Posts for June 8, 2019 (page 8)

im deep into my own head
not to find myself – to get lost

the last time i was here i was here
sitting on the marble bust of a Black God

a bag of cheetos sat on my shoulder like a parrot
but i was not a pirate… not even a poet…

i was sad
my comic book collection was so short

you’re not hearing me.
neither do you see….

and that’s what this is all about:
me, falling asleep on the couch

watching bob’s burgers and
missing my father.

i smile (remember, i’m still in my own head)
at the sight of my father eating cheetos

it’s funny because
i’ve never even seen him eat a cheeto in my life

and that brings us to death,
but i’ll address that in a series of facebook posts

if ever i should awake.

—for both my best friends

i had another poem
for me.  for today.

but i won’t.
no, i can’t.

i hear you
in your silence.

i feel you
in your distance.

i’m so full,
i’m empty.

it’s so quiet,
i’m rambling.

my grief is a bird
with nowhere to land

circling.
circling.

The porch flowers: overdosed
on the soaking rain and fed
by aunt granny’s special nutrients.

The little dog barks. The storm
moves upon our little home. Uncanny,
how so much can feel 
like so much.

i hope the lies you told
were worth the treasures 
you left behind

i hope that when you see the hurt
in our daughters’ eyes
that her touch was worth their pain

I hope that when you have to explain to your sons
how they should become men
that your disgrace was worth the confusion you will cause

i hope that your words– “i love you” –the  vows you said–
are etched in red scarlet letters on your chest 
i hope giving her everything, was worth the shame.

Sky Rockets

We were coloring a picture
to celebrate Veteran’s Day,
and I was using “cornflower blue”
to make fireworks in the sky.
Missy Johnson looked
at my paper, and began copying
my idea.  When she grabbed
her crayon, she pressed down
too hard, and it broke.  She put
her head down on her desk
and cried.  I couldn’t help it.
I laughed, just a little.
Does that make me a bad person?

I’ve been to the end of the Earth;
it was as far away as my lover’s car.
Caught somewhere between a Milkyway dream
and a Dairy Queen parking lot,
I went past the roads. Into the sky, his focus soaring
as he took me to Jupiter and beyond
(yet I was always caught in his gravity).

He bought me the stars with the money he said he didn’t have;
I gave him a thousand bluebirds
crafted from the constellation in the rear-view.

Stars sang songs of love and
recited poetry as the comets orbited around the moon
sitting in the passenger seat.

I am carsick again, and crash into the world.
Somewhere between fantasy and my bedroom,
my dream is a victim of my bad attention,
scrolling through my phone
and picking the next song.

Where did the Strawberry candy go?
You know the little ones that are wrapped like a strawberry 
The ones with the little seeds printed on them
The ones with the soft strawberry goo
The ones that aren’t really strawberries
The ones you’d find in the bottom of Granmas Purse
What happened to that?
Where is Grandma’s purse?
Is there still candy in them?
Is there still hidden treasures?
Is there tissues or wallet?
Is there a hankie?
Or Grandpa’s reading glasses?
Have you seen Grandma’s Purse?