What is poetry, but
a language of the dead.
It’s an informal dance,
a shared cigarette.
Poetry is
but a one night stand.
It’s a wine ring left,
sheets, stained
between strangers.
Poetry
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Tag Archives: strangers
Nonsense
I was thinking how peculiar
right before I made a U turn
It was early Sunday morning
flashing sirens without warning
Looking both ways like a child
crossing with chicken on the road
there is this man who looks me up
and down as I begin to sigh
Then I look in both direction
turn the wheel with cruel intention
In the distance there’s this woman
picket signs read save the children
I am half way home before I know
exactly what I’m doing though I
stop the car unlock the door
and let the woman in
She sits criss-cross like a virgin
while I drive off she is urgent
I don’t know what you are thinking
she speaks softly without blinking
I was waiting for the bus when you
rolled up I must confess I recognized
your eyes from times gone by
like strangers on a train
It is awkward for a second
can I interest you in breakfast
She says sure she knows a diner
while she applies her eye liner
There’s a group of old men standing
with dead babies and demanding
that a women’s right is not all right
unless they’re in control
I’ll have coffee she’ll have coffee
yes please thank you two black coffee’s
In her teeth stuck there’s a poppy
seed my breath smells quite like onion
As the man from earlier walks by
the window just in time to see
again with no expression just a
long tedious sigh
He must think of me how boring
flashing sirens without warning
I feel seasick like a sailor
hey can you do me a favor
And that’s when she asks
to take her back in time for
her divorce of course she’d
first prefer some pie
On the drive home I was thinking
how peculiar she left winking
Shut the door then started walking
while I drove off she was talking
To the man who looked familiar
from the corner of my eye though
when I looked away then back again
they both just sort of sighed
Passing by the old cathedral
doors open releasing people
From their suffering they’re smiling
shaking hands exchanging sighs and
Across the street there’s signs
that read like jokes inside my mind
there’s men and women who protest
the earth is flat next to another group
who all claim there is no God.
strangers to ourselves.
My eyes burn
with exhaustion
scanning the airport
for any sign of life
though heads down turned
there is none
just a few lone stragglers
who look around
the same as I
unwilling to accept the courtesy
of pleasant conversation
we remain
strangers
and
strangers to ourselves.
it happens all the time
tell someone
you love
a simple truth
and watch
while they
twist
and disfigure
your trust
until it is
so unrecognizable
you can’t help
but help them
pick apart
every last piece
of flesh and goodwill
until there is
nothing left
but the laughter
of strangers
That is life I told him
He
felt
much
more
comfortable
in
the
company
of
strangers,
yet
still
searched
for
that
familiar
face
in
the
crowd.
In light of current & ongoing events.
Most of us have a hard time
having to express the way we feel inside
I
seem quite normal to the outside world
but really who would know?
We
don’t ask questions in public
for fear of stirring up conflict
You
could have said something helpful
but you stood politically correct.
Some like to engage in alcohol
others fuck strangers in bathroom stalls
She
to the world looked like an angel
something she’d never know.
We
don’t ask questions in public
for fear of stirring up conflict
He
could have given her confidence?
But sadly he knew the truth.
Most of us have a hard time
having to express the way we feel inside
I
am just a quarter in a wishing well
so here’s to wishing you well.
We
don’t want to listen to sadness speak
instead we wait for silence’s grief
You
could have the world at your feet
if you just put that bottle down.
It’s not a problem until it is
we’ve all got history I know this
He
made loads of money and hit his kids
but that’s just history now.
We
don’t ask questions in public
for fear of stirring up conflict
I’ve
been feeling good the past two days
I guess that’s a start anyhow.
Dance with the Devil at Noon.
Mother used to say,
“don’t talk to strangers now!”
And father used to say,
“don’t be a follower you hear me!”
What a different world
we live in today.
Mother I’m sorry says the boy.
Father I’m sorry, he crosses his heart.
But to make it in this
Brave New World
I must dance with the devil at noon.
True Inspiration.
More often than not,
we mistake our inspiration, for
celebrity,
strangers,
the grass that’s always greener,
when in reality,
our greatest inspiration, comes from
classmates,
lovers,
past or present acquaintance,
who showed us talent we sought to mirror,
who we quickly forgot,
fully unaware,
blinded
by the riches that whisper, like
serpents,
the sweet, sweet nothings of the stage –
the merest hint of our true inspiration.
