Snail Traveler
“I have a pet snail named Stanley. I found him in a bag of broccoli rabe at my local supermarket.
Seems he hitched a ride all the way to the east coast from California. Please write a poem about him.”
From his palace of broccoli,
his master set him free.
His poor sojourn slumped far,
but his master set him free.
Stanley never felt the miles,
but his master counted them,
and the snail had gone too far.
IT Shepherd
“I hate my IT job and I want to work as a Shepard. Go ahead, make my poem.”
All day I graze the computer keys,
always in absence,
but I dream of the soft world
that has work I can feel
with sheep I can hear,
and a flock I can lead.
Mistake
“A poem about a girl who was drunk and exposed herself on tinychat”
When the sun takes a dip,
and the girls take a sip,
the world can shake,
and their hips can quake,
and then come the mistakes.
Bridge
“A man is down on his luck, cast out from his home, cast out from his family, his job. He seems to be at the bottom of everything, the very pit of despair. He is ready to kill himself, he’s got a bridge picked out and everything.
And then along comes Mephistopheles, offering him another chance at life… for the single payment of his eternal soul. <3″
Bridges are meant to keep us
safe from the ravaging waters.
But when the waters look safer
than the concrete cruelty above,
we weigh our pain on scales
and set sail to somewhere deep.
But what if the world could flip?
When the bridge and waters change,
and the second chance beckons,
and a handshake begs for mercy…
Then the life is reborn,
in a form of something odd,
but alive in some way different,
like a shadow unthreaded.
Relax
“It’s 10 pm here, it’s still light but I can’t see the sun anymore, it will probably be dark soon and I think it’s going to rain later, as I can see dark clouds gather at the horizon. Right now it’s still warm though, so I’m enjoying every last minute.
I’m sitting in my backyard in my lawn chair, browsing reddit, listening to the birds tweeting, hearing the church bells toll in the distance, my cat is purring at my feet and I’m drinking a fine whisky. My wrist injury doesn’t hurt anymore, but I’m going to leave the bandage on for a little while longer. I just saw a bat fly by.
Life is good.”
The flocking clouds fly leisurely,
like songs of a lost church bell
looking for the beautiful distance.
The purring of my cat warms me,
as much as the drizzling whiskey
calling me to listen to every bird chirping
and follow every shadow of the bats.
This is the time of perfection,
and this is when I breathe it,
and let it slowly exhale
and feel the earth wind slowly
around my lawnchair.
Freeze Frame
“That sinking feeling you get when you realize you just screwed up and time freezes for a moment. Like the moment the car door closes and you realize the keys are inside.”
Sinking into that moment,
when the moment takes all.
Time itself blooms bleakly inside.
Planting cold stones in my belly.
In my unprepared moments,
no matter how hard I squeeze,
the sky isn’t moving,
so I lack the feeling to feel-
more than the pit that pulls.
Swelling like an invisible storm;
it laughs frozen,
as my chest falls-
behind my breath,
taking us out to sea.
Excerpt for sale on Redbubble, Society6, and FineArtAmerica.
Clove
“I need a poem about a lovely girl I met in a bar over a clove cigarette.
I help her hand through the crowded bar and listened to acoustic music till we were too drunk to walk.
Thanks.”
She smelled like my smoke,
and walked like my booze.
Everyone knows her,
in the easy acoustic notes
that billow in every bar.
Well, last night she was mine.
The crowd let us escape
from the days that don’t let go,
so we could talk about nothing
and feel more than anything.
Gluten Glare
“I would like a poem about Gluten Intolerance. Please and thank you.”
Don’t glare at me.
I didn’t ask for this.
I asked for no gluten.
I’m not broken.
I don’t want to be fixed.
Feed me with real food
because I am a real person.
But, feed me carefully,
because all people break down,
and some things break me.
Hope
“OK, here you go, cheer up one who is the only support for his family and has done everything he could (giving up his own ambitions) to upbring them (p.s. he has lost his father).”
When life plays a poor hand,
we must use our own hands
to love and build what we must.
When the lost and weary walk,
we all know a taste of their story.
We all wish for less misery,
but the wishing never helps.
Responsibility always wears people
down to dust.
But it’s the smiles
of chirping children
that saves us all,
from everyday life.