Hello

It doesn’t hurt so bad
Hi
I bought some nicer ties
Hey
Got cooler today when it rained
Yo
Remembering a wind swept summer
Hi
I just wanted to say that

I would that I was sorry

I am a poet like a Trojan horse,
hollow and dangerous

I am an emptiness you cannot say
but know so well

tell me your story
ask me my name

and prepare for emptiness
attacking from the space between echos

and how it has the name
of unknowing

On thorns and flowers

What shall we do with the time given us? Did the hour of hurt so disable us that the days and years of our lives lie slain at the feet of rebellious men? Do the violent own this world and its trees only bloom with bitter fruit? Can the yards built for children only be the chance for harm where swings creak in dark rhythms and the childish blossoms of dreams grow unviewed because all the vases are shattered? Tell me my bruised eye can look on man and see some hope.

I watch the dying and see only resignation to the perverted state of their lives.

Katy is poet of the week!

Look for my link to Poets 101 and check it out

Pat’s carousel

There is no fragile place to this dark humor.
It doesn't pound fresh, it hurts
long term and hard like a scar!
Candor is here, as always, but also
stinging whispers in the aftermath of the train wreck.
We have a taunting nursery rhyme; too not for kids;
a hint of vivisection, no blinking.
too late to get off the ride,
we’ve seen too much!

Clandestine meeting

Hoorah! Finals are over!
Now I can get laid
by the lover that time is;
we can sleep together;
weep together;
stumble, snore, and speak together.

Hope

Early buttered web page morning
sun streaming in the window -
screen hard to read
radiating reflected sunlight.
Clichéd gladness washing away
clichéd malaise as I
rise again to dress
in this tent of day,
hoping for once
to step outside
with my head
in the roof of the sky.

Just one line
might change it all!

Questions

Dizzy sky under your voice -
Could my longing be fulfilled?
The train has been here,
I can see the tracks -
Where has it come from?
The bulldozer changes everything;
I thought I was happy
The bulldozer is a hand
Reaching out -
What is its source?
I am the factor that multiplies minutes
So that it takes so many to make an hour.
I am the mansion of love -
Why don’t I know what room this is?