Poetry

All posts in the Poetry category

Glorious Reblog

Published May 18, 2020 by Nan Mykel

Audrey Howitt Poetry, Alive and Well  – Reblog

Countdown

Posted: 17 May 2020 02:21 PM PDT

MorgueFile

eyecatch7

for every good day

there is at least one

when the toads don’t sing

for everyday that my joints don’t ache

there are 100 when they do

I forget to count

I lose track

the gray matter behind my eyes

consumed elsewhere

in a series of control-alt-delete moments

Wallstreet, Penn Ave

shitstorms fly

while I look for a mitzvah

paid for in grace

on small streets

the music stops

I grab a chair

all I know to do,

is one thing at a time.

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2020

Posted for Poets and Storytellers

TO WRITE A POEM

Published January 25, 2020 by Nan Mykel

To write a happy poem don’t you

need to be happy? Liar if you’re not.

At this moment I’m neither happy

nor unhappy.

So…not much fuel in that tank.

No one wants a gloomy poem.

What’s left?  Mad?  Ditto for rants.

If no one is happy these days

and sad and mad are verboten,

we could pray and hear our echoes

bouncing between billiard balls

around our table of plenty.

But if hunger and thirst were feelings–

empathy alive in this land–

I’d eat this page in a minute

and spit out the truth in a can.

 

nan

LESSONS

Published December 10, 2019 by Nan Mykel

Have you noticed            along  East State

and the Library           frost has come,

taking with it the leaves            but not

the hundreds of berries           revealed now,

unprotected to the elements,    neither

devoured nor visited by the birds?

The hungriest feathered aviators, how did they

learn the lesson     not to be tempted

by the round brown faces      hanging around

and so available?      Is their odor pungent,

their taste bitter?         Their juice deadly?

They look like berries to me,       or is it an illusion?

I  learn my lessons painfully.

 

Nan

 

A WHAT-IS-IT?

Published October 15, 2019 by Nan Mykel

ALAS THE POOR CLICHÉ

Once a cliché was all there was

In the land of milk and honey                           

If the cat’s got your tongue,

A frog’s in your throat,

Down in the dumps

While crying out loud

With the screaming meemies

You’re really in a pickle.

 

While he’s sleeping like a log

Drunk as a skunk,

Seeing stars,

A pain in the neck,

Low man on the totem pole

Who speaks with a forked tongue,

He’s the one wearing pants,

The big man on campus.

 

 

Nan may re-work this some day.

The Long and Short of It

Published July 22, 2019 by Nan Mykel

Life’s too short

Tooth’s too long

Horses snort

Answer’s wrong

Eyes too bright

Pool’s too deep

Bra’s too tight

He’s too cheap

Sky’s too high

Feet too smelly

Words can lie

Too tight belly

Stream beds trickle

Chewing gum sticks

I’m in a pickle

Up to old tricks.

Lost my keys

This won’t do

Down on my knees

Should get two.

Don’t say pome

Only a verse

Come on home

Could be worse.

1899. John Brown. (USPD.pub.date, artist life/COmmons.wikimedia.org)

Look at Me

Published July 13, 2019 by Nan Mykel

 I am a bear.

But am I really?

My identity is caught

mid-stream.

Can you help me out?

When you look into my eyes

what do you see?

Do you see you or

do you see me?

No longer a living tree,

what have they done to me?

Cast into the scuzzy borders

of someone else’s reality (yours).

Caught in the net of your own

imagination, fake firefly in a jar.

Who am I to you? Who are you to me?

Shells, washed up on imaginary

beaches, carry life forms, sometimes

not. Look in your mirror and see

is it you or me caught in transit?

 

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