Start posting!

On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> Start posting!

Cutting Board

They once fixed a hole in your heart,
now you cut your arm's flesh, begging attention.

Did you forget the attention, the five year wait
until your newborn body could handle such a job?

You were told of the prayers, handled with care,
watched around the clock.

Then they opened you up, breastbone spread
as if a clam shell, the heart pulsed in gloved fingers
and the repair was complete.

And now you're nineteen, confused and cutting--
not deep enough to sever a vein, just enough to scab
and you're asked about the damage.

Now the prayers start over and you'll be taken for help,
hopefully realizing the attention you now seek
has always been there.

Edward Rochester Esq.

On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 9:24:52 AM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > Start posting!
>
>
> Cutting Board
>
> They once fixed a hole in your heart,
> now you cut your arm's flesh, begging attention.
>
> Did you forget the attention, the five year wait
> until your newborn body could handle such a job?
>
> You were told of the prayers, handled with care,
> watched around the clock.
>
> Then they opened you up, breastbone spread
> as if a clam shell, the heart pulsed in gloved fingers
> and the repair was complete.
>
> And now you're nineteen, confused and cutting--
> not deep enough to sever a vein, just enough to scab
> and you're asked about the damage.
>
> Now the prayers start over and you'll be taken for help,
> hopefully realizing the attention you now seek
> has always been there.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Other Side

Sun has broken out
still my frolic wears a mask,
my song is muffled,
behind this wall
of supposed sanity.

I hear shrieks and screams
from the other side, logic as dormant as stumps,
echo from the throats of confusion
yet they are fellow man and the dilemma approaches--
the ladder is set and climbed and the other side
comes into view.

It's quiet, serene as children skip on sidewalks,
while over there, the bus delivers day workers
as crossing guards display stop/go to the rush home.

Is it me that is mad as I climb back down to my safe zone?

I have much thinking to do, waving down the N4
that will take me to those safe days of solitude.

Edward Rochester Esq.

On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> Start posting!
------------------------------------------------------------------

Re-Purpose
..

I’m in the process of embracing my own death,
a silent friend who has walked every mile and witnessed
every star that has never seemed to move.

I shall not visit the ocean for a last glimpse, a final swim,
preferring to be wrapped by the spider that watches
from the dark corner, quiet and patient.

I could kill him, I suppose, but who will wrap me up
as tight as a gift, bringing a final black to it all
and I must ask myself, as written down on the last questionnaire--
who was touched by my taking of limited space and breath?
How many smiled or cried or just walked away from a man
that tried only to understand the unanswerable.

I’ve left it blank--
I’m guilty of too many dismissals to those that should have received
a handshake.

I’ve leered at those that were unaware; my only thought was conquest,
stripping them down to bare bone, repair, repaint, though they were fine
just as presented without makeover by the one that needed it most.

The spider moved, continuing work on its perfect weave, never confused
by purpose.

We are the same, I assume, retreating to corners of safety, unaffected by wind
or glow of lamp but I must keep him alive; I toss a fly
into the silk and with a rush, that spider rolls its prey
into what now resembles a grain of white rice.

I shall become a fine supper one day.

Edward Rochester Esq.

On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 4:39:07 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > Start posting!
> ------------------------------------------------------------------
>
>
> Re-Purpose
> .
>
> I’m in the process of embracing my own death,
> a silent friend who has walked every mile and witnessed
> every star that has never seemed to move.
>
> I shall not visit the ocean for a last glimpse, a final swim,
> preferring to be wrapped by the spider that watches
> from the dark corner, quiet and patient.
>
> I could kill him, I suppose, but who will wrap me up
> as tight as a gift, bringing a final black to it all
> and I must ask myself, as written down on the last questionnaire--
> who was touched by my taking of limited space and breath?
> How many smiled or cried or just walked away from a man
> that tried only to understand the unanswerable.
>
> I’ve left it blank--
> I’m guilty of too many dismissals to those that should have received
> a handshake.
>
> I’ve leered at those that were unaware; my only thought was conquest,
> stripping them down to bare bone, repair, repaint, though they were fine
> just as presented without makeover by the one that needed it most.
>
> The spider moved, continuing work on its perfect weave, never confused
> by purpose.
>
>
> We are the same, I assume, retreating to corners of safety, unaffected by wind
> or glow of lamp but I must keep him alive; I toss a fly
> into the silk and with a rush, that spider rolls its prey
> into what now resembles a grain of white rice.
>
> I shall become a fine supper one day.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 8:52:13 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 4:39:07 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail..com wrote:
> > > Start posting!
> > ------------------------------------------------------------------
> >
> >
> > Re-Purpose
> > .
> >
> > I’m in the process of embracing my own death,
> > a silent friend who has walked every mile and witnessed
> > every star that has never seemed to move.
> >
> > I shall not visit the ocean for a last glimpse, a final swim,
> > preferring to be wrapped by the spider that watches
> > from the dark corner, quiet and patient.
> >
> > I could kill him, I suppose, but who will wrap me up
> > as tight as a gift, bringing a final black to it all
> > and I must ask myself, as written down on the last questionnaire--
> > who was touched by my taking of limited space and breath?
> > How many smiled or cried or just walked away from a man
> > that tried only to understand the unanswerable.
> >
> > I’ve left it blank--
> > I’m guilty of too many dismissals to those that should have received
> > a handshake.
> >
> > I’ve leered at those that were unaware; my only thought was conquest,
> > stripping them down to bare bone, repair, repaint, though they were fine
> > just as presented without makeover by the one that needed it most.
> >
> > The spider moved, continuing work on its perfect weave, never confused
> > by purpose.
> >
> >
> > We are the same, I assume, retreating to corners of safety, unaffected by wind
> > or glow of lamp but I must keep him alive; I toss a fly
> > into the silk and with a rush, that spider rolls its prey
> > into what now resembles a grain of white rice.
> >
> > I shall become a fine supper one day.
> >
> > Edward Rochester Esq.
> ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> Start posting!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Camp Lejeune Calling
by NancyGene

That Camp Lejeune kept calling me
and writing me and giving free
advice on water in ’53.

Or, was I a Marine in ‘87
who drank the water then went to Heaven--
what soldiers could buy Evian?

If I was a Marine or drank bad water,
I’d join the suit, put my name on the blotter
and get some cash from my war alma mater.

I’d never been and the telephone rang,
the emails came and the mail harangued
a letter a day, and a plan soon sprang

to drive down there, an N.C. trip,
to stop for a day and take a sip
or gulp it down drip, drip, drip.

I swallowed as much as I could take,
told callers I was there and am not a fake,
but I’m few and proud with a stomach ache.

On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> Start posting!
------------------------------------------------

X Marks the Spot

His mother died
but not a word of goodbye,
a brother bought some boots,
but not a word of thanks.

Cigarettes are rationed
to lengthen the life
of a man whose disability check
insures a roof
over a self-proclaimed
gift from above.

I learned to cry
back when crying wasn’t manly
and for that I’m grateful,
those tears exposing sympathy,
or sorrow from lost love.

Now bitterness has replaced
feelings inside a poetry closet
that should offer all emotions,
enlightenment though words
but here, nothing remains, lucidity
drifts down a riverbank
where leaves are fluffed as pillows,
squirrels scamper above
a coughing spasm below.

I find no solace
from the odd retirement
of those that have done nothing.

I find all the women behind these men
have either ran or died, grateful their escape
from those that hang onto sanity from a fingernail,
dirty from the grovel of existence.

I’m grateful for those that tried,
spit on those that consider living is more taking
than giving.

I’m most grateful my time inside this carnival
will soon end, my ‘get out of jail' card
arriving soon and in time to heal
this infection of fools.

I give myself an ‘X’, a parting suitable
and in step but remain grateful.
as with the tears of youth, I have learned
much about life through the eyes of those
that have learned nothing.

Edward Rochester Esq.

On Wednesday, October 5, 2022 at 4:47:35 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> Camp Lejeune Calling
> by NancyGene
>
> That Camp Lejeune kept calling me
> and writing me and giving free
> advice on water in ’53.
>
> Or, was I a Marine in ‘87
> who drank the water then went to Heaven--
> what soldiers could buy Evian?
>
> If I was a Marine or drank bad water,
> I’d join the suit, put my name on the blotter
> and get some cash from my war alma mater.
>
> I’d never been and the telephone rang,
> the emails came and the mail harangued
> a letter a day, and a plan soon sprang
>
> to drive down there, an N.C. trip,
> to stop for a day and take a sip
> or gulp it down drip, drip, drip.
>
> I swallowed as much as I could take,
> told callers I was there and am not a fake,
> but I’m few and proud with a stomach ache.

Morning Colors what I write
with words written in black and white.
https://youtu.be/D-fw1ihoAhQ

On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> Start posting

------------------------------------------------------

Day Breaks

It's in the a.m.'s of the day,
when all seems to die,
I'll watch as a streetlight
tries its best
to impersonate the sun
while single leaf waves,
disturbed by a pesky breeze.

Now, they are all sleeping,
those I watch eating their morning eggs,
sipping a coffee
catching the headlines
of regurgitated evil
or the Dow's dip--
always aware I'm part of
their zombie walk.

So many strangers in the a.m.'s,
hiding under blanket coffins
until light appears
over the Ranch house next door
while yawns become symphonies
and birds begin their solos
as traffic lights turn green for go
back into the p.m.'s
of life's wonder.

Edward Rochester Esq.

On Saturday, 8 October 2022 at 07:44:38 UTC-4, blackpo...@aol.com wrote:
> On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > Start posting
> ------------------------------------------------------
>
>
> Day Breaks
>
> It's in the a.m.'s of the day,
> when all seems to die,
> I'll watch as a streetlight
> tries its best
> to impersonate the sun
> while single leaf waves,
> disturbed by a pesky breeze.
>
> Now, they are all sleeping,
> those I watch eating their morning eggs,
> sipping a coffee
> catching the headlines
> of regurgitated evil
> or the Dow's dip--
> always aware I'm part of
> their zombie walk.
>
> So many strangers in the a.m.'s,
> hiding under blanket coffins
> until light appears
> over the Ranch house next door
> while yawns become symphonies
> and birds begin their solos
> as traffic lights turn green for go
> back into the p.m.'s
> of life's wonder.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.

On Wednesday, 5 October 2022 at 16:47:35 UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> Camp Lejeune Calling
> by NancyGene
>
> That Camp Lejeune kept calling me
> and writing me and giving free
> advice on water in ’53.
>
> Or, was I a Marine in ‘87
> who drank the water then went to Heaven--
> what soldiers could buy Evian?
>
> If I was a Marine or drank bad water,
> I’d join the suit, put my name on the blotter
> and get some cash from my war alma mater.
>
> I’d never been and the telephone rang,
> the emails came and the mail harangued
> a letter a day, and a plan soon sprang
>
> to drive down there, an N.C. trip,
> to stop for a day and take a sip
> or gulp it down drip, drip, drip.
>
> I swallowed as much as I could take,
> told callers I was there and am not a fake,
> but I’m few and proud with a stomach ache.

OCTOBER

The Summer verdure fades like dying grass,
Grows brittle like the gathered stalks of corn
That guard the hillside on a sunless morn,
Bears testament that men, like seasons, pass.

I shiver in the wind that blows as cold
As graveyard whispers drifting through the dawn,
For all I've ever loved in life is gone
And like the season, I am growing old.

October flutters in on raven wings,
Sings ancient psalms of sorrow and decay --
Of spindle-leggéd hours that whisk away
The soldiers, sailors, carpenters, and kings

Who pass like frosted glints of morning dew
Or dreams of love when Summertime was new.

*****

JOURNEY'S END
Last train to nowhere rumbles round the bend
Heads toward the platform with the gait of age;
The speaker says I've reached my journey's end
And as I pen my journal's final page
I shed a tear for all that might have been.

I've traveled here and there across life's span
Though not so far to match a young boy's dreams,
For in the end, I'm just another man
And as my world unravels at the seams
I wonder what my three-score years can mean.

The door slides back that I might disembark
And greet the darkness with a crooked grin,
A silhouette steps slowly through the stark
Criss-cross of streetlights; one last swig of gin
Before I turn and vanish from the scene.

-- Michael Pendragon

*****

The Thick and the Dead
by NancyGene

The fog was thick and he was dead.
Our dog lay down beside his head.
The bog had swallowed most of Ted.

(Ted was the last of his kind.)

My husband of ‘most twenty years
Was shunned by folks who had their fears,
Unaccustomed to a man with ears,

(Ted just wanted to fit in.)

The size of Ted’s, which matched his frame,
And eyes that burned with yellow flame,
So wise in ways to fete Beltane.

(Ted overcompensated.)

Crowds chased us into graveyard muck.
Ted faced them, all too soon was stuck,
Disgraced by birth, big ears, bad luck.

(Ted was an introvert.)

I screamed and begged them let us go,
But streams of ogres dealt the blow,
And gleams from single eyes vetoed

(Ted became a victim of a hate crime.)

Escape for us to kinder woods,
Where shape and size were understood--
Misshapes could earn a livelihood.

(Ted had dreams of bettering himself.)

I buried Ted just where he sank,
And carried guilt right to the bank.
Unmarried now, but have to thank

(Ted would have wanted me to be happy.)

The gargoyle who befriended me,
And parboiled Cyclops splendidly
In marbled soup stock blended (pea).

(Which Ted would like if he weren’t dead.)

We perch on churches’ upper walls,
But lurch at unexpected falls
And search when we hear children call:

A trick! In thick fog led…you’re dead!

On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 9:24:52 AM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > Start posting!
>
>
> Cutting Board
>
> They once fixed a hole in your heart,
> now you cut your arm's flesh, begging attention.
>
> Did you forget the attention, the five year wait
> until your newborn body could handle such a job?
>
> You were told of the prayers, handled with care,
> watched around the clock.
>
> Then they opened you up, breastbone spread
> as if a clam shell, the heart pulsed in gloved fingers
> and the repair was complete.
>
> And now you're nineteen, confused and cutting--
> not deep enough to sever a vein, just enough to scab
> and you're asked about the damage.
>
> Now the prayers start over and you'll be taken for help,
> hopefully realizing the attention you now seek
> has always been there.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.
-------------------------------------------------------------

The Reading

I don't have much of anything to leave you.

Perhaps some hundred or so, water stained,
storm damaged art pieces--

6000 or so, poems, half-finished sculptures,
a garage filled with everything everyone threw away,
thinking it junk while I saw abstract beauty
and dragged it home.

I'm leaving the slides and projector, my father had--
all the days of growing up, saved for your viewing.

Don't laugh, it was different days of style, but it was the
beginnings of you.

There isn't much money to share but hopefully good memories.

Yes, I yelled at times. I apologize but you sure could heat it up.

You'll find some Army stuff, nothing much but a hint of service.

Those days you went or headed north.

Not many of my friends remain, you'll see them in the slides
and you'll see you, hidden in blankets, safe and comfortable.

I leave you the best part, a name you can be proud of.

Wear it well.

It wasn't steak all the time but remember your worth.

At times, character takes up the slack.

Dad

On Monday, 10 October 2022 at 15:18:51 UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> The Thick and the Dead
> by NancyGene
>
> The fog was thick and he was dead.
> Our dog lay down beside his head.
> The bog had swallowed most of Ted.
>
> (Ted was the last of his kind.)
>
> My husband of ‘most twenty years
> Was shunned by folks who had their fears,
> Unaccustomed to a man with ears,
>
> (Ted just wanted to fit in.)
>
> The size of Ted’s, which matched his frame,
> And eyes that burned with yellow flame,
> So wise in ways to fete Beltane.
>
> (Ted overcompensated.)
>
> Crowds chased us into graveyard muck.
> Ted faced them, all too soon was stuck,
> Disgraced by birth, big ears, bad luck.
>
> (Ted was an introvert.)
>
> I screamed and begged them let us go,
> But streams of ogres dealt the blow,
> And gleams from single eyes vetoed
>
> (Ted became a victim of a hate crime.)
>
> Escape for us to kinder woods,
> Where shape and size were understood--
> Misshapes could earn a livelihood.
>
> (Ted had dreams of bettering himself.)
>
> I buried Ted just where he sank,
> And carried guilt right to the bank.
> Unmarried now, but have to thank
>
> (Ted would have wanted me to be happy.)
>
> The gargoyle who befriended me,
> And parboiled Cyclops splendidly
> In marbled soup stock blended (pea).
>
> (Which Ted would like if he weren’t dead.)
>
> We perch on churches’ upper walls,
> But lurch at unexpected falls
> And search when we hear children call:
>
> A trick! In thick fog led…you’re dead!

On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> Start posting!

I don’t have a poem to add, but found this thread at the bottom of page two, and thought it could use a lift.

On Sunday, 9 October 2022 at 22:32:36 UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> JOURNEY'S END
>
> Last train to nowhere rumbles round the bend
> Heads toward the platform with the gait of age;
> The speaker says I've reached my journey's end
> And as I pen my journal's final page
> I shed a tear for all that might have been.
>
> I've traveled here and there across life's span
> Though not so far to match a young boy's dreams,
> For in the end, I'm just another man
> And as my world unravels at the seams
> I wonder what my three-score years can mean.
>
> The door slides back that I might disembark
> And greet the darkness with a crooked grin,
> A silhouette steps slowly through the stark
> Criss-cross of streetlights; one last swig of gin
> Before I turn and vanish from the scene.
>
> -- Michael Pendragon
>
> *****

On Monday, 10 October 2022 at 15:18:51 UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> The Thick and the Dead
> by NancyGene
>
> The fog was thick and he was dead.
> Our dog lay down beside his head.
> The bog had swallowed most of Ted.
>
> (Ted was the last of his kind.)
>
> My husband of ‘most twenty years
> Was shunned by folks who had their fears,
> Unaccustomed to a man with ears,
>
> (Ted just wanted to fit in.)
>
> The size of Ted’s, which matched his frame,
> And eyes that burned with yellow flame,
> So wise in ways to fete Beltane.
>
> (Ted overcompensated.)
>
> Crowds chased us into graveyard muck.
> Ted faced them, all too soon was stuck,
> Disgraced by birth, big ears, bad luck.
>
> (Ted was an introvert.)
>
> I screamed and begged them let us go,
> But streams of ogres dealt the blow,
> And gleams from single eyes vetoed
>
> (Ted became a victim of a hate crime.)
>
> Escape for us to kinder woods,
> Where shape and size were understood--
> Misshapes could earn a livelihood.
>
> (Ted had dreams of bettering himself.)
>
> I buried Ted just where he sank,
> And carried guilt right to the bank.
> Unmarried now, but have to thank
>
> (Ted would have wanted me to be happy.)
>
> The gargoyle who befriended me,
> And parboiled Cyclops splendidly
> In marbled soup stock blended (pea).
>
> (Which Ted would like if he weren’t dead.)
>
> We perch on churches’ upper walls,
> But lurch at unexpected falls
> And search when we hear children call:
>
> A trick! In thick fog led…you’re dead!

On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> Start posting!
-------------------------------------------------------------

Cotton Candy, Buttered Popcorn and Cobwebs

Why must I drift back to the Wonder Wheel before sleep?
It's far from a lullabye, those pipe organs remain a bit off
and the clowns always looked sad when throwing confetti water
to the front row.

You're gone, nowhere to be found inside this house of mirrors
though there is one painted wooden pony, riderless, its rotation
never reaching a destination never stopping to breathe
before I finally drift off.

How, we wondered, did they spin that cotton candy, a pink cobweb
of sugar, we the spiders complete with sticky kisses.

I cooked a popcorn bag tonight, watched it expand
inside the microwave until the very last pop told me it was done.

I didn't eat any, we found seagulls like to land, garb a piece
and head off, their movie about to begin.

Never a kernel left by morning,

You're gone as well.

Edward Rochester Esq.

On Tuesday, October 11, 2022 at 7:50:08 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > Start posting!
> -------------------------------------------------------------
>
> Cotton Candy, Buttered Popcorn and Cobwebs
>
> Why must I drift back to the Wonder Wheel before sleep?
> It's far from a lullabye, those pipe organs remain a bit off
> and the clowns always looked sad when throwing confetti water
> to the front row.
>
> You're gone, nowhere to be found inside this house of mirrors
> though there is one painted wooden pony, riderless, its rotation
> never reaching a destination never stopping to breathe
> before I finally drift off.
>
> How, we wondered, did they spin that cotton candy, a pink cobweb
> of sugar, we the spiders complete with sticky kisses.
>
> I cooked a popcorn bag tonight, watched it expand
> inside the microwave until the very last pop told me it was done.
>
> I didn't eat any, we found seagulls like to land, garb a piece
> and head off, their movie about to begin.
>
> Never a kernel left by morning,
>
> You're gone as well.
>
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.

Yes, Grab.

On Tuesday, October 11, 2022 at 11:52:59 PM UTC, blackpo...@aol.com wrote:
> On Tuesday, October 11, 2022 at 7:50:08 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > Start posting!
> > -------------------------------------------------------------
> >
> > Cotton Candy, Buttered Popcorn and Cobwebs
> >
> > Why must I drift back to the Wonder Wheel before sleep?
> > It's far from a lullabye, those pipe organs remain a bit off
> > and the clowns always looked sad when throwing confetti water
> > to the front row.
> >
> > You're gone, nowhere to be found inside this house of mirrors
> > though there is one painted wooden pony, riderless, its rotation
> > never reaching a destination never stopping to breathe
> > before I finally drift off.
> >
> > How, we wondered, did they spin that cotton candy, a pink cobweb
> > of sugar, we the spiders complete with sticky kisses.
> >
> > I cooked a popcorn bag tonight, watched it expand
> > inside the microwave until the very last pop told me it was done.
> >
> > I didn't eat any, we found seagulls like to land, garb a piece
> > and head off, their movie about to begin.
> >
> > Never a kernel left by morning,
> >
> > You're gone as well.
> >
> >
> > Edward Rochester Esq.
> Yes, Grab.
"Garb themselves in white kernel pieces" would also work.

On Tuesday, October 11, 2022 at 7:50:08 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> On Tuesday, October 4, 2022 at 12:17:50 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > Start posting!
> -------------------------------------------------------------
>
> Cotton Candy, Buttered Popcorn and Cobwebs
>
> Why must I drift back to the Wonder Wheel before sleep?
> It's far from a lullabye, those pipe organs remain a bit off
> and the clowns always looked sad when throwing confetti water
> to the front row.
>
> You're gone, nowhere to be found inside this house of mirrors
> though there is one painted wooden pony, riderless, its rotation
> never reaching a destination never stopping to breathe
> before I finally drift off.
>
> How, we wondered, did they spin that cotton candy, a pink cobweb
> of sugar, we the spiders complete with sticky kisses.
>
> I cooked a popcorn bag tonight, watched it expand
> inside the microwave until the very last pop told me it was done.
>
> I didn't eat any, we found seagulls like to land, garb a piece
> and head off, their movie about to begin.
>
> Never a kernel left by morning,
>
> You're gone as well.
>
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.
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