Some poetry... finally...!

Smokescreen

Sometimes I wonder if my thoughts,
Would stand up as decorations of sorts,
Or if they’d work as a big smoke screen,
Through which I’d look quite serene.

Maybe I’ll pile them up and paint them red,
Fashion them into posters for my four-poster bed,
Or grind them into pulp so fine,
They’d make for heady intoxicating wine.

If I stuck some wicks and little handles,
I’d have myself a gazillion candles,
But in the end all I do,
Is rhyme and write
And pine for you.

***

Uninvited

You crashed my party... uninvited
A philanderer?
A knave?
Apprehensive
But unafraid.

It was my birthday
You did not know
Absent-minded?
Not in the know?

A few friends. Not a real party.
Nothing indeed to write home about.

And I watched as you made the night stars shine.
Made metaphors
Magnificent.

Yet I did not thank you as I left your house
The next morning.
You were, after all...
Uninvited.

***

Her Little House

Lamps in stained glass
Little pools of gold
Like islands of ossified silence
Low seats and cushions on the floor...
... to keep her from drifting away.

And the fragrant air is heavy with unsaid words...

She cleans the counter tops
With her little yellow duster
As she tries to muster
The strength
... to gather her Uncollected Thoughts

That no shelf can hold...

***

In between...

Somewhere in between my coffee and my bath...

Some half-remembered smell
Fills memories in my nostrils
And I think of easier times... (or were they?)
Of you...
Your way with words...
Your silences...

Your advances & my retreats
Your opinions & my reproaches
Your victories & my defeats
And I try to fathom
Every wraith, ghost and phantom
In my head...

Somewhere in between my bath and bed.