Better Finds
I once knew a man who wrote one minute poems
and it showed. No one would look at them
or be read to. They were not even fun.
Frankly, I told him, train conductors put more
into punching out tickets with their own
special die cut punches, all kinds of varied
and wonderful punchout shapes, than that.
My son and I used to pick the little punchouts
off the seat cushions and floors on the New Haven,
better finds than pennies or chestnuts or flowers,
to play games with riding back from weekend
visitations, although we never saved them.
-gb
Originally posted by Grampy BobbyNice.
Better Finds
I once knew a man who wrote one minute poems
and it showed. No one would look at them
or be read to. They were not even fun.
Frankly, I told him, train conductors put more
into punching out tickets with their own
special die cut punches, all kinds of varied
and wonderful punchout shapes, than that.
My son and I used to pick ...[text shortened]... to play games with riding back from weekend
visitations, although we never saved them.
-gb
No climax, just a situation as it is.
Shav, it's a quiet Sunday afternoon in this neck of the USA Woods,
so here's another one for you (also circa Boston, around 1980)...
Candy Store
One autumn Sunday afternoon when young
I drove my tricycle through the plate glass
window of our neighborhood candy store,
then hid in the garage. Barely thinking,
abandoning the scene, behaving recklessly
so as to endanger and travelling
much too fast: clearly, guilty as charged.
My longsuffering father was exasperated.
The spanking he administered was brilliant,
probably one of the finest ever received.
Now I am no longer young, not exactly,
and my dear parents are no longer able
to spank me, even though my circumstances
and actions may occasionally still be
shattering sacred glass. Thinking things
through thoroughly, remaining at the scene,
acting thoughtfully and moving slowly:
in the face of perceptions to the contrary,
still vulnerable to a verdict of guilty
as charged. No attempt shall be made
to explain or to justify or to hide.
No measured responses. No social noise.
I have signed off on the declination
option of entering any final appeal.
I shall go quietly, accepting full responsibility
for the penalties and privileges of exile.
Dad, this time it's more than penny candy.
You know I'll be careful of the glass.
-gb
Originally posted by Grampy BobbyStrength and honour.
Shav, it's a quiet Sunday afternoon in this neck of the USA Woods,
so here's another one for you (also circa Boston, around 1980)...
Candy Store
One autumn Sunday afternoon when young
I drove my tricycle through the plate glass
window of our neighborhood candy store,
then hid in the garage. Barely thinking,
abandoning the scene, b ...[text shortened]... ad, this time it's more than penny candy.
You know I'll be careful of the glass.
-gb
True love never dies.
The inestimable personal value of public internet access finally begins
to dawn on me... ten whirlwind months out on this magic carpet. -gb
Edit: Coming quickly back down to earth, guess the only real and durable value,
as with phones, is the intrinsic quality and value in what two people have to say.
One last one, Shav, (with an appropriately intricate rhyming scheme)
and strictly for the lovers and dreamers... past, present and future.
What If We Married
What if we married the penninsula of my being
with the newfound continent of your hips.
We could explore the hinterlands together.
Deep canals might form to allow feeling
and knowing leisurely passage at the lips.
We might take the high seas, ignoring weather,
moving swiftly in the straits. Our maps may
begin where previously known horizons end.
We may color water ares white, land blue.
We could alter meridians,making evening day.
Our separate worlds would interlock and blend.
Allow me your geography. Mine encompasses you.
-gb
Originally posted by Grampy BobbyThis one is excellent.
One last one, Shav, (with an appropriately intricate rhyming scheme)
and strictly for the lovers and dreamers... past, present and future.
What If We Married
What if we married the penninsula of my being
with the newfound continent of your hips.
We could explore the hinterlands together.
Deep canals might form to allow feeling
and kno ...[text shortened]... ate worlds would interlock and blend.
Allow me your geography. Mine encompasses you.
-gb
Amazing, though, that such pornography is acceptable just because it's subtle.
Perhaps there should be a debate about such matters...
Originally posted by shavixmirPossibly sensibility tolerances relax with an elevated theme...
This one is excellent.
Amazing, though, that such pornography is acceptable just because it's subtle.
Perhaps there should be a debate about such matters...
when physical unity and soul rapport dimensions intertwine.
-gb
Shav, you know any fathers victimized by an unanticipated divorce
and separated from an only son by thousands of miles?
The Blue Ones
Your jeans play on the bannisters
of my sleep.
I hear footsteps sometimes.
Your last blue pair of sneakers
walk around
in the parks of my dreams.
I see new grass stains on the toes.
Your white socks
are inside out, I am almost sure.
I wonder if they need pulling
up, again,
right now wherever you are
and if you are running easy
and if those
yellow laces are still untied.
-gb