Falling Awake

lindastudley4 Comments

Last night I dreamed I was wandering in the forest
Looking for a path home
I lit a fire
But it flew away in sparks
Left me in the dark again.

Last night I dreamed I was wandering by the river
Looking for a path home
I climbed the bank
But the roots would not hold me
The river sure is cold this time of year.
 
Last night I dreamed I was wandering in a city
Looking for a path home
I looked in a window
But a stranger lived there
Standing where I used to stand.
 
Last night I dreamed I wandered the world
Looking for a path home
I opened our door
And saw you sleeping peacefully
I lay down beside you, shut my eyes, and fell awake.

 

#34

The Bad Bug Blues

lindastudley2 Comments

I got a mile of sandpaper
Where my throat oughta to be.
Got a mile of sandpaper
Where my throat oughta be
And if you get any closer, baby
You’ll prob’ly catch it off of me.
 
My skin is crawlin’
Crawlin’ with worms of pain
My skin is crawlin’
Yeah, crawlin’ with worms of pain
And if I ever shake this bug baby
Hope I never get it back again
 
Haven’t slept since Tuesday
Prob’ly won’t sleep tonight
Well I haven’t slept since Tuesday
Prob’ly won’t sleep tonight.
Everyday it gets a little harder
Harder to put up a fight.
 
Don’t worry ‘bout me baby
In a week or so I’ll be fine.
No, don’t worry ‘bout me baby
In a week or so I’ll be fine.
And we’ll toast the bad bug blues
With a bottle of your finest wine.

 

#32

“As is probably evident in this poem/blues lyric, I have a very nasty cold!”

The Open Mic in My Brain

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My subconscious was working on
harmony lines till the wee hours,
singing the same snippets of songs to me
over and over and over.

At 4:00 a.m. the snow plow across the road beepingly took its turn
In this open mic I call my brain,
scraping up my last nerve with the snow,
apparently all in reverse gear.
 
And as one more string of disconnected thought winds its way
through synapses and dendrons,
my brain screams “Quit it!” and I awake,
head pounding, ears ringing from
nightly noises, dream fragments, and the
sound of my own heart beating.

#31

Some Assembly Required

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Insert characters A and B into
Plot Line C (some twisting may occur).
Do not operate this Plot Line
while making toast in the shower.
Do not run with this Plot Line or allow small children
to play with it.
Plot Line C operates on synaptic batteries
Recharge these regularly for optimum results.
 
A wide range of accessories are available for your Plot Line C.
These include Settings, Supporting Characters, Foreshadowing, Conflicts,
Denoument, Climax, and Sequels.
Accessories can be found in a cerebrum near you.
Misuse of accessories or incorrect installation into Plot Line C
will cause pink slips to begin appearing in your mail and will
void all warrantees.
 
If Plot Line C stalls or refuses to move in the forward direction
place in your bottom file cabinet drawer and leave for several years.
Then remove, scan, and recycle.

 

#30

Mike to Zulu

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“Mike,
November is gone” I said “It’s January already.
Oscar and
Papa went back to
Quebec months ago.”
“Romeo?” Mike asked, though I knew he knew the answer.
“Sierra Leone” I whispered. He laughed. “It takes two to
Tango. I should have realized it was bad when I saw you were in
Uniform.
Victor left some
Whiskey behind. I don’t suppose that would show up in the
X-ray would it?” He gestured to a bag beside the bed. “Some
Yankee crap, but Vic never was a connoisseur of good whiskey. Probably
Zulu hooch.” I smiled. Anything Mike didn’t understand or like was Zulu.

 

#29

I suppose some rationalization may be in order here, considering the above poem is really more prose than poem. It was really just a bit of creative fun, sort of an excerpt from an ABC book for adults (see yesterday’s poem for Alpha to Lima). So please don’t look too deep for meaning or you might bump your nose, it’s that shallow! lol.

Alpha Through Lima

lindastudleyLeave a comment

A leaf pauses, held aloft,
Breeze rider, ancient, veined, ovate.
Caught, hovering above real life. I expect
dreams end like this and
even captured hearts only  
fuel our xenolithic tendencies, resting on the
ground, on leafy floors.
 
Hope often-times emulates leaves.
I never doubted I’d accept.
Joining us, like Ieaves, embedded to the end.
Keeping it like our
Love; innocent, mindless, absolute.

 

#29

A Woman, Her Mirror, and The Space In Between

lindastudley2 Comments

I
The mirror always tells me lies,
shows a backwards world.
Shows things farther away than they really are.
I once had a mirror that showed me ridges
across my face
that rippled when I moved.
What a lie.
 
II
I never promised perfection,
only my truth, my vision
of how you reflect
in me.
You search for a girl who had
your eyes long ago.
She is farther away.
She has moved on.
 
III
Back and forth you travel.
Waves and particles through me, in spite of me,
an endless conversation circling,
circling. I grow tired.
Turn off the light, perhaps
you’ll agree on something
tomorrow.

 

#27

In a Cave by a Fire

lindastudley4 Comments

I can’t really distinguish
Between twenty five below
And minus thirty three.
At some point it just feels
Cold and I wonder
If there really is a difference.
Before numbers were invented
was there just cold, colder, damn cold,
and ‘stay in the cave by the fire, Stupid.’
 
But I don’t have a fire anymore.
Just a looping video of a fire that
I can play on the fifty inch screen.
No hauling wood or ashes but no
actual heat either.
So what if the power goes out one day
and never comes back on?
Back to the cave by the fire, Stupid!

 

#25