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This poem was supposed to be for week 1 of the Poetry Picnic, but I didn’t get it done on time, so instead I humbly submit it to Thursday Poet’s Rally (two weeks later). Let me know what you think!
Lily remembers. You must be Christ-like, they told her. Ugly, scrawny little girl. Those were the days before she became a hopeless heifer. Save someone, they said, but who would save her?
(Author’s note: Here’s 50 cents. Call someone who cares. You are depressing me. Write about bunnies and kittens, Lisa, or go home).
(Author’s more profound note: No, I ain’t dissing Jesus).
Image via Wikipedia Don't ask why Zemanta pulls certain images up. Mind reading? Somewhere in my mind is the knowledge of liking Lucky Cats . Chairman Meow?
The angels collect the tears of everyone who cries each day, giving every droplet to God. God puts the tears into a jar and closes the lid, watching to know the pain. Mothers watch their children slowly starve to death. Elders ruminate on their regrets. A boy scrapes his knee on the sidewalk. A rejected love and love over felt. God shakes the jar, loosens the lid, and somewhere it rains.
(Author’s note: What a bunch of boo-hoo drivel. What are you, 13? I’ve found more moving works on the walls of bathroom stalls)
Here is a helping of poems for this week’s Poetry Potluck. http://jinglepoetry.blogspot.com. Tell me what you really think, will get around to changing “freaking’ on my last Potluck offering and answering everyone too!
An Ambidextrous Life
My interests are like my hands, ambidextrous;
And I have never met anyone else ambidextrous.
I take up my pen with my left hand,
but use my scissors with the right.
I think it’s day but secretly wonder if it might be night.
My thoughts make rain in the sunlight,
and stars that glimmer in a tempest.
Sometimes I’m an old woman,
sometimes I’m a little girl.
The piece that doesn’t fit the puzzle,
the flag that won’t unfurl.
I want to belong to being me,
to not care about the difference,
it will be less lonely,
peace in my mind’s resistance.
Wishes
Do you ever wonder what happens to the wishes
pinned to pennies
tossed into a fountain?
The pennies settle
on the bottom,
do the wishes
settle there too?
Maybe the wishes
float to the top,
hope rising.
Maybe the wishes
turn envy-green,
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corroding like copper coins.
If the pennies are stolen,
are the wishes
snatched away too?
Maybe the wishes for love
never come true.
Wishes to restore a life distorted
never again will be whole?
But no.
A penny is just a penny,
you reassure me.
Wishes never really go away.
Rapture Not-So-Ready
Betty was rapture ready, but Veronica got left behind.
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