Edited---This subject took on special meaning to me when a friend of a friend was charged with Child Molestation and is now serving ten years in prison. This man is 70 years old and also a hoarder.
I wrote another poem about his hoarding titled the Crab Shack, had I known then, that poem would’ve been much different. His family is still trying to get rid of all the stuff he amassed.
I'm the next door neighbor
a friend of a friend as
I shop through my life
to manage this trend.
Young boys coerced
drawn to will stay,
to fan my obsession
and blow me away.
Frightened by my longings
their eyes open wide
choke dark secrets
this horror must hide.
If their Daddy finds out
they will go away
and I'll have
no more special friend
no more sick play.
I'll tell you
it’s love
that’s why
I hang around
but love shouldn’t
hurt
make you feel bad
or hide in the shadows
stalking and sad.
Mother's
caution your babies--
on new friends debate
advise your children
to always tell,
lest they become
the hunted,
lost-- inside their shell.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Dessert
Dessert
is sweet
on the tongue,
it satisfies
the taste buds,
it completes
a special meal,
and it is
time spent
with a good
friend,
sharing past history
without judgment.
It leaves you
privileged
and
content.
is sweet
on the tongue,
it satisfies
the taste buds,
it completes
a special meal,
and it is
time spent
with a good
friend,
sharing past history
without judgment.
It leaves you
privileged
and
content.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Persistent Noise
It persisted
throughout the day
the drip, drip, drip,
ping, ping, ping
clap, clap clap,
until I stopped hearing it.
The sounds retreating
into the background,
to a distant roar
of a thousand hands
clapping,
encouraging minds
to delve deeper
to pursue
with a vengeance
that which needed
to be drawn out.
As a bucket lowered
into a deep well
deeper and deeper
until the only sound left
was the creak of the crank.
At the bottom a splash
drifting upward
higher
louder until,
water
icy cold
and wet
guzzled down.
Clear fresh water
pulled out of the earth
returning back towards the sky
an endless cycle
of energy
redeposited
into our depleted frames
multiplying
percentages
a thousand fold
until the roar
becomes us.
throughout the day
the drip, drip, drip,
ping, ping, ping
clap, clap clap,
until I stopped hearing it.
The sounds retreating
into the background,
to a distant roar
of a thousand hands
clapping,
encouraging minds
to delve deeper
to pursue
with a vengeance
that which needed
to be drawn out.
As a bucket lowered
into a deep well
deeper and deeper
until the only sound left
was the creak of the crank.
At the bottom a splash
drifting upward
higher
louder until,
water
icy cold
and wet
guzzled down.
Clear fresh water
pulled out of the earth
returning back towards the sky
an endless cycle
of energy
redeposited
into our depleted frames
multiplying
percentages
a thousand fold
until the roar
becomes us.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Pele’s Faith
A poem about doubt and faith
Nature is never rash,
doesn’t deviate from the plan.
Day into Night
Spring
Summer
Fall and
Winter.
Perfect progress
dominates her canvas,
conserves the integrity
of her seed.
She nourishes
her offspring
that worries not
about belief.
Even now
flawless
in her beauty.
Prudently marking time
her cauldrons simmer
beneath fiery lakes
dripping molten art.
Leaving indelible
impressions
vibrant and intense,
this testimony
cloaked in
nothing
save a
crimson smile.
Nature is never rash,
doesn’t deviate from the plan.
Day into Night
Spring
Summer
Fall and
Winter.
Perfect progress
dominates her canvas,
conserves the integrity
of her seed.
She nourishes
her offspring
that worries not
about belief.
Even now
flawless
in her beauty.
Prudently marking time
her cauldrons simmer
beneath fiery lakes
dripping molten art.
Leaving indelible
impressions
vibrant and intense,
this testimony
cloaked in
nothing
save a
crimson smile.
Word Play
Use the following VERBS to write a poem or story-
Racket, Snug, Green, Spoon, Boggle, Snake
I recently returned from a trek
climbing the Haiku Steps
popularly known as
“The Stairway to Heaven”,
seven thousand steps roundtrip
climbing a sheer rock face
exposed to the wind and rain
not for the faint of heart.
My hiking boots racketed
down the metal stairs.
Gloved hands
grasped the rusted
rickety railing as I
silently prayed my
legs would hold up
my cadence, remain constant.
My partner shushed
me, from the trail as he snaked his
way back from the banana patch
to make water, making sure
his camouflage jacket snugged
through the dense undergrowth
boggling the female boar suckling her young.
As she spooned later with her mate
safely beneath the lush fern
jungle,
greening
in the
Hawaiian sun.
Racket, Snug, Green, Spoon, Boggle, Snake
I recently returned from a trek
climbing the Haiku Steps
popularly known as
“The Stairway to Heaven”,
seven thousand steps roundtrip
climbing a sheer rock face
exposed to the wind and rain
not for the faint of heart.
My hiking boots racketed
down the metal stairs.
Gloved hands
grasped the rusted
rickety railing as I
silently prayed my
legs would hold up
my cadence, remain constant.
My partner shushed
me, from the trail as he snaked his
way back from the banana patch
to make water, making sure
his camouflage jacket snugged
through the dense undergrowth
boggling the female boar suckling her young.
As she spooned later with her mate
safely beneath the lush fern
jungle,
greening
in the
Hawaiian sun.
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