Slip in my black leather seat- down low
My car seems to know which way to go
I follow her lead, only controlling the beats
It’s dark out and the city’s asleep
I wind down curved, unnamed streets
I listen for her nearly silent heartbeat
My broken city is awfully lonely at night
I drive down darkened streets- no fright
Following paths revealed by silent spirits
I loose tears no one will understand
Alone with my car- no friend, no man there
Away from the world, yet embraced by
Her warmth, her lights- natural and electric
She knows where I will end up, hours later
Auto-drive leading my way, steering my wheel
She even avoids lights and road blocks
Easy does it as my mind unwinds and
Decompresses to a calmer state- escape
From the madness of every day life
Escape from loss and pain and strife
I know not where I’m going but
I have no fear that I will feel a release
Once my journey has been completed
Tag Archive: poems
I didn’t go to a concert this week
I think I’ve gotten old…
Once uponce money was no worry.
Cash to get us in the door,
Gas for the road and nothing more
Off we would be in a very fast hurry!
Guitars and drums shaking our ride
As we head ever diligently towards the south-side
Towards a city less discreet
With wild ones roaming its dreary streets
The lure of music pulling ever forward our feet
Filling our ears with nutritious beats
Pedal pressed down to the floor,
Riding this bridge for one hour more
As with alligators we begin to dwell
My excitement, happiness and heart begin to swell
As my lungs take in the river’s air,
I know soon all will be oh so well
But reality cruelly strikes true
Instead of watching my booted foot
Plant squarely upon glittering asphalt soot
I stare at my soft purple fuzzy house shoe,
I wonder what went so terribly askew
I guess this is what old people decide to do.
Stay out of the cold, the sleet the snow
Avoid strange towns and folks ya don’t know
Wear reasonable clothes, forgo the glamour of a glittered nose.
Tank top and grilled cheese alone
Why did I pick the home scene over a kick ass show?
Why the fuck did we miss the Skinny Puppy Show…
Hell if I know- maybe we’ve gotten old…
Something has fucked with my gypsy flow
I shall have to recover with an upcoming show
Let the world know,
Music, your presence, I wish once more to know!
Quick to confuse and easily rused
Moving at half a step too slow
I can’t keep up with this day’s flow
The morning came as the moon went low
Despite my pleas for it to appease, it did deny me
My brain filled with unwillingness to comply
I cannot escape my fuzzy mind.
Caffeine will not rouse me, enough sugar I can’t find.
Even if ya doused me with a bucket of ice
I think a pitiful “why” is all I could suffice
To utter, or possibly quietly mutter
As the powers of my mind cannot seem to find
The directions to this model, I thought I knew so well
RTFM, useless letters I wish to quell
It seems either lack of sleep or too much
Turns my mind to a bowl full of mush
My appendages too heavy to rush
As I move at half speed,
Not enough concentration to read
A hot bath and bed is what I think I need.
Can’t shake the fuzzy thoughts this morning
Is it just me? Ok. I’ll go back to sleep!
A vase full of Roses reaching past their prime
I pull off dead leaves, and set them aside
I think of the supplies I will need for them to dry
water soaked through the bottom of the stems
turning them dark green and to goo to my chagrin
once kissing the water at the bottom of the vase
now they’re so connected the stems can’t stand Water’s face.
the flower heads loll over with the weight of decay
thorns once a landmark on the now withering green runway
once causing pause, once possessing the strength
to draw life from a fingertip with nary a blink
the neck once stood tall, supporting the thorns
now they seems ragged, tired, and forlorn.
I look at the counter before me
and there I take in what it is that I see:
five little roses, pretty as can be
who sells just five roses?
was the five worded question I posed to me.
where did you go little bitty rose?
seven words in a question that now vexes me so.
did the florist get in a hurry, did she not know
that when creating this bouquet she forgot a rose?
that’s what the final answer will be.
or at least that is what I will try to tell me.
Before I got to that thinking spot
I huffed and puffed and thought and thought
maybe for another woman that rose was bought?
maybe to his mother as a kind thought?
maybe into the night this rose he had brought
where he ripped it apart breaking the seal
of the one missing flower that has yet to be revealed
maybe he used the petals to lay out a bed of red
soft little petals on which to rest his lover’s head…
Or maybe that day out in the flower shed
they were short on roses of the deepest red.
the florist did scratch upon his head
at the feeling of misery and of dread
at the knowledge of the impeding lack of red
how many half dozen roses got filled on that day?
how many were sent on their way?
No one sells five roses alone
I tell myself in a somber tone
so with fear and dread swimming in my head
I ask the present if it has begun resembling
times in the past when things moved too fast
and on the floor I found myself trembling
in misery at the possibility of love ending.
Five little roses, sitting on my counter
I go to prepare them for drying
and instead find myself crying
as I toss them in the trash
I go instead to the cabinet for a glass
drink some wine, until it’s time
to ask why I got a faulty half dozen
from the man who I call my dear husband.
When he says he loves me dear
that I have nothing to fear
when he frowns in thought and disgust
at the careless fault of the grocery florist
I smile and nod, as if I get the gist
I pry no more, I’ll cry no more
I want nothing more than to keep my marital bliss.
So I’ll go with the game and lay the blame
on the florist in the grocery that day
I will work hard to maintain
a confident look upon my face
an easy thought to dismiss
that one rose that seemed to go amiss
as painful as being denied a wanted kiss
I’ll gamble on the love that I hope will last
Five little roses, sitting in the trash.
Five little roses, sitting in a vase
Five little roses, staring in my face,
Five little roses, delicate as lace
Five little roses, I can’t stand your face.
Erina the Faery 