Little Green Men - POEM of the MONTH!

Little Green Men
 
I saw two little green men
Sunk into the cracks of a cold city,
Huddled, their skin blended
With the sidewalk and building
That held the sickly one upright;
Santa passed by without notice

Artist: John Leech - (Public Domain)
Poem Inspired by "A Christmas Carol"
by Sir Charles Dickens 

As they were puffing on a jay,
Feeling higher than the rising smoke
 
Feeling lower than the snowfall
Melting down the drain pipe
 
Stranger still, if possible,
I saw two homeless men,
Nameless and faceless
Until I sat down next to them;
They looked at me quizzically
Like I was a little green man;
The moment shortened
By the warmth of a blanket
 
By the warmth of a smile
Melting the ice from our hearts

 

 ~

 

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More Than the Moon - POEM of the MONTH!

More Than the Moon
 
The other side of the moon
Is dark
But I can see your magnificence
More clearly
 
With my closet door shut 

It is quiet
But I can hear your thoughts
Whisper openly
 
In gratitude
I give you my ear
On a busy sidewalk
You give me your voice
 
Openly
I give you my world
Clearly
You gave me more than the moon

Working Title - POEM of the MONTH!

Working Title
 
I was dead
In the red
That’s what the Man said
 
Though sometimes (I believe the lie)
My crimes (I cannot deny)
Cause grimes (Get me another rye)
 
When I fall
Will I crawl
Or be stuck in this brawl
 
Against the Man

With the plan

Sometimes with both hands
 
Why do I bleed (When it’s insufficient)
For pride and greed (And indulgent)
Instead of heed (I become belligerent)
 
Drawing straws

"Pen to Paper" by mbgrigby is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

For the world’s applause
With or without a cause
 
I’m a working title
Not accidental
But elemental
 
To the Man
With the plan
Even when I don’t understand
 
Love

The Hinge - a short story

The Hinge

There once was a small village with a meek clergyman. The clergyman shepherded a little church next to the cemetery atop a hill. Down from the church was a single sloping cobbled street. On both sides of the street were two rows of houses of various colors with shrubberies, and shops of all kinds of trade – all framed by tall trees on either side. It was a quiet village that led down to the Old Mill which was owned by the Mayor. The Mayor was known to visit a brothel from time to time at a nearby village across the bog. The Old Mill had a large wood crane which peered over the river. Here, the Mayor distilled his various spirits for the town and for merchants who passed by the Old Mill along the river. Each fall the villagers embraced their annual festival – it was the highlight of the year. Unbeknownst to the people, the entire village leaned on the Old Mill just as they leaned on the Mayor – for the festival hinged on his planning. 

"Gold Hill Shaftesbury Dorset" by 2create 
is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0. 

Just six days before the festival, on one Saturday night and into the next morning, the Mayor was away on business at the village across the bog. On this particular Sunday morning a single rusty old hinge on the wood crane of the Old Mill snapped. With a loud splash, the crane plunged into the river and pulled the Old Mill along with it. The village shook and one by one each house and shop slid down the hill and crashed into the river. Sadly, the people who were in their homes and shops were swept into the river and washed away. Others in the street gasped and  screamed – but were spared. They cried out in fear and mourned the loss of the other villagers. Their village was lost.

In their tears of dismay, they looked up the hill as the sunrise illuminated the cross atop the church – which was still standing. The shocked clergyman started to run down the hill to embrace his fellow villagers in comfort and service. An elderly man who was standing by the hardware store – where it once stood – picked up a shiny brass hinge and carried it with him as he started for the church. Some of the villagers remained in stunned silence and wished to cling to what they once had and who they had lost. Others murmured to each other and soon the look of emptiness came over them. One by one, they slowly followed the elderly man who was first greeted by the clergyman in the street. As they walked, the clergyman slipped on a loose cobble. Two others around him kept him from falling. With mixed laughter and tears they continued to walk up the hill passed the cemetery toward the church - toward the cross.

Road Race - POEM of the MONTH!

Road Race
(Performance Poem)
 
I arrive early like I always do

Word Press - Artist: Steven Woo

Never do like being late
Especially when it comes to
A bike race
 
Oh yeah! Seventy miles of
Adrenaline pumping
Elbows bumping
Heart pounding
Lactic-acid burning your legs
Until they scream!
 
Bike race
 
Of course, the pre-race jive 

With my team-mates 

Is filled with a bit more ego
We hammer on

About getting a couple of guys in a break
While the rest of the team blocks the field –
The perfect plan
But, as one famous commentator once said,
“It’s a bike race, anything can happen.”
Well Mr. Bob Roll, you are so right
 
We make our way to the start and off we roll!
The rush of wind fills my lungs
As I maintain position in the top ten
The first five miles contain of series

Of short climbs and rollers
That if you’re not careful

And attentive to the action at the front
You could get popped off the back

And riding home solo
 
The road gets a bit, a bit rough
Bouncing around the light-weights
Pfft-pfft-pfft-pfft-pfft
A rider falls victim 

To a chard of glass or a goat-head
Ending his day in the saddle

Word Press - Artist: Steven Woo

Teams are fighting for position
As we approach the one-lane bridge
The onto a couple of power-climbs
But no one’s feeling frisky yet
At least not until the third and final lap
 
That’s when I decide to go off-the-front
In hopes of dragging 

A couple of strong riders with me
And we get six in break!
But the anger of the field fuels them on
And chases us down like dogs
Another break attempt
Same result
This cat-and-mouse game goes on
Until the final 10K to-go marker
It’s hot! It’s August!
In the middle of the Salinas Valley
And the headwind begins 

To drop riders like flies
 
5K to-go – and the tension mounts
Riders are looking each other up and down
Like you’re about to steal 

Their mother’s purse
No one wants to pull through
Everyone’s saving their legs
For the up hill
Energy sapping
Oxygen depriving
Sprint!

1K to-go – and the pace really picks up!
This is the test

Word Press - Artist: Seven Woo

Was my training enough?
Was it smart enough?
Did I drink enough?
Grr! I’m suffering like an animal!
 
A gap opens up in front of me!
Keep the focus – concentrate
Fill that gap
Grab that wheel
Fill the gap
Grab the wheel
 
Bam! Crack! Screech! Pop!
Through my salt-filled blurry eyes
I spot a few riders pay homage
To the asphalt-gods

And kiss some skin good-bye
Ouch!
I avoid the carnage and hammer on!
 
With every muscle-fiber still responding 

To my central nervous-system
I stay with the surging pack 

Of carbon and titanium and groan
As I hang onto the lead group of five riders
100 meters to go!
Augh! My heart red-lines!
The air burns my lungs!
Shimmering stars fill my vision
Yet somehow, somehow
By the strength of God Almighty
I cross the finish line!
 
Life – it’s like a bike race

Anything can happen
Just – cross – the finish line

Enjoy the Ride! - POEM of the MONTH!

Enjoy the Ride!

On two wheels
Through the countryside
Or along a coastal highway
Find joy on the ride!
 
In a crowded room
Of tense anticipation
Or a recent victory
With exclamation
 
On two wheels
Through headwinds
Struggling or strong
Or with thrilling tailwinds
 
At the start of the day
Faced with uncertainty
Around the next corner
Feeling the anxiety
 
On two wheels
Along a river’s edge
Or stealing a view
Over a rocky ledge
 
At the end of a day
Arduous and long
Or on Sunday’s rest
Ending in quiet song
 
Up or down the road
Through the mountainside
Or a stretch in the valley
Find joy on the ride!

Stage 11 - Special Edition

Stage 11
 
At 11 O’clock
In Red Rocks
A patriotic
Jimi Hendrix
Jumps into the back of my car
And says he doesn’t have far
To go
And drive slow
 
How can this be?
Don’t you see?
I never asked for this
Something is amiss
 
In the 11^th inning
The other team is winning
A trusting manager
Calls the rookie hitter
My heart opens wide
As I nearly cried
To the plate
And swing at our winning fate
 
How can this be?
Don’t you see?
I only dreamed of this day
What else can I say?
 
The 11^th man
Stands
Up in silent admiration
Faced with a conundrum
She steals a glance
And I break my stance
A simultaneous greeting seems
To find the woman of my dreams
 
How can this be?
Don’t you see?
Just when least expected
A scene is directed
 
On Highway 11
Stopped by a voice from Heaven
But I prefer to depart
And argue in my heart
To be a Good Samaritan
But faith in action
Resulted in something far greater
Than what I had planned for later
 
How can this be?
Don’t you see?
I never dreamed of this day
What can I say?
 
At 11am among the youth
We are surrounded by truth
At a church on the hill
As the wind sends a chill
Despite my imperfection
A voice provides direction
Even at my age
But who’s on center stage?
 
How can this be?
Don’t you see?
I never asked for this
Something seems amiss
 
11 remain
Not the same
After the tomb
In the upper room
They slept on rocks
Among the flocks
Now it was their turn
To spread what they had learned
 
How can this be?
Don’t you see?
I never dreamed of this day
Give me the words to say!

 

Drawn - POEM of the MONTH!

Drawn
 
Drawn from one imagination
As all the beautiful images
From the Artist’s reflection
A thought before the Ages –
Why do we jump off the pages?

Fearfully and wonderfully made
Drawn in the same sketchbook
But we’re so easily swayed
Wondering what’s the next look
Making up our own rulebook

From a sickness of the heart
As the lost lead the lost
Even drawn to the aberrant
Ignoring the inevitable cost
Deception without exhaust

Soon the pages decrease in art
Not by lack of brush or pen
Or the inability to impart
But drawn by the creation
To the point of degradation

Unrecognizable to any eye
We become indelibly blind
As the images believe the Lie
And warp the original design
Drawn away from the Mastermind

~

Similar in theme to The Road Map [a pantoum]

Brilliance - Special Edition Poem

Brilliance
 
I am blinded by your brilliance
But you ask me to be a reflection;
I cannot stand in your presence
Without the filter of redemption.
 
All the stars are but a shadow
In comparison to your brilliance
And your name alone is hallow,
With mercy in eternal abundance.

 
It is finished.
 
Your grace has eternal abundance
And your name alone is hallow;
In comparison to your brilliance
The stars are only a shadow.
 
Without the filter of redemption
I cannot stand in your presence,
But you ask me to be a reflection
Though blinded by your brilliance.
 

~

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The Classified Ad - Poetic Prose

The Classified Ad

Professor of Literature seeking a story with an Original plot; a unique piece in the form of a novel, novella, or short story – poetic prose is acceptable. Submissions containing Overcoming Evil, or Rags to Riches, or a Quest, or a Voyage and Return, or Comedy, or Tragedy, or Romance, or Rebirth will not be accepted and subsequently burned. Manuscripts must contain a title page with the name of the Original plot. Only include your name if confident the piece is indeed Original, otherwise you will face the same demise as your manuscript. Admission of inadequacy will be rewarded.

Abundance (a haiku) - POEM of the MONTH! part 4

 

(Begin with Part 1)

Inception (a haiku) - POEM of the the MONTH! part 3

 Part 4 "Abundance"

Repentance (a haiku) - POEM of the MONTH! part 2

 Part 3 "Inception"

Disintegration (a haiku) - POEM of the MONTH part 1

 

Part 2 "Repentance"

Water Under My Bridge - POEM of the MONTH!

Water Under My Bridge
 
When rainfall blends with tears
Thunder claps across brow’s ridge
And when lightning strikes my fears
You are the water under my bridge
 

When the innocence of youth is lost
In dark, damp alleys discouraged
Even forgetting what grace cost
You are the water under my bridge

When the sweat and tears of vanity

Have overflowed into heavy baggage
And tossed into the river of sanity
You are the water under my bridge
 
When rust eats away at my heart
Weathered, beaten and damaged
In seasons abiding or nights apart
You are the water under my bridge
 
And when the bridge collapses
With a worn map for my passage
Or the world’s end of all the ages
You are the water under my bridge 

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