view poets register log in
Sponsors:

Posts for June 9, 2021 (page 8)

Paula Dixon
Category
Poem
3
6/9/21

Red Kool-Aid and Off-brand Oreos

The repurposed school bus rumbled to a stop.
All of us kids bounded on, tumbling over each other.
Our mothers barely spared us a glance as they puffed their Virginia Slims.
We crammed three to a seat, only getting a half spot on the outside.
It was a short trip but at least one unlucky end-sitter landed in the aisle.

For two hours we heard stories from the Bible,
Carefully spun yarns that glossed over the most brutal parts,
Sang songs about all the children-red, yellow, black, and white,
Evan as we swam in our all white sea,
Made macaroni Jesuses,
Played tag on the hot asphalt parking lot,
And “settled down” with a snack of red Kool-Aid and off-brand Oreos.

After properly staining our upper lips and possibly our pink play shirts,
We reloaded the bus and bounced home,
A little holier than when we came thanks to our night at Vacation Bible School. 

mtpoet
Category
Poem
4
6/9/21

Years later

Heartache casts a spell over me.
Your smile, romantic, alluring
yet twists my insides.
I find myself interpreting you.
Your beauty remains.

I am awake in the dark.
I remember how you hid your feelings.
In the light from
a full moon those years ago,
your bare shoulders convinced me
you were not the wrong woman to love.

When I caressed your face,
your eyelids fluttered.

Gaby Bedetti
Category
Poem
3
6/9/21

Little Dogs Lost

They sniff every front walk for home
to beguile neighbors behind closed doors

Who will rescue the wet pets from the rain?

nel a
Category
Poem
2
6/9/21

felt

i do not wish to feel your skin

it encourages reality

and furthermore i am not ready

Gerry Grubbs
Category
Poem
2
6/9/21

The Path

The path ends
In each moment
So it cannot
Be mapped in the way
Cartographers do

Reappearing 
Right where 
We remember it
Each moment

No past
No future
Only now

Teneice Durrant
Category
Poem
8
6/9/21

Four of Pentacles

On the days that I wear
my shirt made of sunrise,
I have the stamina of a camel. 

The moon is a full blown 
rose and I am tired of the burden
of blooms, the labor and momentary 
luxury of a few soft petals. Give me
the desert, the cactus that lasts. 

Carrie Carlson
Category
Poem
10
6/9/21

Kentucky Roads

These winding roads –
Where each driver greets you with a nod 
And a two-fingered wave from the steering wheel
Are the same roads where
Motorists hang corners
And make tires squeal
 
These rural routes grant us entrance
Onto familiar gravel driveways
And into fields
Filled with fragrant hay

These pathways

Where neighbors sit on porches 
That lead us into towns
Are the lanes which roll over 
And wind ’round –
 
Bluegrass hills and fence rows
Through equestrian wonderlands
To rusty trailer homes and junkyard lawns
Where mechanics work with calloused hands
 
Where vehicles slide in snow in winter
And pray they don’t collide
Where dogs ride in farmers’ truck beds
To later frolick in pastures 
With plenty of places to hide
 
Where farming implements crawl 
And thrill-seeking drivers fly
Where the possum, skunk, and deer cross
And along winsome paths
Natives take Sunday drives
 
These passages lined with weeds 
And the sweet scent of a honeysuckle breeze
Are the curvy paths
Which unveil mysteries
Around each bend
 
Cutting through forests and limestone 
To find a friend 
 
These are the roads that lead me home
Cadence Perman
Category
Poem
3
6/9/21

I want

I want long hair
And I want a suit.
I want to be a butch woman
And a feminine man.
I want to be called beautful
And handsome.
I want to look in the mirror
And be at peace with what I see.
I want to be called
They, not he or she
And I want people to think of me that way.

I want to wear a dress and makeup
Without thinking of how much
I feel like someone who isn’t myself in it.
I want to wear a suit and not think of
The fear that I have.
When I look in the mirror,
I want to go out as myself
And not be scared of the world
And it’s transphobia.
I want my mom and dad
To know the real me.
I want to be neither a man nor a woman
But nonbinary
And I want to be seen as such.

I want to be me.
I want to be loved.
Sometimes those feelings
Seem to fight
More than to walk
Hand in hand.
I want to be able
To love myself
Without having to be angry
At everyone else.

Nettie Farris
Category
Poem
2
6/9/21

Fungus

Fungus

A fungus is neither plant nor animal.

It thrives among the roots of trees, occasionally saying “hello” above ground in the form of a fruit, or mushroom. 

Fungus II

The morel is a common edible mushroom found in North American hardwood forests. It might also appear in your backyard garden.

Fungus III

Hunting truffles takes patience. They live entirely below ground.

Fungus IV

In 1928, Scottish microbiologist Alexander Fleming left for holiday without tidying up. He returned to observe the reaction of staph bacteria to penicillin mold. 

Fungus V

When hunting truffles in France, pray to St. Anthony. In Italy, a dog might prove more useful.

Pat Owen
Category
Poem
11
6/9/21

Gathering After the Funeral

Someday, the time may come,
when your family and friends,
are sitting at round tables
eating a nice lunch while photos
of your life are flashed
on the screen, slides of your young
self, smiling and vibrant,
throbbing alive.

Conversations around the table
about upcoming vacations, and
plans for the afternoon.  From
time to time someone looks
up at the screen, but then down
at their plate, the clinking of silverware,
spreading butter on a soft roll.

Newer Posts
Older Posts