poetry – Page 38 – Aremyfeetofftheground

Barricades

I dreamt this morn’ of fences
They’d been put up while I slept
But the fog obscured my senses
And I stumbled ’til I wept

The urge was strong for going on
So I got up and I leapt
O’er barb-ed wire, until the dawn
Its promises had kept

The fog had burnt away from there
The barricades were clear
The wind was passing through my hair
And freedom was so near

“Awake me not”, I prayed to One.
(The Spirit in me now)
“I’m almost there, I’m nearly done”
Then lost the will, somehow.

This thing within my soul has made
The devil grin with glee
He’s scripted well this whole charade
To gloat his victory

Awakened was a new resolve
That I’d not lose the fight
The clock, its circle would revolve
And I’d join the dream next night

No rest for the wicked

now I lay me down to sleep
there’s no more noises, not a peep
the shades are pulled, the light is out
and slumber’s what it’s all about

fluff the pillow, warm the feet
Sin’s solicitations meet
mantras said to calm the mind
gently will the stress unwind

in five or ten or twenty three
‘Tis the latter, I gotta pee
back in bed and pull the cover
then read a book, my secret lover

start to yawn, and eyelids droop
but I’m hungry for a bowl of soup
hit the kitchen, scratch my head
the wife is bitchin’, “go to bed!”

so once again I scratch my noggin
think of more ideas for bloggin’
get the tablet, write the story
and then I’ll never have to worry

so now it’s finished, nicely done
I’m sure it will be number one
Martians and a teenage girl
whose empathy may save the world

I check the clock, my God it’s three!
whatever has come over me?
I’ve gotta drive the wife to work
(So, better get to sleep. You jerk)

Just cuttin’ my lawn

The terror of Godzilla

The mighty King of Kong

Ain’t nothin’ like the thriller

Of mowin’ my front lawn

Seven primes and seven pulls

It takes, to start the beast

The horsepower, the raging bulls

Strikes fear, to say the least

I care but not a mere pittance

For the forests I destroy

I show ’em my omnipotence

In the tactics I employ

There’s Henry, King of Fire Ants

He’s running for his life

In nothing but his underpants

Without his nasty wife

The bumblebees and butterflies

I spare ’em when I can

and watch ’em as they flutter by

It’s in the master plan

I blunder on, so nonchalant

and never have a care

Supreme am I, the Commandant

Come at me if you dare

But, one sad day, I felt a jolt

That made me stop and stare

The Crows had staged a mad revolt

and gave me quite a scare

The angry birds had organized

to help their helpless friends

They had me truly terrorized

I had to make amends

So now, today, my cutting’s done

I’ve given up for good

My weeds and grass, they’re having fun

The talk of the neighborhood.

On a hay field

undulate acres
gold under sun
neatness of mown rows

randomness of dropped bales
without pattern, it seems

might they be the tines and the prongs
in some airy music box
that, when plucked,
would fill the world with sweetness?

(one thinks)

Miles down,
by jutting ankle bone he reaches.
Retrieves the fallen peanut shell.
With smiling morning memories
of bathing in autonomy.
They have left on a shiny shopping spree,
and they smile too, at their well-earned freedom.
Home now, from the wars of the ward,
he has his ticket, his assurance.
The snakeskin of sickness is shed.
Crunch one more, such delicious.
Another shell he lets drop,
in amused clumsiness.
Spies it with new eyes,
and down he dives.

In plain sight

the adolescence of a nameless bird
studied, through patio glass
nothing to eat here, my friend
one or three peremptory pecks he makes,
then sees me
why aren’t you flying away, old chum,
like birds do
I look more closely-
sure looks like the one who hit our window yesterday
and we couldn’t find him
there’s a peculiar head movement
a familiar cockeyed tilt
he bobs up and down, takes his leave
a spinal chill comes to me
I ring up Charlie’s room
Charlie passed in the night.

Moonlight

Such finely worded paintings she makes…a poem by Devika Mathur at My Valiant Soul.

MY VALIANT SOUL

i hear jars of jasmine
 in the pale moonlight
 singing and swallowing
 the day's lie
 the fallen mask of scalded hearts.

the night has a belly of jam and butter
 smooth, a swamp of blood moons.
 a feverish rush of adrenaline,
 saying chants to hypnotize.

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