Well, then I may need to revise it a bit to make it more clear...Just ran one of my more recent ones through a poetry workshop. The original is up further on the previous page: Searching for Stage 5. Here's the revised version (including a line or two from a previous poem I've decided to disperse):


Lost in Stage Four

You reached for gossamer elephants
as they stood upright on hind legs, swung
across the sky in a trapeze glide, tumbled over themselves,
contorted into angels who soon surrendered
their wings, and vanished. Sprawled out
in the back yard, we crushed grass beneath our backs
and revisited the circus.

Rainy days in town we chased distorted reflections
in the sheen of the water-sluiced promenade.
You swore you saw, in your mirror of puddles,
a set of wings.

Crisp October evenings we rushed
to the State Fair to render ourselves
spin-crazy and sugar-sick. We whirred past
overstuffed monkeys and grease-on-a-stick booths.
I cussed the Zipper, blood-faced;
you barely stifled an upside-down laugh.

You serenaded me with "Free Bird", slaughtered
the tune,but delivered the message
with precision, words that I failed to hear until
the day you tried to fly.

You always said that we could soar like elephants and angels.
I hope you hear me scream through the cracked glass
at your Polaroid smile: Elephants don't really have wings.

And now, from previous personal experience (only because I'm long over it now, this was the most fun to write, I think).


Cat Fight

If she speaks, I'll grab her pucker,
pinch it in a pair of pliers,
jab a threaded needle through
her pout. I'll sew her lips shut,
shove some cotton up her notstrils.
Then we'll see how often she can
ring his cell phone (waking me up)
just to say "Good morning, lover".

If she dares to fling those tresses
that he ran his fingers through,
as they fan I'll jerk them out
in clumps of hair and chunks of scalp
until her skull is naked, raw
and weeping like I was the night
I found her strands inside the sink
of my own bathroom (and my brush).

If she points those eyes at me,
I'll lop her lids off, plop the orbs
into my mouth. I'll scrub their lenses
with my tongue, expunge his image,
slug them down my gullet where
they'll fuel the fire that she sparked.
I'll revel in her grovel's drivel
as they roast inside my gut.

If she begs, I might forgive her.
Maybe I won't slit the skin
along her hickey-laden throat.
And yet, I'm thinking that it would
be fun to amputate her head,
watch it fling up off her shoulders
thud and chud and land to rest
beside my feet right next to his.

Okay hannibal. (just kidding) liked it, and i understand the emotion.

hehe. What's really bad...no, I mean REALLY bad, is that I wrote that this past week, but off of memories of actual scenarios that I had run through my mind back in the middle of the emotion. Oh, by the way, neither of them suffered any physical trauma at my hands.






































(yet) Mwwwuuuhaaaahahaha......

Kidding. I really forgave them both (and only one of them had to beg, ha). Glad you liked it.

Just some words I typed:

Rhyme of the American Servicemember

Good people dying, for a worthy cause
I cry, and hate and despise
those that twist the truth for us
The bane of many more wise

Politics rule and the media spews
Their take, but not the news
Their view is our view but not the truth
They, pay not, their dues

America is lost, at such a cost
and government for the people is dead
I think upon our problems...
and look to the future in dread

Opinions are great, but decide not our fate
the experts are far and wide
but those in the mix, we have a fix
as we've determined when we confide

Let us go forth, and help the world
as God's calling directs
but the media spews, and it's not the news
and the miniscule mistakes they dissect

CNN is up to date
and it's nearly real time
but their take and ours is different
we’re, in the now...sublime

I've walked in fire facing death
facing those that hate and behead
but the ACLU and others
think I'm to be faced with dread

Ours is a democracy
the best on planet earth
but ours is a questionable system
governed with guile and mirth

It fails us in many ways
but still it stands tall and strong
I often wonder why I fight
when so many views are wrong

But right or wrong, true or false
I have no other choice
the American people I protect
I do so without a voice

I'm in the American Military
I protect the views I hate
but protect I must, and willingly
I go through the dangerous gate

"Why" one asks do I do this?
"why when you don't agree?"
I simply say it's my calling
"To keep America free..."

"We support the troops" they say
"but we don't agree with the war"
it cuts us, who are in the fight
but America, we adore

And so we walk most everyday
in danger's deep dark alley
and though I fear not heaven
I fear my walk in the valley

The valley of death and danger
for America I walk with glee
for those that care not about us
my life I give for thee

To those that care about our fate
my ever grateful thanks
but many have nor care nor thought
but their not within our ranks

Our ranks are those that serve a cause
a cause both righteous and pure
but many do not recognize
that most important allure

There is no higher calling
than to serve those we protect
it matters not if we agree
with those that we elect

Protect we will and sacrifice
for that is what we do
no matter what the others say
no matter the media spew

All I ask is patience
from each and every one
we'll win this fight, given the chance
using cunning, support, and the gun

The gun abhorred is critical
for the enemy knows it well
violence and hatred are their ways
the enemy who gives us hell

But hell it is and gleefully
we enter into the fire
to protect and serve our masters
and the people we desire

The families bear a burden
and the numbers matter not
a death to each and every one
is a death to one they begot

It pains them each and every day
their loved ones dead in war
but the media reports the numbers
all that matters, is the score…

Are we but numbers in a war?
just numbers for a cause?
I hope that all with feelings
reflect, and think, and pause

Numbers were not, remember that!
We serve in war and strife…
One thousand or two, now over three
a number is a life

But we continue, and fight we will
for those that we protect
we have "support" but not support
from many that we elect

Then ask yourself, "Do I support"
the troops but not the war?
and ask yourself if it is true
"Is it hatred that I deplore?"

War and troops are one and the same
disagree and I'll fight with glee
my life I'll give for your family and views
have you done the same for me?

Many have, but most have not
yet they sound off loud and clear
they I protect, with no cost to them
but the cost to me is dear

It's my life and those of my friends,
not a number, not a view
and though many might know our sacrifice
the numbers are really few

Our history is reap with sacrifice
for the many, by the few
the few will carry forward
no matter the many's view

So remember that we that choose to serve
are brothers, sisters and sons
and issues that we fight for
are decided with guts and guns

But we who serve voluntarily
once done we have no choice
except the vow of servitude
we serve without a voice

So speak for us when others won't
except for their own need
for other's needs don't matter much
because their not the ones that bleed

But their needs we serve, no matter their views
and those that stand with us too
your military members in servitude
the proud, the brave, the few

Wow...thank you so much for the words, the reminder of what you (and your fellow servicemen) do, and thank you for the service you do for our country.

Orphan

My heart, this gimp
foster-child, this red-head reject,
this not quite blue-eyed
homely mess with a defect limp
has hunkered down

in more beds than she cares
to tally. Volunteers,
they size her up,
see if she'll fit on their walls
in their frames;
she knows

as soon as they're out
of eye-shot, they'll shake
their heads, wring their hands
under scalding water,
scour themselves of her.

DA, that is very moving. As soon as I casn get to a printer I'm going to print that out.

I must concur, mouse.

Cockroach

He's been there for days, that guy.
His twigsnapped digits twitch a bit,
but he's stuck belly-up, outta luck.
His self-inflicted plight begs a mercy squish,
an urge I might indulge after I watch
him squirm. Or not.
....................You look thirsty, fella.
....................Have another drink.

I set one next to him,
let them both sweat. If he could reach,
he'd scuttle down the bottleneck, drown
in Boone's Farm, but the peach fizzles flat
while I nuke a Banquet single.
....................Smell that? Mmm,
....................not hungry, are ya?

How unfair that he wastes air
you gasped for with metal-riddled lungs,
throat full of glass-spray, mouth seeping out
pieces of what should've stayed in.
....................Sorry ma'm. Boyfriend's fine, drunk,
....................banged up some, but little Sam...

Man, it should be his guts on those shoes
I trashed, not yours. If I'd shooed him away
when he first scurried through the cracks
in my wall, it'd still be just you and me.
....................Look, mom, I found a bug!
....................Yeah, baby, I think I did too.

Instead, it's me and this injured insect,
this creepy invalid pest I'd poison if I didn't think
that'd be too easy a death.

It's national poetry month! So I'm doing this challenge (with about 35 other poetry geeks): a poem a day for 30 days. *eek* Heh, sometimes a poem written in just a day is rough. Well, this oughta stimulate my noodle a bit.

April 1

I've Missed You So, I Hope to See Your Face

just one last time before I have to go.
The memories can never be replaced;
they haunt me now, deep down inside my soul.

..............****Yeah, Right****

I've Missed You, So I Hope to See Your Face

I met you at Aunt Betty's funeral,
(that should've been a hint) thought you were cute.
I didn't hear the preacher's words at all.
My mind was busy peeling off your suit.

That night, we almost made it in the car.
Your flippin' beeper chirped and killed the mood;
I didn't get to see the fabled scar.
You mumbled something 'bout my attitude

and drove me home. I thought we'd try again
the next day. When you didn't phone, I freaked
and started making calls to all your friends
(you'd left an address book behind your seat

I'd sorta swiped it). When I got to "K"
this cheery chick picked up, said "This is Kate".
I figured, "she's the wench that must have paged.
That crazy ho, she ruined last night's date!"

I hung up quick and ran out to the trunk
(that's where I keep my "Messed-Up-First-Date-Kit").
I've used it on some overzealous hunks,
but mostly underzealous ones get hit.

..............****Now****

I see you walking closer to the door
and through the scope I sorta notice now,
you don't look quite as handsome as before.
This shot's not all that easy. Chk-Chk-POW!

I've missed you, so I hope to see your face,
just one last blast before I have to run
(the cops are on their way, I'm sure). I'll chase
you if I have to. Dang, I've dropped my gun.

April 2

Eraser

Push-pin holes gaped at naked walls
while lead singers and ball players crumpled
across their new cardboard thresholds.

Sweat from half-drunk Sangria pooled
in rings on the comicbook coaster;
the cover-hero's chest swelled
like the folds of her eyes. She chunked
the unworn "My Mom is Superwoman" tee
and balked at the scene's garbled echo.

As she slid the last box through the doorjamb
a flap sliced her thumb, but she bit
her lip, bid it not to let a swear word slip.
He hears everything. No,
..................................heard.

She swept his remnants into the dust-pan
with chip-crumbs, dirt-clods, skin-sloughs, trash
she once grumbled about, and thought:

this is like knowing that someone's chalk snapped
at the crux of their equation,
but you fill the blackboard with your own figures,
smudging out their proof with a sleeve.

April 3

Untitled--Rough Draft

Momma told me how Jesus died
to save me, how he coulda snapped
his broken, bloody fingers
and disappeared, but he stayed.

She said I got angels in my room, too.

Well, I'm near blind 'cause it's dark,
but I see the shine of sweat and slobber
as this crucifix clobbers me in the head
overand overand overand overand

he calls out for God, but I know it's in vain,
'cause I already tried that, and God never came.
I think Momma was wrong,
think that angels don't care, or they dropped
my prayer on the way there, or got stopped
by a cop or smacked by a semi, or lost
their wings in a game of poker
pok-er pok-er pok-er pok-er pok-er...

The weight of his breath makes me think
of the time Casey sat on my chest.
Casey's cross, the one that's her headboard,
it sits there all empty and still, but this one swings
on its chain like it could fling Jesus
off any second now, and he could jump
in between us and save me
saveme saveme saveme saveme
please, Momma.

It's too late for Casey.

I'm not even gonna post April 4&5 yet. They're so incomplete. I'll wait till I get around to their revisions.

April 6

Thomas Has A Drink With His Buds

The sky blurts out a tirade
drenching the April dusk,
and there's Thomas again, crouched
between Azalea bushes. Mud sloops
up through his toes, reminds him
of the spring they planted the herb garden.
He lubes his speech with a brown sack
full of conversation starter fluid,
chats up the early bloomers,
slurs regrets of the times he told her
that flowers were useless.

April 7

Limerick

There once was a young wife named Mimsy
whos dress was described as quite flimsy.
When she leaned on the bar
just a little too far,
we all saw what she'd only let him see.

You go girl! You can do it!

Thanks, embie.

April 8

You Win

Arguing with you is like pitting
a golf cart against a Mac Truck
in a game of chicken;
it's just plain stupid.
I will swerve
to avoid the collision,
skid off through a ditch,
spin my wheels in the mud
until I'm stuck.
You will chuckle from the cushy seat
of your big-rig, watch me dig
a hole and bury myself
until you're sure I've learned my lesson,
then smugly toss me
a tow-strap.

April 9

You Wear Dirty Underwear, Too

The note said, You fit me
as well as last year's jeans.
I couldn't refute. I noticed how you bulged
as I shrunk, how, after you shrugged
out of me, left me crumpled in a heap,
my impressions lingered on your skin.
You puffed, I constricted, you struggled
to breathe, yet every day you sprawled
on the bed, squeezed yourself in
and then wore me around,
a cover for your ugly butt.

hehe, Billy better get back in the gym, pronto

I wasn't talking about him, I swear.


Haiku (or something like it)

Morning sun-rays dive
into a pool of shadows.
Light ripples the dark.