poem

All posts in the poem category

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

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.

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?

 

An ACOA’s Confession

Published July 12, 2019 by Nan Mykel

This old violin has lost

some of her strings

and like many an ACOA*

she’s filled to the brim

with lizards, and things

but mainly her stuffing is jello.

When I awoke in the night

and turned on the light

I prayed (to the Universe)

that today would be free

in its entirety

of fight.

 

*Adult Children of Alcoholics

A Tree Library

While continuing to try to continue organizing “my stuff”  I came across a passel of earlier poems.  I don’t know which have made their appearance in this blog and/or d’Verse, but I just felt like giving them a run-through again.  One a Day takes the —what was it?—away. Since I love my Media Library, I think I’ll add a random pix, also. (This must be what happens when you start getting old.)

Old-Fashioned Politicking

Published March 1, 2019 by Nan Mykel

THE POET FOR COUNCILMAN

To The Voters of the Town of Martinsville

Two years ago as you know well

The Ticket bore my name

And if you scratched it off or not

I thanked you just the same

Again I ask for your support

Not that I claim to be

A better man than others are

For all of you know me

But promising to ever stand

For what is just and true

I will simply sign my name

And leave rsults with you.

 

Yours to serve,

J.L. Minter, The Shoe Maker (?)

(An early Henry County Bulletin of Martinsville, Va.)

 

New Roommate, Reblogged Poem Fragment by lifelessons – a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown

Published November 17, 2018 by Nan Mykel

Love it!

lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown

New Roommate, Chapter 2

I have the need to be alone, to hide away, sequester,
but my roommate never leaves the room! She’s somewhat of a nester.
She seems to be ensconced here with her creepy boyfriend Lester,
and my irritation’s turned into a boil about to fester.
I may not make it to the end of the next semester
when I can find a roommate who is less of a rester.
She can be a talker or messy or a jester.
She can use my makeup, wear my clothes or gripe and pester.
In fact, I will take anyone short of a child molester,
so long as she’s a roamer—a gad-about, a quester!!!!

See Chapter 1 HERE.

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/11/16/sequester/

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A Poem Can Be About Anything

Published November 10, 2018 by Nan Mykel

I wonder if…

     A Poem Can Be About Anything

What shall I share today of me;

the shades that sleep under my tree?

The wild dogs of the night who drool,

or getting an A while yet in school?

 

Poems mirror the mind, you know.

What’re the parts we’re willing to show?

Blood from a refugee’s eyeball

pooling on the floor at the mall?

 

Or perchance Paul, my sixth grade crush

forgot later in life’s mad rush;

the spear point found atop the soil

speaking  loud as any gargoyle.

 

The soft fur of Gracie, my love

who looks after me from above;

we oft don’t speak full truth in here,

hoping instead to spread good cheer,

 

leaving old timbers to shake–

from an underground earthquake,

echoing the ocean’s great roar

contained yet by the shore.

 

Careful not to rip the bridal veil,

crawling along the moth-eaten trail

we sing out long our private song

which from Darwin’s book we took.

 

 

ADVICE

Published April 29, 2018 by Nan Mykel

Dwell not on finding Truth my friend

for it shall drive you mad.

The eyes that spy the way things are

will only leave you sad.

 

Bedlam is filled with clear-eyed folk

whose blinders were shorn away.

Unalloyed truth can scorch

and even love betray.

 

 

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