
lead to
paradise, and
one man’s trash is
another man’s treasure
.
Yi Ching Lin
Posted over on her site Y's Bits
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