light filters in sideways
into the brown tea room
the girl with bright blue eyes
stares out the window
her face is calm
soft piano music drifts around
there’s odd hope and whimsy
Poetry
I’m working on writing a thousand poems. I started in April 2015.
Poem #139
hey Siri
I’m cheery
I’ve got a theory
why’d they do that?
something to look at
fat cat
screen flat
let’s chat
I’m at
top hat
I’m so bleary
not the least bit leery
hey dearie
I’m tired and teary
Poem #138
around and around
it goes
moving hot air around
you know
the temperature does not go down
not cold
Poem #137
Jenny’s blood stream
chocolate chips
mochi
spot 242
orange lantern fireflies
Poem #136
the chameleon girl did not notice
the gentle fluttering, a frantic but effective movement,
of the dusty brown moth eyeing her soup
she did not notice its eventual fall
she did not notice as the soup coated its wings
the powdered surface lost its micro scales
to the thick and unforgiving soup
she scooped up another spoonful
she did notice the half dead moth now
but she couldn’t save it, and that’s it.
Poem #135
weekdays feel like weekends
it’s odd and awesome
Poem #134
the janitor hauled his supplies
past messy desks and office plants
every night he cleaned the floors
dusted the vents and threw out trash
on this particular night, he had no head phones
so he hummed to himself: a ballad
his hums intertwined with a soft wailing
at first he paid no attention, just harmonizing
but it grew louder until it was a full-fledged scream
continuous and all-encompassing
he cautiously crept towards the restrooms
as he opened the door, it stopped
inside the bathroom, a figure laid on the floor
“are you okay?” the janitor asked
the woman looked up at him
she ducked her head, ashamed
she said, “the work never stops”
Poem #133
hola sweet stuff
hey dollface
hi cuteness
hello darlin’
Poem #132
my skin burns
with a dull tight heat
I need to relax
and yet I’ve laid down
my brain is empty and full
like everything is hectic
just beyond my reach
I see everything
but can’t focus on it
can’t draw it in
I need to snap back
like I always do
when I get like this
until then I flounder
waiting for normalcy
Poem #131
she sells seashells
at the shore
seaside
but it’s illegal
avoid the cops
she can sniff ’em
pretend to sell other wares
she shouts at beach goers
“great deals, almost steals”
the right people know
what she does
and they direct traffic
she will get rich
with this market
and nothing can stop her