Eight Line Poetry Stanzas

By realitybites · Jun 30, 2014 · ·
Categories:
  1. Humid

    Sunny days despite
    Yesterday's weather
    Bare thighs spite by
    Sticking to the pleather

    Pink lemonade sipped
    Through stripey straws
    All beef dogs topped
    With Grandma's slaw


    End

    Makes his way home
    Examines his merits
    Broken and alone
    Emptiness cries out

    Staring in the mirror
    His bones shake and chill
    In one swallow he devours
    The entire bottle of pills


    Dawn

    Watching as Dawn
    Wakes at sunrise.
    "Morning little spawn."
    We say, gazing in her eyes.

    So happy to greet us
    She smiles and coos.
    Her little legs thrust
    In a melodic groove.


    Engagement

    Not seeking the best seat at the table
    A little chair at the corner will do
    Preferably not next to Aunt Mabel
    The head of course is reserved for you

    Soon you'll clear your throat and toast
    The engagement of Coraline von Goethe
    To our generous and gracious host
    It will be the fourth marriage for both


    Fishin'

    Kit Carson City's Emerald Lake
    Droplets twinkling in the wake
    A two month long summer escape
    Life-long memories taking shape

    Fishing poles are ready in hands
    Baited hooks take off air-bound
    Got a bite!, cries, our youngest one
    Reel it in quickly, I call out, son!


    Off

    Watching time freeze
    Off the clock
    Slipping through trees
    Now lost

    Going nowhere fast
    Stuck in my tracks
    Straw hat, khaki slacks
    No future, only a past


    Pie

    This Mississippi Mud Pie thang
    Is the latest ladies bake sale rage
    Not apple, cherry or lemon Meringue
    The new kid has taken the stage

    Times are changin' I tell ya
    Nothing looks the same
    So much different for a fella
    Not sure what or who to blame


    Futility

    Hiking back up to play the game
    The song remains the same
    Sisyphus and his rock at the top
    Roll it down again never to stop

    Without an ounce of utility
    Living a life of desperate futility
    Day in and day out, up and down
    Endless circle, round and round


    Michael

    Chasin' tornadoes on a motorcycle,
    With my lover from Cleveland, Michael.
    That was what we did last week.
    This winter we are skiing Peak n' Peak.

    Never a dull moment with this guy.
    Always up for an adventure on the fly.
    Says he climbed Mount Everest at twenty.
    At fifty he plans to scale Mount McKinley.


    Girlfriend

    Watching as Beauty charms the Beast
    Another Disney film to feast
    Haven't had a proper date in weeks
    I'm the girlfriend of an introverted geek

    By midnight my impatience grows
    He's playing games and eating Cheetos
    I'm chewing gum and painting my toes
    How much longer can I remain composed?

    Etches

    I closed my eyes
    I could not hear
    Your stepping away
    As you disappeared.

    Memories of you now
    Are tiny pale sketches
    In my aging fragile mind
    Forever etched 'til death.


    Picnic

    The honey in the tree
    Drips into our tea.
    Tiny cakes decorate
    A bone china plate.

    A picnic for two
    Just me and you.
    A moment to savor
    Forever and ever.

Comments

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  1. realitybites

    I could have written this:

    "I'm not much of a collector. I don't have much space anymore, and I don't have much money either. The music itself is the most meaningful thing to me, I guess."

    I hope you get some rest.
  2. scumbag
    Sent you a private message with a poem of mine in it. Not entirely certain it went thru, but it's about Moz. How predictable :p

    S.
  3. realitybites
    Wonderful poem! You are a gifted poet.
  4. scumbag
    golly gee haha Thanks for your kind words, reality :) I see a few little things wrong with it, but once I fix those I'll try and publish it..... somewhere. Maybe there'a a journal of Morrissey-worship poetry out there.

    On a totally unrelated note, do you have any current / recent favorite bands? I'm trying to find more stuff that I haven't listened to 80000 times. Right now, I'm listening to The Knife, which might not be the right way to set the tone for the day, but oh well....

    Some other bands I've been listening to recently on Spotify:

    Casiotone for the painfully alone
    The Yeah Yeah Yeahs
    The Dead Weather
    The Knife
    Neil Young
    Van Morrison
    David Bowie
    Nick Cave
    Interpol (mostly the first album)
    PJ Harvey
    The Primitives
    Red House Painters
    Sparklehorse

    Hope you have a good day :)

    S.
  5. realitybites
    I wish I could offer some suggestions but I am pretty much stuck in the 80s and 90s when it comes to music. :(
  6. scumbag
    Nice poetry! I like "limiting" myself now and then occasionally in my poetry; i.e. writing a pantoum, an inverted sonnet, etc. Oh, and "Hello" fellow Arizona person :)
  7. realitybites
    Hello. Welcome. Where in AZ?
  8. scumbag
    Hi reality,

    in Tucson. My aunt Vivian used to live in The Village outside of Sedona. Loved to visit her! Must be lovely up there this time of year. Umm, are you a professional writer? I aspire to paying for my groceries - vegetarian, mind you - with my poetry monies at some indeterminate future date.

    Yours in Morrissey,

    Scumbag
  9. realitybites
    We got hit with a massive snowstorm on the 31st. Snow is still on the ground. But yes, it is pretty here. I am not a paid author, no. I wish. I use to want to be a poet as well. I gave up that dream at 17. :( Do you keep a blog anywhere?
  10. scumbag
    I used to keep a blog, but I'm just not that disciplined to write / edit / read AND blog. Plus blogging one's poems sometimes disqualifies them from publication, believe it or not.

    I might make this my bloggywog, though, for unfinished / random stuff. I also do translations from French and Spanish, but not as often as I once did.

    We got roughly seventeen (17) flakes of snow here in Tucson late last month. Such is the winter weather report here most years.... Oh, to live somewhere with seasons. But then wherever that might be, I would still be as I am, I think.

    Why did you give up your dream of being a poet at age 17? I hope that's not too personal a question. I realized around age 16 that there was no way out of being a poet / poetry-writer, and I should go with it rather than resist.

    Yours snow-free naturally,

    Scumbag