The King had a dream
It floats past our fingertips
Still just out of reach
Our MLK Jr.
Someone to be remembered
He fights within us
Category: Poetry
‘Clothes’ Poem
Woe is me!
I lay splayed upon the floor
She treats us with such apathy
Leaves us here behind closed doors
She peels us off late at night
The ground is our home
What a sight!
Bill yesteryear was crushed by a tome
I’ve got it!
We shall rebel
We’ll throw a fit
In anger we’ll yell
No longer shall she leave us here
Uncared for, stepped upon
Collecting soot, we can only shed tears
Until the day she selects us to don
And when we’re worn!
I bear several stains
What was a rip is further torn
Spiteful feelings I can no longer detain
I’ve got it!
We’ve got to fight
Stab her when she tries to sit
Dig into her arm with all your might
We’ll cut her, stab her
Make her pay
Become one with a burr
We’ll show her like this we cannot stay
‘Childhood’ Poem
Do you believe in fairies? that blonde girl asked
l looked to my friend
an expression of surprise
The girl positively chortled with amusement
You know
I am a fairy queen you know
She whispered, leaning in too close
Her breath tickling my ear
And how we believed it!
Long nights spent wishing that we would be whisked away
To fairyland, to paradise
A land where anything could be!
Houses of deliciously colorful hues
Ponies on the crosswalk neigh
Daintily, pawing the ground
Brilliant red sports cars zoom regrettably
Well above the speed limit
The clouds were made of the same stuffs as
cotton candy
teddy bear stuffing and
All the like
With the queen Annabelle reigning
Daintily, perched atop her pastel
Pink throne, her humble subjects kneel
At her feet, kiss her feet
And there I was! Lime green wings and all
Oh, to be a child again
When what we dreamed simply was
I could’ve sworn that last blissful night of that
winter, I
half-asleep
Spied a sandal
escaping out the open window
Had she been there?
Guiding me to fairyland with her clementine wings
Had it really been just a dream?
‘Personification’ Poem: Annoyance
Annoyance Personification
Annoyance taps his fingers on
his leg restlessly and
barks at you if
you’re late.
He’s an angry person by nature
but enjoys less spicy and more classy foods
like filet mignon.
When he flies
into a rage, it takes chamomile tea and
classical music to soothe
him. Annoyance dresses tidily
in tuxedos or
3-piece suits, and looks down his nose
at everyone
but his friends
Patience and Bliss.
‘Food’ Poem: Eggplant
Eggplant
. . . Eggplant.
Or as I like to say
Fetid cheese
With the texture of recent puke
And the aftertaste of
expired chalk
A deflated purple balloon
Wrinkled after being blown far too much
No Botox can fix it now
Ew.
‘Food’ Poem: Chick-Fil-A Fries
Ode to Chick-Fil-A Fries
Occasionally, I find myself somewhere rather
Unexpected
McDonald’s admittedly has
Scrumptious
Perfectly textured
Nuggets filled with crunch
However
Upon seeing
but simpletons
feasting on their
puny
skinny
half-baked
“fries”
I must sniff with displeasure
McDonald’s fries!
What a concept!
Clearly, these imbeciles have no perception of true art.
Chick-Fil-A fries are
perfection
No questions asked
They are
sliced generously
precisely burnt at their edges
to be dipped in savory Chick-Fil-A sauce, another
staple to be enjoyed with one’s
Eyes scrunched up with delight
Mouth hanging open
Head hung precariously off shoulders
Palms thrust towards the Sun
Absolute Euphoria with
a capital “E”
‘Object’ Poem
Pair o’ Shoes
She wore me for months but
What does that matter?
Look at me now;
Sitting in a dumpster
Laces missing
Ratty holes
My once supple, lithe soles
Now torn harshly and lined with mold
My once vibrant, smooth-to-touch material
Now covered with
dog feces
Does she not remember our good times?
Like the time we had our
first day of third grade
together?
Does she not value our relationship as I do?
It’s been years
I’m out of style
Worn out
Too-small
But I was more than just
a pair o’ shoes
I was a constant companion
A
friend.
‘Garden’ Poem
A scarlet fruit
A juicy tomato
Alone
Untarnished
A luminescent orb
Reflecting glorious rays
Light
Like an oasis
A mirage
A trick of the eye
For the glassy appearance is
False
Untrue
Only a veneer
Dust covers the redness
Shame upon perfection
‘Hebe’ Poem
I begin to sing of Hebe, born of Hera,
Cupbearer of the gods: a divine goddess herself;
Exercises eternal youth; absolute in power.
And she keeps the favored mortals young and strong,
So revered by the immortals is she.
Hail to you, daughter of the all-seeing Zeus,
And grant my soul forgiveness and mercy.
Betty Award Poem
it’s her first day on the job
gotta put on her big girl pants
gotta grab the important papers
six years of nursing school
her friends graduated after three
it was long and hard but
look at her! off to her first job,
nurse for the kids at the homeless shelter
“ghetto”, her sister said
she decided she’d risk it
stepped out of the maserati
holding her fat prada purse
she preens and tosses her
bottle blonde locks
steps into her new office
cramped, but it’ll do
she feels ready for anything
a naked infant, all skin and bones
his ribs are shaking with the effort
of supporting his fragile body
his precious vessel; reduced to a squirming
it
she holds
it
as far from her as
humanly possible; is
it
human?
is this what
malnourishment does to a child?
it’s so small
it
could rest in the palm
of her hand
she is disgusted
the child squats a ways away from her desk
it
scurries to the other side of the room
when the bejeweled
woman with the
yellow yellow hair approaches
it
flinches when the
strange lady in the white white pantsuit
reaches a
tan tan
hand covered in rings towards her
“abuse”, they said
“starved”, they murmured
shaking their sheltered heads
she stares at the small child
scarred from years of unimaginable pain and
she lifts the girl’s shirt
sees the cuts from the broken bottles
the bruises from the intoxicated fists
the child’s eyes well up into tears and
a small sapling of
something
sprouts in the barren wasteland of
“it’s not my problem”
she looks at the girl’s too big pants
more patches than denim
she observes the girl’s too small shirt
years of wear
reduced to nothingness
she stares at the girl’s toothpick legs
pale as the moon
marred with
day-old
week-old
year-old bruises
she glances at the girl’s matted hair
hasn’t seen a caress
from a loving hand
since ever
she feels something in that nothing
something more than pity
or condescending
she understands
what she did not understand before
these “it”s
these aliens in her perfect world
they matter.