Poetry · Writing

Magic

I have to write.

I stare at this blank page

and it stares back

taunts me.

It feeds off me

like a leech it

feast on my fears for breakfast

and sips my anxiety like tea.

Never satisfied

until I write.

So here I sit

Staring through this open window

waiting for the magic.

From a home I can’t explain

neighbor of imagination

down the block from love

Or is it hate.

Next to the house that always cooks barbecue.

That smell that sweeps the block

through open windows

love hate relationship with your belly

as it fights for something more.

Yet, here I sit

waiting for the magic.

Watching this orange fuck

slowly crush our stars

gathering Universal’s Minions

calling himself Gru

wasting on a par 4

stealing candy from unborn babies

from the home that he

is burning to the ground.

Closing our window

after only a few months

He,

We.

Need to-

Look for the magic.

Gather fingertips

the window is still open

Jump.

Don’t fly

We still have to fight.

So

Here I stand.

Writing

silent page.

Starting at the open window.

Needing to make humans think

think twice

and tell them a lie

that this window

Will always be open.

Poetry · Writing

the day before yesterday

Planning for the future

with a hammer

and a couple nails.

It’s a joke

I know

but it’s the truth.

The nails are a bit rusted

felt like I should mention that.

Bent too.

Head to Home Depot

to have your card rejected

but find a two by four

on the way home.

 

Buddy said she had

some parts for me,

pity screw.

Looking up already,

call it a note worthy day.

 

Poetry · Writing

Faith

The black panther lives in the rainforest.

This is the home of Faith.

The promising work of a florist.

Home forever even as a wraith.

 

Enchanting the world with sunny kisses.

Always with you like a reprise.

True nature’s cheery missus.

In spring time, love is carried on the breeze.

 

Her beauty undeniable by all.

All wanted to see what she could achieve.

Impossible to foresee thee befall.

This panther bows as she takes her leave.

 

All panthers ache and weep.

Rest now in your beauty sleep.

 

Poetry · Writing

quarantine crush

can hear the singing

two buildings over

three stories up,

she’s cooking dinner

she loves Otis Redding

can see her shadow sometimes

as she spins by;

she saw me once

waved and went about

she had her hair up,

maybe she was cleaning,

i wish i was wearing a better shirt-

next time

Poetry · Writing

yellow feet

in the valley of the fallen

we have no eyes

bound by moon and leaves

we leave our mortal feet

in the valley we fall in

our souls take flight

mirror of a feat

you show before you leave

we are the valley of the fallen

song of yellow

scared moths of the flames

a thunderous bark

n will call again

in fellow yellow