JoePoetry

 

And so it begins

And so it begins

this early morning look see

to see the look on your face

the smile behind the smirk

the less is more wink

and so it begins

this coffee break we long for and yet

and yet we sometimes mourn or mock

this is how it begins

as journey

as journal

as metphore

as indication of an existance that just may be

true

 

 

 

 

Fat Black Cat on a Red Bed Spread

she stays quiet this ugly morning

not noting the time

nor the moment when all things blend

incognito and desperate

spoiled and recoiled 

only her eyes recognize 

my imperfect perfection

 

 

 

Seymoure Leaving

The wave on the porch that said hello to me

I miss

The leap on the side walk and fast run up the hill

I miss

The crust of bread you watched for leaving my hand

I miss

The way you chased your girl around the tree

I miss

The way you left us.............................

 

 

 27 dreams

in the stairwell
echo

down the hall
fluorescence

out side by the lamp post
shadow

during dream
27 seasons

  

Exit 22

Maybe I’ll come home and paint you a painting

Or put a hole in the wall...  

  

Why We Fly

sometimes I wake to find you sleeping
your breath keeping cadence with mine
sometimes you move without knowing the air flow
or where the pillow is

sometimes I see
the slick notion in your smile
your blink
your wink
what you really think

sometimes I wake to find you staring at me
that great grin
that short sigh
then we begin, then we begin

sometimes you ask nothing of me
and that is why we fly
and that is why we dream..........

sometimes
that is all we need

sometimes

  

on his way to "it"

cold this morning
vacant stare into nowhere
silent dust settles and reforms leaving oportunity to write love
notes in the white particles ice on roof top demanding innocence and
some form of respect that freak of nature this stumble this waking
up with less than ever he volunteered too much of himself then not
enough and did not remember to stuff the envelope of love with his
own sincere reflection but that detection of grand politic expanding
the nature of the eye and the beholder "what is it, this?" she said
to him from another room another place another time another emotion
what is it, this?

all he could do was wiggle
and adjust the mirror in the car on his way to work on his way to
"it"

 

the retreat of reptiles at dawn

she says it doesn’t always work out and that she wants
less from the Romans less from the Greeks and after each
flogging and eyeballing I know how she feels

I look to see if she is there in the shadows
near the exits coughing up something contagious
she says that I am kind for once but wonders
aloud if it’s really worth it because
it doesn’t always work out

she says she knows about the ghost inside her
the fanatic beside her and that she wants less
from the Babylonians less from the Philistines
less Freudian soul searching

she calls me a bad bohemian
a second generation comedian with self destructive tendencies
she says I love her too much 

she says I love her too much