The heat.
Felt before it touches
my skin. The glow of red
iron, ready to leave
its mark.
The sizzle.
Searing pain mixed
with sound.
The smell.
Stuck in my nostrils
as the taste of leather
fills my mouth.
Tag: Poem
Matthew…
Storm clouds
Loom overhead
Rain and wind scream loudly
But I’m safe inside my wood box,
Matthew.
Sardines…
Sardines brined and packed
inside a tin can, separated
from the life we once lived.
The ocean calls, go forth!
The klaxon rings as the tide
catches fire and runs red.
“War, boys! This is it!”
This is what we’ve waited for.
This is what we’re trained for.
Rockets glare like comets
streaking across the night
as the tin can bare’s its teeth.
Then, as the shore shimmers white,
with fair winds and following seas,
each sardine walks his own plank.
Still brined, but no longer packed
inside the tin can. Yet, still separated
from the life we once loved.
Genesis: I have always said the thing I hated most about serving in the Navy was being deployed and the thing I loved the most about being in the Navy was being deployed. This poem is birthed out of that oxymoron.
The Boat…
Charlie Couldn’t Stop…
This is an erasure poem I did for class. First time doing one of these. Not as easy as I thought it was going to be.
The Winds Have Blown…
The winds have blown
Filled with a furious anger
The winds have blown
And the sea is cross at our course
Since we dared to defy danger
And left the safety of Bangor.
The winds have blown.
***
Photo by Odilon Redon
My first rondelet so I'm not completely sure I got perfected, but it was a fun poem type to try..
A Different Drum…
His feet bang and clang in a bat-a-rang sing-song style, while his heels heave heavy upon battered metal with no apparent rhythm.
His untied laces and muddy boot faces mark the derelict work shoes that are one size to many, but for a penny, they will just have to do.
But there he rests, up on top the chest, with the handles to drawers planned for his comeback encore while his dad yells from the other room.
Raindrop…
A rain drop hit my forehead today
And as I reached up to wipe it away,
It rolled down the bridge of my nose.
Trapped between nose pad and skin
It was too much effort to try and get
Because I’d have to remove my glasses.
Besides, the coolness from the drip
Nestled on my nose was enough to
Make me feel just a touch cooler.
The Daily Grind…
I stare at the monitor, blank as can be,
But there’s work to be done, of this I can see.
One hour, two hours, three and then four,
All wiled away as I watch the exit door.
Soon it will be five and I’ll leave this behind,
Only to repeat it tomorrow, the daily grind.
***
In Another Room…
Kathunk
Wheeze
The machine helps him breathe
as he slowly dies
alone
in another room
***
A Flash of Fiction... 