Sunday, March 25, 2018

No Skin Off My Back

Write in a notebook, tear it out
Fold it up so it can't shout
Stick it in a drawer to collect dust
Dig it out and post it when I must

Could be two days old
Could be two years, dead and cold
Could be all fiction and lies
Could have a slight truth amid it's cries

Most of my poems come because I have nothing to do
So I pick up a pen and write about something I'm sure somewhere is true
Sometimes it comes out in a poetic story
Other times it's just random thoughts that come to me

I work with fictional people I create in my head
Who stay to write their thoughts, then they are dead
Stay to write their story, then fade back into nothingness
Stay for the dry paper and leave without a kiss

I dramatize little flitting feelings of dismay
Though I feel quite happy most every day
But happy poems aren't as fun to write
As ones about fear and pain and shadows of the night

So that is my Creative Process -
A muddled, unimportant mess
Been going on for three years now today, easy and cheap
No skin off my back - Happy 3rd Anniversary In [the] Deep

No skin off my back, no painful story of my own
No little secret, no wise way shown
No skin off my back, I've got no gift or curse
Just some thoughts, written in verse

Sunday, March 11, 2018


Allow me a minute
Or three
Or four
Or two

Give me a firm place to stand
And I will
Or won't
Move you

It's time to get up
But you feel
Too very

It's not that
I don't have
Some longing
You know

It's just
You're no longer
Interesting . . . no

You're not motivated
To strive
To grow

You never
Gave me a firm place
To stand
To dance

Yet I
Always gave you
A second
Or third chance

But now
I'll say goodbye
Thank you -
But I can wear my own pants