POETRY – Page 9

2014, POETRY, Uncategorized

My knee

April 5, 2018April 5, 2018 emorywolf3

My knee

I got a flat.
Right in the middle of service,
thought it was just the weather
That happens sometimes,
A slow leek,
Just plug it
A little something something for the pain
And keep on going.

But that didn’t work this time.,
The tiles behind the line were just too hard.
It kept going flat
And I was forced to go around on the rim,
With a towel wrapped tightly around it,
‘Til I was able to get to the mechanic,
Who told me that there might be a tear
On the meniscus side
And it had to be sown up ;
But he wasn’t really sure.

So I went to a specialist on tires and frames.
He pok’d and twist’d my tire,
Took some pictures of my frame
And said the frame was fine.
I knew that
But still the pictures were taken.
And as with all mechanics
I pay for it;
Even if they weren’t needed
Or couldn’t do anything about it.

So then I was hook’d up to the dianasitic machine
And they listen’d to the sounds of electronic jack hammers
While I couldn’t move
In a white claustrophobic tube,
And gave it to me on a cd.

Lets say that’s the most expensive cd
I’ve ever bought.

2016, POETRY, Uncategorized

Don’t Forget

April 5, 2018 emorywolf3

Don’t forget
to remind you to remember me again.
Or is it,
remind me to remember you?
Either way it’s confusing,
shrouding me in shadow,
and blinding me.

You come and go,
yo-yo,
watch
‘walking the wolf.’
Maybe we still have time to be.
Maybe between grief and forgetting,
we still have a chance.
Or is it already too late
and all our misfortune came from the fact?

2018, POETRY, Uncategorized

The plastic bag crossing the road

March 16, 2018April 5, 2018 emorywolf3

There’s nothing as real

As the way I feel.

Tossed round

Up and down

Smacked to the grill

Down

Carried on the undercarriage.

Under the wheel.

And then tossed out again.

To go up

And down

And back to the whole routine again

One lane at a time.

2018, POETRY, Uncategorized

Thoughts lost within the kitchen

March 14, 2018April 5, 2018 emorywolf3

It was quiet

In the kitchen

All day,

As I prepped for the evening

Just me, the cutting board,

And my knife.

Cutting veggies,

Butchering lamb racks, tuna,

And salmon.

I had done the sauces earlier.

And than the night crew came in.

Rattling off words so fast,

And loud,

There went the peacefulness

The silence

The time to think.

2002, POETRY, The Uncollected Poems

The Birds

March 14, 2018 emorywolf3

After talking to you .
I let the dogs out
and went about cleaning my room.
going through papers and books.
trying to make since of it all.
I put on Nick Cave’s Boatman’s Call.
and then went out side
to look at my pepper and tomato plants.

The birds become abundant
crying ,
searching
Buddy Gump walks at a fast pace
with birds flying all around him.
orange chests pushed into his face
beaks pecking at his butt
his tail tucked underneath.

I recall
a kitten that once purred in my lap;
then, later she clawed at my face.
her tail wagging,
strong sharp snaps
back and forth.

The birds circumvent me,
as Buddy hid behind me.
Their brown wings
crack before me.
I stand.
Their movements become tornadic.
screeches
yells
they fly from me
to Buddy
to the trees
to the small black birds that fly about the sky.

but what was this all about?

There is a secret caught inside,
inside the throat.
hidden radiant whiteness.
innocence.

Two birds attack and hammer us back,
Buddy Gump, I and the other birds.

But for what?
I bear witness to my own cowardice,
As I see that they joined together
to declare us dead.
for love:
a little baby bird had fallen
while trying to fly.
He had come down to rest within the dangers of the ground world.
for him these birds have lived
and for him they will die.

What they didn’t realize,
Buddy Gump was just trying to say hi,
to the little bird.