First Day At School

A millionbillionwillion miles from home Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?) Why are they all so big, other children? So noisy? So much at home they Must have been born in uniform Lived all their lives in playgrounds Spent the years inventing games That don't let me in. Games That are rough, that swallow you up.

Momma Welfare Roll

Her arms semaphore fat triangles, Pudgy hands bunched on layered hips Where bones idle under years of fatback And lima beans. Her jowls shiver in accusation Of crimes clichéd by Repetition. Her children, strangers To childhood's toys, play Best the games of darkened doorways, Rooftop tag, and know the slick feel of

The Mother

Abortions will not let you forget. You remember the children you got that you did not get, The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair, The singers and workers that never handled the air. You will never neglect or beat Them, or silence or buy with a sweet. You will never wind up the sucking-thumb Or scuttle off ghosts that come. You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh, Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.

On Cross Roads

My mind says - Leave it and proceed! My heart says - Stay and believe, Is it a tug of war between mind and heart? When life is on crossroads - intrigue and pursues. This is too absurd and at times looks so surreal although my mind is strong and filled with knowledge Whereas, my heart is full of wisdom inspired by experiences Logic is trying hard to defeat dreams

Childhood - The 21st Century

How advanced they are, these children of the future, Like small adults, within their tiny frames, They grow up in a fast 'speed driven' culture, Where 'learning pressures' change their kind of games, Where is their childhood, in all this hurly burly, Where is their pure untainted view of things, Why do they have to grow so old, so early, And lose the joy that only childhood brings. Our childhood was filled with thoughts of joy and gladness,

The Shadow Voice

My shadow said to me: what is the matter Isn't the moon warm enough for you why do you need the blanket of another body

Distressed Haiku

In a week or ten days the snow and ice will melt from Cemetery Road. I'm coming! Don't move! Once again it is April. Today is the day we would have been married twenty-six years.

Children's Party

May I join you in the doghouse, Rover? I wish to retire till the party's over. Since three o'clock I've done my best To entertain each tiny guest. My conscience now I've left behind me, And if they want me, let them find me. I blew their bubbles, I sailed their boats, I kept them from each other's throats. I told them tales of magic lands, I took them out to wash their hands. I sorted their rubbers and tied their laces, I wiped their noses and dried their faces. Of similarities there's lots

My English Sucks …..[english ('poor') : Almost Medium Length; Education And Life; Ph- Inspired]

When I were schooled english wernt my thing. My scores in English lurning no bells done ring. Yea I grajaded but ain't english smart ….no lie! Come end a school year the teach said 'By Bri.' Was same in bilogy, math, jografy all that stuff. I done did my best and guess my best were enough. I did done grate at ball games and in trak run the mile. I was a THREEletter man and made them girls smile.

My Dearest Soulmate

I will never forget you my dearest soulmate.. these old meomries will never fade... you've always laid me in your shade... whenever I trembled or felt afraid.... and raised me up when I failed.. you've taught me how to overcome the sadness and put and end to all that hate.... Do you remember all the games that we've played? .... all the moments we have shared....

Behind Ghost And Its Story

In the evening, the passerby while lonely passing Heard some noises of an unseen cart on other way Which he mistook bone breaking, tearing, chopping, Murmuring, rumbling, trembling sounds all around, He was confused, fixed, feared and crying uttering 'Is there a ghost? Oh, ghost! Ghost! ! A ghost! ! ! ' 'Where? ' Some curious people were rushing to 'Oh! Here is, trying to kill me, can't you see, men? ' 'Oh! Where, how looking? ' They were roaming about 'Skeleton like, just skeleton like, oh! Horror! ! Horror! ! '

Autobiographia Literaria

When I was a child I played by myself in a corner of the schoolyard all alone. I hated dolls and I hated games, animals were not friendly and birds flew away.

Playthings

Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the morning. I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig. I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour. Perhaps you glance at me and think, "What a stupid game to spoil your morning with!" Child, I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in sticks and mud-pies. I seek out costly playthings, and gather lumps of gold and silver. With whatever you find you create your glad games, I spend both my time and my strength over things I never can obtain. In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire, and forget that I too am playing a game.

Dawn

Dawn in New York has four columns of mire and a hurricane of black pigeons splashing in the putrid waters. Dawn in New York groans on enormous fire escapes searching between the angles for spikenards of drafted anguish.

Bird With Two Right Wings

And now our government a bird with two right wings flies on from zone to zone while we go on having our little fun & games at each election as if it really mattered who the pilot is of Air Force One (They're interchangeable, stupid!) While this bird with two right wings flies right on with its corporate flight crew

Your Beautiful Smile

Your Beautiful Smile Life is a mystical winding Woven around happy and sad things It flows like ripples of water Turned me into perpetual carter Mirth & peace play games of guile But I never realized It's next to me, your beautiful smile

To A Small Boy Standing On My Shoes While I Am Wearing Them

Let's straighten this out, my little man, And reach an agreement if we can. I entered your door as an honored guest. My shoes are shined and my trousers are pressed, And I won't stretch out and read you the funnies And I won't pretend that we're Easter bunnies. If you must get somebody down on the floor, What in the hell are your parents for? I do not like the things that you say And I hate the games that you want to play.

The Vampire

You that, like a dagger’s thrust, Have entered my complaining heart, You that, stronger than a host Of demons, came, wild yet prepared; Within my mind’s humility You made your bed and your domain; - Infamous one who’s bound to me Like any felon by his chain,

' A Grown-Up Child

A poet is a grown-up child, anyhow, He couldn’t compose, otherwise… A poet is an adorer of queerness, A bit - willful, a bit - precise… “Hunting is a game of chance, ” We’ve forgotten that well-known phrase, And we must remember that kids Are forbidden to play such games.

Contrast

The world has many seas, Mediterranean, Atlantic, but here is the shore of the one ocean. And here the heavy future hangs like a cloud; the enormous scene; the enormous games preparing Weigh on the water and strain the rock; the stage is here, the play is conceived; the players are not found. I saw on the Sierras, up the Kaweah valley above the Moro rock, the mountain redwoods