Daily Poetry & Prose

Toss these heavy rocks up into the clouds. Understanding weight is how the obelisk was moved.

Time is satire He has me laughing Makes me move while standing still Time is a dancer Cheek to cheek We whisper of infinity He holds my hands and rocks me leading the way But oh, my feet! I have a few steps left. The band plays on Trumpets and saxophones  On the 1 On the 4 I'm counting  He says, "don't count" Just feel it.

Perched on the precipice of perfection hard to move an inch.

Every time I walk past it I called it the Blind Faith Cafe. I picture you sitting up there, at a table, behind the little miniature iron fence, on the cement, just high enough above the sidewalk to look down on everyone, Smelling their folly yet perched, silently, at a distance,  like a canary in a cage, crapping out all your self righteousness. Keeping your distance from me, as if I were anathema to your guilded lockets of longing, you fondle your pearls while I stand in my wet golashes  daring you to move. I have no idea how the coffee tastes at the Blind Faith Cafe, but I imagine it's bitter and in desperate need of cream.

I wrote a poem about the war for forty years, it changed then all the people were the same they just had different names. The long forgotten memories of trees and men who walked along. The strange winds blow now, around Christmas time, but I hear the Native song. The man he walks with a bow and arrow and sings with-- and does not shoot-- the sparrow.

It's amazing how small I am, like a bug, or a beetle, snug under the rug. It's almost noon and here I am, humming nonsensical symphonies between my teeth. I do not have the tap water enough to call Poseidon from the sea. When you tipped me down the drain, baby, bathwater and all, perhaps we should have thought that I might need a hairdryer.

It was a ribbon in the hair of a dragon by the sea Her missing teeth were all I saw as she called out to me A siren  screeching the car  pulled  away.

 You're so hot. You got the last shot. You crime, you dine, you shine, you swine. You're so cold. You've got the gold. You wake, you shake, you make, you create. You've got nothing on me You've only got  Something on yourself.

Cupid sat down and lit a candle, shining In his eyes was the flame, burning  In his heart was your name. Black eyelash, FLICKERING  It's just a LIGHT on a distant hill. Rubies glistened on her fingers Her rings told stories and whispered moons Rummaging their reflections On the waters of the tide.

The face in the window looked weary The reflection was yellow and thin The moon in the sky was hanging Plunged into place  Like a nail A nail in a wall Chilly and bright.  The train conductor was tired The train itself had a sparking fuse Its metal was dark, dead and dreaming As it clattered and squealed Screeching, quiet and loud Along the way A long, long way along the track. The point of arrival was taken The ticking of clocks became mute When the midnight rider walked the aisles In his giant leather boots The moon stayed there in the sky, firmly like a drum Silent until it was struck  struck with the edge the hard edge of a hammer.