Tag: poem

Someday Something

lindastudley4 Comments

I wish I had a dollar for every time I said
“I’d like to do that some day,” then walked away instead.
I’d be a millionaire by now and prob’ly could afford
to do those wistful things I once thought of then ignored.

I’d have financial freedom but would I, in fact, be free
or would there be more obstacles standing between me
and the wondrous “someday something” that led me on to dream
of doing something special, of swimming straight upstream

to the land of ‘someday somethings’,  to a world where ‘maybe’ rules,
where dreams are just a starting point and wonder is the tool
you use to build your own world, one that fills and fits you
where maybe one day you’ll look back and suddenly it hits you.

It wasn’t all that hard to reach, you didn’t need the dollars.
The world you left behind is getting smaller now, and smaller
until the world of wonder becomes reality
and the world of ‘must’ and ‘have to’ is lost in faded dreams.

 

#117

Things I Know For Certain

lindastudley5 Comments

The keys of B and E have no sharps.
B&Es are done on flats by people who don’t have keys.

Black is absence of reflected light while white is the acceptance.
To see things in black and white reflects an absence of acceptance.

Tempered metal doesn’t break when you hit it
People with tempers tend to break and hit back.

Other than that it’s all pretty much by guess and by golly.

 

#116

The Packing List

lindastudley2 Comments

What I would not take:
Phones, computers, or watches with insistent little lights.
Anything that starts with a lower case ‘i’
followed by a capital letter; ‘nuff said.
Clothing that might accidentally be considered fashionable.
Crossword puzzle books, board games, or anyone
who talks too loudly.

What I would take:
Comfortable shoes for shuffling through leaf mold, scrambling up banks, and slithering over slick stepping stones.
Layers. Layers are good.
Tank top, tee shirt, sweater, windbreaker.
Peel them off like onion skins when the sun gets high.
A guitar, some paper and a pencil,
Matches and a candle or two.
A toothbrush, a sense of wonder, and someone
who understands the eloquence of silence.
I might bring a comb.

 

#114

There Are

lindastudley7 Comments

There are holes in my heart made by those who depart
this life without saying goodbye.
And the holes drizzle pain like a cold fine rain
and I try, but can’t figure out why.
And I try to let go and I try to step back
but the holes just get deeper and then start to crack
I feel like a penny left on a train track.
There are holes, there are holes in my heart.

My brain’s started lapsing, developing gaps
in the places that cause too much pain.
The truths that it hides turn to fiction and lies
And it’s just too damn hard to explain.
and the lapses are growing and I’m starting to find
that fiction’s no comfort in troubling times
and I can’t find important stuff there in my mind.
There are gaps, there are gaps in my brain.
There are holes, there are holes in my heart.

There are spots on my soul where I’ve fought for control
over things that I should have let lie.
Of the battles I’ve won I’m pretty sure some
were just me, in a war with my mind.
And the spots never shrink, and the spots never fade
they don’t lessen or loosen or just go away
They’re a curse to be lifted and a ghost to be laid
There are spots, there are spots on my soul
There are gaps, there are gaps in my brain
There are holes, there are holes in my heart.

#113

Guess Who?

lindastudley4 Comments

Wet snow fell in April.
We brushed it from the truck windows
and slushed our way downtown
talking and laughing, you slowed
for the red light and a wide, white
blindfold of snow slid off the roof and
over the windshield,
as though winter had snuck up behind us,
clasped her cold white hands
in front of our eyes, and
exclaimed “guess who!”
Oh, honey, we know ‘who’,
we were just trying to ignore you.

 

#112

Half of My Heart

lindastudley1 Comment

Half of my heart yearns for
high beamed highways,
a map in my lap,
you beside me.

Half of my heart sighs for
candlelit cabins,
a cat on the mat,
you beside me.

Half of my heart and
half of my heart.
The only thing they can
agree on is you.

Half of my heart and
Half of my heart.
All that keeps it from
breaking is you.

 

#110

Live Music

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Strum and pluck and hammer on jingling
strings ring and jangle on, mingling
melodies lifting, harmonies swell in
surprising falsetto and sweet a’capella,

Lyrical treasure like fresh minted coins
spill for your pleasure, you nod and you join
in the chorus, your toe, with a life of its own
taps out a rhythm your smile starts to grow.

What is this joyous occasion you say?
Live music, live music, come hear it play!

 

#109

My Brain (Part III)

lindastudley2 Comments

Come close.
Put your ear next to mine.
Can you hear the sound of the ocean?
I can.

I hear waves on a beach I’ll never visit,
gulls on a horizon I’ll never see.
The trick is to not care anymore.
To let it trickle away
like the sand pulled backwards
by the surf.

Come close.
Put your ear next to mine and sigh.
I showed you my ocean,
now you show me yours.

 

#108

Switch It, Swell Gig, Eh?

lindastudley2 Comments

I’ll anagram most anything from spam to poems it seems.
the challenge unimaginably galvanising teems

with discipline distilling gems, sublime equals absurd
watch well for likely matches, verse and spillikins of words

paraphrase synonymity, explore the syllabary
wondering what’s cached within the language library

flawlessly stow  letters, web the rhythm, glibly winning
the sudden nice advance by the shuddering  final inning

why do we blog quirky poems with messages obscure
spanning and inciting a re-verse subculture?

#107

This was a challenge to myself! I wanted to anagram a poem so I started with “The Scathing Nausic Lingle”, my nonsense poem of the day before yesterday and anagrammed it into the poem above. Thanks for inviting me to www.anagrammy.com  Tony. I know I’m going to have fun over there!