Pain relief

800px-semana_santa_antigua_guatemala

Builders will continue to build, and
White folk dumpster dive, 

In the winter anyway,

In red,
And blue overalls, scavenge –

Scavenger,
Some for profit, others fun, and I

Cannot be a predator, I
Cannot carry luggage, I

Am dying, and

Perhaps giving things away, a
book or something will relive the pain, lord

Knows I just need some pain relief and, I
Just cannot afford to hoard right now, nor pilgrimage, how

I wish I had done this earlier like,
Forgiven my lover, myself –

Wait,
I’ll do it in dungarees, I am dying and I

Do not need to carry baggage, cannot take it with me, I’ll
Give out yellow popsicles instead.
 

photoHoly Week, Guatemala♦

-short evocative poetry-

 

 

Published in: on December 31, 2016 at 20:01  Leave a Comment  
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Tea-time in the sun with friends

20161213_0728281

Imagine all those who have to swallow pills;
One a day,

Everyday for every illness,
-and sometimes just

For age, they don’t

Taste good in,
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday packets-

Bitter pharmaceuticals to make you better,

Those that do it with smiles,
Yellow,

And creaking bones and gorgeous flannel;

Respect their furrowed brows and dimpled cheeks, their
Trick of light, their

Twilight years,
Respect your elders now.

Photo – Shitsugane

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on December 13, 2016 at 11:50  Leave a Comment  
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Midnight Gardener

jacob-y-angel-pelean

I hear God in cushion prints,
Leopard pants,

Ancestors,
We Forget;

What if it took place at midnight, would you

Stack hay and win,
Chicago with the broad shoulders,

Hunt mosquitos,
Midnight lover, the

Ebullient wrestler in a,
Pink Venetian mask,

Would you,
Be a brute,

Pretending the contender was not God,
Brisk breeze,

Be the one who,
Proof read the script,

Then promptly forgot,

Alzheimer,
And Jung?

Anger never works.

Photo – Jacob and Esau

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on November 7, 2016 at 02:15  Leave a Comment  
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The smell of new curtains

It came from the right side like God, or a deer, a

Migraine warning;
Chemotherapy strikes at any time.

Where am I going wrong?

Under community skies and red roofed buildings, immaculate
And unfinished,

Holding on for next week’s rent,
Even if you were alive,

I’d not have listened,

Missing a father to say what’s wrong
In his opinion,

Old enough how,
To hear sterner words in music,

To understand that the clinic serves Japanese-Americans and Kenyans alike,
On the dusty Main Street of the farming village,

The dusty, ochre-coloured Main Street covered,
With maize drying, and

Women slipping from bus-stop to bus-stop with children in their hair, that was
Probably,

Paid for,
By a man with a plan – the clinic,

And mum’s words,
Soft and gentle and supportive,

And different from yours;

I can take it now daddy,
Where did I go wrong?

I can make things right now,
The deer came from the left.

And whilst hindsight works in accidents we do not see coming,
At least Cancer gives us time.

 

♦Photo♦ –  laurieanichols.wordpress.com

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on October 23, 2016 at 21:45  Leave a Comment  
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Death in a foreign land

Betty

 

Charge woman,
Through life, take it all away
Charge, man,

Pretty poet, write it down,
When was the last time you looked at a lover,
In the sand,

Swam with sting rays,
Over African boys asleep with pink men,

Charge woman, stagger drunk,
Through the pavements,
Outside home,
Under the lights by the stoop,

Bring it home, the suitcase in the corner full of,
Yellow memories,

And language.

 

 

Published in: on March 22, 2016 at 07:34  Leave a Comment  
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Loosing our minds

 

Righteousness, Relationship, Time, Alzheimers

I am right.

You may say that I am not, but
I have,

Demanded love and,

You,
Are wrong.

Black and blue and red hummingbird, I
Know what I am saying, you

Left the kids again,
And we argue,

Tall as bamboo we,
Kill each other,

Taking long hours to,
Identify precisely who left the faucet running,

Forgetting the long, yellow grass of home –
I am right,

You never listen, and that’s the problem
Left,

It says so on the map.

Fold your wings.
Concede.

Allow the dull,
Green mother

Her time at the till

 

Picture       ♦Space Shuttle Challenger Crew♦

-short evocative poetry-

We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and “slipped the surly bonds of earth” to “touch the face of God.” – Space shuttle challenger-

 

Published in: on January 21, 2016 at 09:02  Leave a Comment  
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Street-walker

God and Folly

It is raining outside.

I am reminded that,
Rain has rhythm.

Rhythm has heart-beat,
A beat, a

Rat-a-tat-tat,

Every city has its gangsters, its’
Street corners, its

Unbelievers, every

Heart has its beat, and
Every beating heart, its’

God,

Where folly is a pink bear,
An African American,

A bionic car round the bend,
Sunlight at last,

Caught,
In the hair,
Of the joggers,

In the difference it makes to,

Walk with a friend,
For a mile or a minute,

Healing,
Not everywhere is fear.

♦photo♦ Laurieanichols Scenes from New York in January

-short evocative poetry-

 

 

Published in: on January 5, 2016 at 05:48  Leave a Comment  
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Hostage

image

Promises are made to be broken,
Thwarted,

Made again,
Whilst Jasmine pours,

Perfume;

Where God,
Is an impression, a

Figment,
Asking why, if

Birds and fish and,
Creatures of all kinds,

Flourish,

We terrorize each other,
Impossible,

Even at crimson sunsets, to
Be the first to apologise, and

Stop polluting the Earth?

Picture – ♦Reuters/Daily Mail

-short evocative poetry-

 

 

Pansies, Holly’s and Twinkly Lights

image

The brown bee,
Big as a bear,

That visits my Polyandra,

Flies meticulous patterns around morning blooms
Dispersing pollen,

As easily as the hummingbird next to it,
Serenades hibiscus.

We spend time collecting memories and ornaments like,
Christmas bulbs have no lifetime,

We miss Pansy’s and Holly’s and Twinkly lights,
At Sundown,

When closets shut,
And tears are caressed by lovers or husbands,

Beautiful lives spent,
Draping balconies and seasons;

Bumble bees for a time.

Picturelaurieanichols

-short evocative poetry-
For a special friend, at this time.

Published in: on December 19, 2015 at 05:38  Leave a Comment  

After

Cancer, palliative

2004_150 002

We spend our days,
Getting ready for tomorrow,

Hoping the past will not catch us,
The bad eating, the saccharin juices, when

Now is the only moment, to

Love, to
Speak,

Re-pack your life, forgive –
Go,

On an adventure or,
Simply state your piece,

It will be alright.

We may yet,
Save the climate.

♦photo♦ – High Museum Art of Atlanta

 

-short evocative poetry-

For my friends battling Cancer.

Published in: on December 14, 2015 at 23:30  Leave a Comment  
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Choose

Choose, environment

Bombing everything,
You prevaricate,

Humans in an upside-down chandelier,
Prevaricating,

Pompous,
Unable,

Hot air rising will cool.

Cold air,
Kelvin

Is frozen solid so,

Focus.
Save a butterfly.

Choose.

♦Photo♦ThingLink

short, evocative, poetry

Published in: on December 10, 2015 at 04:48  Leave a Comment  
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Fine Dining

evocative short poetry education

Do chickens hold their food with their feet while they are eating?

Some birds do actually,
The Ornithologists have declared,

Hold their food with their feet whilst dining,
Fine dining,

Eat with their hands,
Astonishingly.

Using ones fingers at dinner is perfectly acceptable.

♦photo♦ Jason Reed for Reuters

-evocative short poetry-

Published in: on November 24, 2015 at 05:52  Leave a Comment  
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