Pint Iron Exercise

I tried to find a rhyme for pint,
But couldn't seem to get it right.
So next I guessed a word for iron,
But my muse put out that fire.

If I Could Afford to be Vain

It is surely a shame to think
How sad some people are,
Some are prone to shake or stink,
Leaving the world so marred.

Some people have no tact
And sloppily speak out of turn.
They dress a-mess, I must confess,
And need lessons how to act.

Ugly people are not pretty
And have little to offer.
Even if their insides shine,
Their faces are quite the bother.

Fat people are just fat
And have folds of dimpled skin.
Most spaces are far too small
To fit a fervent fatty in.

So think of the curse, if you dare,
And how horrible it would be,
To have to take out on a date
A person who was all three!

My Back is Sore

What two hours caused this pain
And racked my back with soreness?
Why can I not sit up straight
To displayed my regal erectness?

Was it the walking up the hill,
Or hurried steps back down it?
Should I blame the way I sleep,
Or find a more active culprit?

When I twist at my trunk,
Should my back pull near my neck?
And when I bend to lift something,
Should I have such trouble getting it?

I think I'll sleep for now,
And worry on conditions later.
Why fret over mysterious pains
When speculation is not a savior?

The Winter Song

Lallygagging around the windows
Christmas season sees the lights glow
And we’re all captured by
That lovely train whistling sound.

Snow does not fall around here,
But there’s still hope for layered frost.
I’d love to see my family
But New Years plans are often dropped.

Kisses, cuddles, then alone
And wishing strongly you were home,
Sitting sobbing surrounded by
The people who have made you cry.

Nothing’s better than the breeze
By the river, near the trees.
Easy rhymes and slow debauching,
We laugh at stumbles without judging.

And then it’s time to read again,
Close your eyes, but don’t pretend
That we matter: because we don’t.
It’s just that winter kind of quiet hope.

When You Speak

When you speak you're beautiful:
I want to hear so much more about you,
But only if you are the one telling me.

The way your thin lips bounce off of your words
Leaves me only wanting to hear, to watch more,
And I want to be closer to you with every story.

Your eyes smight me with their coy rush
And your smirk often plays a phoenix,
Reinvented in its capturing novelty with each flash.

Smooth Criminal

The quicksilver magic of the gunman's hand
Impressed even the lady tellers being drawn on.
His parted hair and navy suit implied professionalism,
But it was his grip in those leather gloves,
And how light and smooth he was on his feet,
That let everyone know his skill and experience.

They were worried,
They could die!
He looked like he could kill
Everyone in the room
Without even flinching
One of those big, green eyes.

Had he not been so handsome,
They would have noticed the alarm on,
But being in danger is sexy
When men look like him.

Coughing

I cough
And the crackling pop explosions
Move from my chest into my throat.
My shins are cold and my nose hints
At running down my face, over my lips.
I clear my throat, but the inside sill itches
And coughing again only tastes like rust.

I cough again
And the muscles inside my stomach lurch inward
Helping my static filled lungs push out their dust.
I take a deep breath to cool the throat kindling
And deep nose breaths send down cooling gusts,
Reminding me of how cold the entire room is.

Georgia Beach

Cattails curve in Georgia beach breezes
While I leave foot prints in the sand.

I will find a perfect spot to set down our things
If the salty sea-smell doesn't set me first.

I blow into plastic fumes to inflate bright rafts
And in the water, steer clear of the sharp rocks.

Sandwiches crunch with grainy sand bites
And seagulls snack on my discarded crust.

I will bob in the foamy wave tops
Coming up every time they dunk me.

There is certainly wind enough for the kite,
But wouldn't you rather just sleep in this sun,
Or return back to the breaks and bathe,
Looking out to where the sky swallows the sea
And creates that blue fusion line of eternity?

And I was Dancing, And I was Happy

And I was dancing,
And I has happy,
Twirling and jumping,
Spinning and shaking
With those beats and those
Steady, hard rhythms.

I sweat and smiled,
I laughed while I sang
The words that I knew,
I would go outside
To cool myself down,
Then back to the fun.

Buy you unraveled,
Confused little girl,
And I thought that it
Was mostly sad but
Aimed at attention,
So then it became
Quite hilarious.

And I was dancing,
And I has happy.

Every Single Time

Every single time
I see you with any
Sort of bottle in your
Hand, or shot glass,
Or margarita, I know
That later you will
Wobble through the
Crowd with concerned
Friends behind you,
Ruining their night,
And making a damn
Pathetic spectacle
Or your immaturity
And gross irresponsibility.
I would not care so much
about your flightiness
If it didn't effect every
Social function I find
Both of us attending:

Throw up.
Grow up.
Act like an adult.

With your head of air,
Why are you here?
And who invited you
Or your friends?

Humming Orange Light

The big bowl light hums
A low, constant vibrato
As it pours pathetic orange
Light down on my work,
Both mocking my vision
And that slice of solitude
That I had hoped to carve

It hums. It hums. It hums.
While I try to read
It Hums, It Hums, It Hums,
While I try to write
ITHUMSITHUMSITHUMS
All the while ruining my sight.

I can't get away
During any piece
Of the noisy day.
And now must close
To the quiet darkness
For that silent
And unproductive
Sleep away from
My orange alarm.

There.

I peal off those long hairs
From my dress coat's shoulders
And am reminded of when
It seemed your head had a home
There.

I brush off those small black
Pieces of eraser from the paper
And am reminded of when
It seemed your smile had a home
There.

Now you've left, homeless,
Away from my arms
And gone from my pen,
But you still find the time
To occasionally hide
There.

Christmas Lights

Long, sagging strands of Christmas lights,
Tangled in their hunter green helix cords,
Stay stapled and hung on house seams
Weeks into the new year's novelty.

They sway in the cold winter breezes
And sag down when it has rained,
But they will not be turned on again
For the fear of losing neighborly tact.

Lazy, lumbering husbands will climb ladders
To eventually tug them down again.
They'll coil and hide them in molding cardboard boxes,
Forgetting them in the corners of attics or garages.

Fire is a Flower

Fire is a flower
That is too hot to sniff.
Your nose would burn off
And you wouldn't smell it.

Your fingers would char
And you'd lose your eyebrows.
You skin would melt and blister
While it withered and turned brown.

And while it blooms in reds and blues,
And sometimes even yellow too,
Fire is a flower that I'd never smell,
But I'd sure as Hell ask you to!

Calling for Esteban

Esteban!
Where is my hair?
I was sure that
I had left it here!

Esteban!
Where is my powder?
I should shine white
After my shower!

Esteban!
Where is my robe?
I was supposed to shine
There at the show!

Esteban!
Where is my help?
I thought you had joked
About hanging yourself!

Thick Dust

Thick dust smocks
lingering antiques
That rot in attics
and litter living wills,

Layered with the
weight of decades
Lain in storage,

unused and nude
Of purpose, saved
for value and prestige.

Aging

The weight of the sun
Will curve our backs
While the wear of the wind
Will wrinkle our skin.

Day to noon then night
Ride the waves of age,
And into the blistering decay
Of elderly disaster we fade.

But while the broken curves
Of our drooping mouths
Race toward the ground,
Our joules lift in perverted smiles
As we make muffled happy sounds.

Deciding

She wants a wedding ring
And a husband.

But I can’t afford a diamond
And I don’t want a wife.

I suppose I love her
And could live with her,

But I still have a life to live
And too much money to earn.

I don't need a mortgage
Or a bank on my back,

And I don't want kids
To make me any older.

But It would make her happy
And that smile's pretty good.

I Will Change for You

I would drink,
Some Listerine,
If it’d make,
You be with me.

I would smash,
A thousands cars,
If that put,
Me in your heart.

I would rob,
An air force base,
If you’d let,
Me kiss your face.

And I would say,
How movies end,
If you’d make,
Me your friend.

Watching the Soft Parade

As I watch the Soft Parade
Slowly pass by, I dream of shaman
Getting lost in fantasies
For the good of the people's
Deciphering and symbolizing,
But never learning on looping
Trips through universalities.

And as the marching bands
Phalanxed through, playing
Their silent symphonies,
I thought of bittersweet summers
Spent alone and that slick hope
That the solstice is sure to bring
Of finding a new friend that
Could never trouble nor bother me.

A wrapped-candy rain drenches the children
In the monotone and relentless deaf,
And I learn that love is the unraveling of dualities,
Like the quiet in the clamor that we came for,
Having to watch the Soft Parade go slowly on,
Without a single sound, but all the bells and whistles.