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About This Author
 Writing poetry allows me to exercise my imagination and share it with others. I strive to write for the benefit of the reader using carnival fun mirror images of my life's experiences.
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 | Most Recent Poetry  (E)Poetry most recently written. #2035077 by Vanishing Vapor   |
| Dread! I turned the tap to pour water for my morning coffee and NO WATER! Why does disaster always fall on a weekend? Suddenly the loss of my jack-of-all-trades brother-in-law to liver cancer hit me on a purely material level. What mistake was made? The list is never-ending. Poking the water pump's relay I discovered it was frozen shut. I opened it. I checked the water and it flowed! I don't know why. I don't know why it didn't before. There're too many things I just don't know except I need to make an appointment with a professional. No water for my coffee. A death in the family. Mistakes born of ignorance. The fear of failure, again. |
| Aye, here's the dab of brilliance I fool myself into believing. (And now to live up to the spot I've put myself into.) There's a cat in my mind that wants to be shown affection but it annoys all that attempt to provide it. There's a moose in my belly that is fattening itself for a winter hardship that never comes. If I were to steal some bread would it be a sin? No, it wouldn't because that'd only happen if I were starving or crazy... and I've rarely skipped a meal. Creativity is a cat, That prowls inside my mind, It desperately seeks affection, But it's extremely annoying, And doesn't get along with the moose in my belly. |
| A shadow shades its way, As obvious menace, Reposed on stained carpet, Slight crack to black crevice. |
| I tried to write a poem, That had no words or rhyme. I sat there for hours, 'Til I ran out of time. I tried to sing a song, That didn't have a tune. My mother said, "How nice," But others left the room. I tried to drive a car, That didn't have a wheel. All I could do was sit, And listen to it squeal. |
| On my simple bed I sit, And wonder in my mind's eye, Where my ashen corpse will fit, When time comes for me to die. Do my thoughts bring you woe? I ask because I want to know. Whose fingers shall my dust pass? Where shall my gray cloud drift? My questions matter as a glass, Concerned by sunlight through a rift. When my time on earth is through, My true death will die with you. For none shall be a rock nor stone, Nor disturbance in the earth, Nothing to tell of my flesh and bone, Without suggestion of my birth. I will leave this world behind, Let soul, spirit, and life unwind. When all the stars and rocks fade, When energy levels dissipate, The universe but timeless shade, And nothingness the final state, Memory will be the world of man, When God is left alone again. |
| Okay! I know it's been awhile... but don't expect anything special. Most loud things make great alarms, not because you can hear them from far away, but because they are so obnoxious they kick you into action. My mom's call to me to wake up and get ready for school was heard quite plainly but easy to ignore until she turned up the grate o'meter which curdled my backbone like fingernails on a chalkboard. That's all I have to say about that. |
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