Poetry

All posts tagged Poetry

Me and My Shadows

Published January 25, 2023 by Nan Mykel

I like being me inside my head
and never want to empty out
leaving my cavern of echoes.

What’s it like inside your head?
I wonder and wander–
can we try to compare?

Show me yours I’ll show mine.
Hear me think–no not that
I don’t smoke, snort, sniff or shoot

I’d choose psychotic
over robotic
any day or night.

Please! I don’t want to be a robot
instead of being me–not that
being me’s so hot but inside I can see

Pictures dancing in my head–
Metaphors chasing similes.
Feeling nothing’s what I dread.

I want me inside, not that.
Me and my shadows feel less lonely
than nothing and nothing.

Nan, about 2018

the good doctor reblog: Music Lesson

Published January 29, 2021 by Nan Mykel

Music Lesson
Jan 13th, 2021 by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I can’t say for certain which music I’m enjoying more – Susumu Yokota’s Asian ambience on the laptop or the garden’s new water fountain concert.

Mr. Chipmunk, the gaudy flutterby, and the fledgling redwings all clearly prefer the fountain. And why wouldn’t they? What do they know about synthesizers, electronic percussion, or the meditative properties of fluid melody transformation? For them, the fountain’s water, singing its spontaneous aria, is life itself; is the music without which their lives—all lives—would cease to exist.

I reach out and tap the laptop’s mute.

Some creatures—most creatures—know far more than I.

From Guest Contributor Ron. Lavalette

Ron’s many published works, including his debut chapbook, Fallen Away, can be found HERE.


Quitting The Grave Cover ThumbCheck out Decater’s new novel, available now at Amazon. Plus, don’t forget his earlier books: Ahab’s Adventures in Wonderland and Picasso Painted Dinosaurs.

Imprisoned — 1986 Poem

Published March 22, 2017 by Nan Mykel

IMPRISONED

Touch the little bugs in the garden

and they roll into tight balls.

The possum plays dead to the world,

and the turtle hides inside his cell.

And the man? Somebody is

in need of help, but he sits

there daring you to help,

a tough guy,  inmate, con,

you name it.

His mama’s baby boy. But he

don’t need no help. Just sits

there, indifferent, on his bunk,

tough guy, all alone

in the crowded dorm.

His mama’s baby boy; tough

turtle doing troubled time.

 

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