Saturday, April 18, 2020

Five Days, Four Poems

This might be the worst poetry I've ever written.  It's honest, but cryptic; not direct for two reasons: Brown and Fear.  But the challenge continues.  I'll do a count maybe this weekend or next week and see what we need to whip up.  It's Covid times people, times 19--I'm missing stuff tonight, but that's ok...

Past the Ideas

keep it short,
save the ink;
save self--
For reflections are rougher
than the scruff
that some would refer to 
as a beard.
But 
keep workin’, keep
writin’, keep pushin’ self
past limits of Ok.

Because you’re not

Key keeper.  Keeper of key
holding unkind truths
Locked away.
Let that pen pick that 
Lock.

Be scared, Be open.
    You’ve earned, be earnest with self
    Ain’t easy, therapy rarely is.
We’ve learned to be tight with 
drunk texting, and calling and talking
    see if self can rebound
    and be therapeutic
    with those 
    closest.
___________________________________________

Close

Face Brown and being who you are,
    Alcoholic.
Keeping from showing sickness
    to shining creations
Are selfish
    may not be the worst 
attribute
    Are cautious because eyes 
are catchin’; concrete
    block can grow legs in 
    nightmares and passed out
patterns
    rarely receive 
second chances.
__________________________________________

30 For 30
should of stayed
sober
for 30.
    somber be situations
    & scared be people
so on some aspect
    (hopefully)
shit’s understood & 
some kind of pass is 
caught
    Be well people.
I am no longer hopin’
I BEEN prayin’
& if God only speaks 
    sign language--
then somehow I feel like 
    we’re all fucked.
Yet I’m drinkin’ & writin’   
    And you’re readin’...

somehow balance is baked
    of white beams
    as that 
Dust
    rises high to the sky
________________________________

tryin’ & failin’ -- back on the couch

want to pick up drunk daddies, bring them 
to a sober spot. clean them up.
and deliver them home.

want to pick up unsure daddies, take them
somewhere safe, give them potions, show them 
portals
and take mistakes totally off their plate.

we ain’t perfect.  by any means.
but i know we do our best. it just that
our best, be our worst
and womanly looks lash out like whips 
and we know about running 
because sometime….

we just ain’t bout that life
and we linger,
and get judged, 
then go to work,
or get a job.
and still can’t do right

we scared too.

want to pick up
drunk daddies
and take them
to sober spots.

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