Shoe Shine

The felt letter board says
Boots 6
Shoes five
The 5?
Fallen from its light brown box
But what of the other thin white plastic numbers?
The kit surely shipped with multiples
It is the x that is lost
Only a few of those
Infrequently used
So rare that boots cost more to shine

Box of Bones

I carry a small box of bones in my car, cramped and crumbled, stowed in my glove compartment, insulated by maps and documents, quieting its rattling. The decaying bits of calcium and marrow have been handed down to me through generations, brought over from Russia on a boat, treasured, sheltered, delivered to me from an estate. I don't know who or what the bones are, but they travel with me, always present, whispering to me, guiding, haunting.

The Law of the Swap Meet

If you go to the swap meet looking for a particular item, you won't find it. It's there, the prize you are seeking, but it hides in plain sight, wedged between plastic robots and rusted wrenches, calling your name loudly--over here!--but it is invisible to you because you're searching for it. But the same item will be yours immediately and you can't help but stumble upon it if you go without any expectations, thinking you'll find nothing, hoping you'll discover nada, as it will reach out to you, perhaps several of them, all waiting for you as long as you do not want them, think of them, know them, need them.

The Baby Has Lost His Ass

The baby has lost his ass
Two batteries instead of two cheeks
Out of energy
Frozen in mid smile
Curl atop his scalp
Turn of the head
Pursed lips
Wishing he could crawl
Even if mechanically
Two batteries ready to be
Pooped out
About to topple off a
Bobble head barnyard bank

Praise

Shall we all start praising worthy ones now
Get it over with
Put them on a pedestal
Erect a statue
And agree they are better than us
Or made the human condition better
Broke new ground
Or wait until they die to
Trample on their graves

Peanut Butter on a Spoon

Peanut butter on a spoon
Reminds me of an afternoon
When resting on an outside chair
Clad only in my underwear
While snacking from a large brown jar
And dipping fingers down too far
To scoop up brown infectious goo
Then wash it down with hop-filled brew
Music plays a sad bassoon
To peanut butter on a spoon

Scratch

Do girls itch?
Need to rearrange hanging flesh?
Find a way to scratch or move things without
People noticing?
Men must choose sides
Stack things correctly
Arrange for effect or invisibility
Binding, humidity, close quarters
Demand embarrassing and wonderful attention

Today's Poem

Today's poem won't tell you anything about me
It will remain what it is
Black marks on a page
Words strung together
Random, for all you know
If you're looking for insight into the author
You're in the wrong place
It's static prose that sits and waits
Aiming for inspiration
Finding none
You come here
Seeking
Searching for something, anything
Private challenges
Answers
You won't find that here
Here, where it's always sunny
Where it always rains
Where people pretend
Where all can hide

Sea Change

Searching for a soundtrack to my life, but keep discarding the usual suspects. I yearn for the upbeat and favorite artists, but find myself drawn to the soulful, darkness, where truth sleeps with insomnia, where lost dreams sleep and an uncertain future festers. I land on Beck's Sea Change, drawn to its disguised pain and overt quiet soul that sings of sadness and hope.

Boston

Boston grieves with relief
The dead
The fear
The audacity
Senselessness
Surreal mist covering everything
Brothers in arms
Brothers with arms
Brothers without limbs
Pressure cookers
Backpacks
White baseball caps
A thousand photographs
Surveillance videos
Healthy runners
Focused with single purpose
Cowering in homes
Looking out Watertown windows
A canvas boat cover flaps in the angry breeze

Things That Are Better Than Fighting

Kissing
Eating
Reading
Walking
Driving
Talking
Laughing
Movies
Cigars
Singing
Listening
Cleaning
Flying
Performing
Sneezing
Painting
Shaving
Books
Dressing
Traveling
Gaming
Writing
Coffee
Boxers
Riddles
Authors
Breaking Bad
Lost
Star Trek
Star Wars
Children
Cinnamon Whisky
Loose clothes
IOS devices
Apps
Room service
Shopping
Rolling Stone
Guitars
Harmonicas
Salinger
Hemingway
Cheever
Carver
Roth
Dylan
Costello
Talking Heads
Families
Hummingbirds
Hammocks
Music
The Godfather
Casablanca
Citizen Kane
Spying
Creating
Poetry
Tools
Haircuts
3DS
Adirondack chairs
Fiction
Collecting
Cooking
Zelda
Pikmin
Luigi's Mansion
Animal Crossing
Birthdays
Anniversaries
Everything

Bottle

He holds the empty milk bottle
Considers it as Yorick's skull
A remnant from delivery days
When dairy was served up by a
Chilled truck
The glass has a rough seam
Cloudy and clear
A thumb's rest
In its simplicity
Beckoning the past
His life poured in and out of it

© Poem Fix http://www.poemfix.com 2013
Image: forced007

Honey

The planets
The stars
The rings
The distance
The darkness
That loneliness brings
The ants
The bugs
The snakes
The centipedes
The fear of being dipped in honey
And tied to a stake
The longing
The lust
The statues
The dust

Changing of the Guard

Pushing against the current
To kiss his ring
Be seen and counted
Auditioning
Shining a nose
Ready with something witty
To be remembered and safe
Oh my it's good to see you!
What are you drinking?
I read what you wrote and I totally agree
Now, to back off, pull shoulders in, step back
Better not to overstay welcome
Get out while the getting is good
Give someone else a turn to shine
Then leave without being noticed

Momentum

Some things move at such a deliberate pace that a tipping point is reached and there is no turning back. This momentum, inevitable, is caused by gravity, slope, lack of friction. Or too much friction.

Silent as a Forest

Silent as a forest
Quiet as a rainstorm
Open as a river
Honest as a grenade

Third Act

Friend of mine mentioned his third act, which got me thinking that maybe there's another way, a better way, impetus to take control again after so many years digging in diamond mines and finding only coal, a third act and all it promises, tying up loose threads and finding elusive resolution, perhaps enlightenment before the sun goes nova.

Across the Hudson

Across the Hudson
Ominous
The formidable fortress stands tall and grey against the trees
Inside, hidden and obscured
Inmates, gold, manufacturing, utilities, orphans, chocolate, vampires, untold secrets
Challenging attackers to find a way in
Smoke rises, blowing into the overcast
Settling over the valley
Watching, imposing
Upright in silent testimony
Insidious in its intent
Welcoming in its hunger

Answer

We wince when someone asks if they can pose a question, brace ourselves and prepare to find an answer, to dance, to throw lies and pretend, to sound smart and thoughtful while hoping the answer will satisfy, for now.

I Am An Envelope

I am an envelope
Unopened
Infinite possibilities
Junk disguised as urgent
Handwritten fake font
Message from a lost relative in Argentina
Registered letter from the IRS
Notice of a back ordered purchase
Confetti ready to spew
Announcement of contest winnings
Rejection letter
Ransom note
Congratulations
Bill
Death by a thousand cuts

Elf 5

Enough with the elf and all his kind
The gnomes and dragons and fairies and trolls
They live out of sight
Hidden
But they live
Their leader
The limping elf
Turns away from them
Dispenses affection
Suffers for it
We go on living
Yearning for their discovery
To shout and call attention to him
Over here! Over here!
But then he vanishes
We must be content with our own private knowledge
But then, does he exist?
Did he ever?

Elf 4

Dine with the elf
Sitting cross-legged by the fire
Cold stone floor
Bowl of steamed ancient mixture
He speaks with his hands
Wants to be understood
Communicates a wayward time
Flying devils and master swords
Now weariness creeps in
Heaviness of the world
Laughed at
Not taken seriously, perhaps
On exhibit
Like all creatures he longs for love
Finds it in bits and pieces
Gives it with false starts in luxuriousness

Elf 3

Do we not want to comfort the elf?
In all his otherworld glory
With his open stance
Elegant limp that he nurses so well
Forbidden and secret skills
The call of the elf and all his kind
At the edge of our world
Sings to us, unending
In myth
Living among them
Separate from them
With us, without us
Brushing against them
Entreating them to stop
Invitations to our world
Stay
Originate in schism, fright, consort

Elf 2

The elf goes here and there
Belongs nowhere
Wants to visit the highlands
But is held low
He walks with a limp
Stands apart from the others
Is a layered onion
Complicated
Arrow ears
He rages at others in his tribe
Thinks it unfair they have what he wants
A challenge being a limping elf
Self pity
Open harness
His powers intermittently strong
Visit with the elf
Give him more than listening
Allow him room to draw pictures
Of might and woe
Take him into your moss-covered lodge and
Keep him warm

Elf

Cold mist brings
Warm elf
Magical and half human
His eyes glisten with
Spilled dreams
His face trying to smile
He cannot
He sprinkles his sparkle dust
Takes us to forbidden lakes
An openness rare
Desirable
A powerful drug
He is hurting
Abandoned by his clan
His health failing on this side
He longs to be taken back to where he came from
But isn't there a piece of him that wants to stay?

The Point

Wondering what the point of it is
As if there needs to be one
There must be meaning
Unacceptable otherwise
Strive for that epiphany
Achieve the reason
Get the point
After having gotten to the point
And then point it out
Enter Harry's Pointless Forest
Discover that everything has one
Retreat into your lost existential world
Ruled by atheists
Avoiding it at all costs

Double Jack Coke at 8:15

Eight fifteen in the morning, eating crummy eggs at airport bar. Guy to the left of me orders a double Jack Coke while a hefty man on my right downs a shot of tequila and a tall beer, courage for their flights or the latest of all night drinking binge. I pull a long human hair from my omelet and consider my orange juice and coffee and feel small, facing a five-hour flight and free alcohol that seems, at this hour, like a long ride to salvation.

Diving Lady

The lady at the Starlite Motel is always diving, with unchanged Olympic form, perpetually clad in her alluring green one-piece strapless bathing suit, welcoming all comers to join her in the cool blue pool, challenging us, beckoning everyone to give her a try, as if she is the only woman in the world, desirable, haunting, a siren to our weariness, wet and wrinkled and sun drenched, asking only to be seen and admired, never loved.

Plane

Unfriendly flight attendant
Germ-laden seat pocket magazine
Expensive drinks
Unhealthy snacks
Seat belts
Seats that don't recline far enough
Seats that recline too far
Lines at the bathroom
Crying babies
Fat people
Turn off electronics

If Wishes Were Fishes

If wishes were fishes
Or cupcakes
Or mail
I'd own an aquarium
As big as a whale
I'd heat up an oven
And pour drops of batter
To cook up some treats
That will fill up ten platters
I'd write eighteen letters
And order some gifts
So letters would fall from the sky in big drifts
If wishes were fishes
I'd spear some sardines
And wish for more time
With you and cuisine