For today’s prompt, write a plea poem. Of course, a plea can mean a few different things. First, a plea can be an allegation leveled at someone. Second, a plea can be the defendant’s answer to the accusations (for instance, guilty or not guilty). Third, a plea can be an appeal.
Here’s my attempt at a plea poem:
“Summer, Don’t Be So Mean”
Summer, don’t be so mean
the grass turns yellow instead of green.
Summer, don’t be so hot
the blood boils like it’s in a pot.
Summer, don’t be so quick
the children all miss you like a trick.
Summer, don’t be so sweet
when Winter comes down I’ll miss your heat.
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Sorry for the late post, but I just figured out about this.
Here’s my attempt. I hope you enjoy it.
PLEASE FORGIVE ME:
For give me please
For give me please
I didn’t mean to break your heart
All those Stories
All those stories
That’s what caused our love to break apart
I wish I’d told you
I wish I’d told you
How much you were worth, from the start
I want to rescue
I want to rescue
Our love we had before, sweatheart
No amount of pennies
No amount of pennies
Will buy the love we had in the start
So, for give me please
For give me please
I didn’t mean to break your heart
INNOCENTS (sic) LOST
They suddenly snap
Can’t deal any longer
Nowhere to turn
No one makes them stronger
We all have problems
Some more than others
Don’t hurt my sisters
Don’t kill my brothers
All it takes is a gun
And then things get worse
Then you take your own life
Should have ended yours first
COME BACK TO ME
———————————————-
If I had a dime
For half the times,
Your sweet, sweet smile,
Crossed my weary mind,
I’d be the richest man,
This side of heaven;
But if asked, I would make,
This one confession:
I don’t want the money,
I don’t want the things;
I don’t want the heartache,
All-a that stuff brings.
I’d trade it away in a second;
I’d give it away, all for free,
‘Cause the only thing that matters in this great big old world ,
Is you coming back to me;
Baby, come back to me.
If your heart could be turned,
To let me show how I’ve yearned,
To let you see just
How much I’ve learned,
You’d know I’m the smartest man this side of GeorgiaTech;
And that without you I am a total wreck…
I don’t want the money,
I don’t want the things;
I don’t want the heartache,
All-a that stuff brings.
I’d trade it away in a second
I’d give it away, all for free,
‘Cause the only thing that matters in this great big old world ,
Is you coming back to me;
Baby, come back to me.
Still you dream here beside me,
Asleep in the dark,
So close I almost,
Feel the beat of your heart.
I don’t want the money,
I don’t want the things;
I don’t want the heartache,
All-a that stuff brings.
I’d trade it away in a second
I’d give it away, all for free,
‘Cause the only thing that matters in this great big old world ,
Is you coming back to me;
Baby, come back to me.
I have to know,
If I simply let it go,
Will you come back,
To me?
__________________
PLEASE DON’T LET ME BE MISUNDERSTOOD
At a loss for words
this multi-syllabic slob
stretching a thought into
poetic ranting, chanting
refrains and putting restraints
on their duration. What
in tarnation does it mean?
It means brevity is it,
levity in the soul of wit
and words heard mean exactly
what I meant them to. Yes,
I’m just a soul whose intentions
are good. Oh Lord, please
don’t let me be misunderstood
PLEASE TURN IT OFF
Impossible to concentrate. Overload.
Something in the dishwasher sounds
like a gavel dropping onto broken
glass. The black cat’s perched on
the back of the couch like the crow
in a mystery thriller by a playwright
who’s watched too much TV news.
The whole household squeals and
groans with sweep of a secondhand.
Turn off the switches.
Walk out the door into dark,
and wait for fireflies
to light the world again.
FROM A DISTANCE
It’s hard to believe
how it happened
so quickly, your eyes followed me . . .
or so it seemed as you walked
into the room. I’m sure of it
as I live and breathe. You laughed
as I gazed at you. I nodded.
So many people and
it wouldn’t be polite to push
through the crowd. Not sure
you would understand if I got close . New here
not knowing anybody . . .
just your face, and the way you walk. It’s you
that makes it worthwhile.
Just being in this place is enough for me. Say something
that I can indentify your voice, at least that,
get to know where you go, ask about you—
no more than that. Then
find someone who knows you, if it’s okay
of course . . . Yeah,
the person who knows you will say
“Speak for yourself, John!”
What if your name is Priscillia?
That’s a joke. Still, if my brain waves are directed
in the right direction, I’m sure
that you will get the message, or a headache, nah,
you would feel the good vibrations. I’m sure
so for the meantime I’ll hold back,
print your image in my head . . . tomorrow and tomorrow
place you in my memory file,
ready for the day you come my way.
Zev Davis
Very late to the party. Mine is here:
http://whimsygizmo.wordpress.com/2012/07/30/please-2/
Pleas, Pleas, Pleas
(Found Poem of Song Titles)
Attention, please
Excuse me, please
Listen to me, please
Somebody, please
Help me, please
Please send me someone to love
Please please me
Please me like you want to
Teasing to please
Easy to please
Hard to please
Pretty please
Smile, please
Baby, please don’t go
Please don’t leave me
Baby, please make a change
Please forgive me
Please forgive my heart
Please be with me
Please remember me
Please read the letter
Honey, please
Lover, please
Lady, please
Operator, please
Please, Mr. Please
Please, Mr. Postman
Please don’t stop the rain
Santa, please
Please, please, please let me get what I want
Please come to Boston
Please come home for Christmas
Please, Daddy, don’t get drunk on Christmas
No anchovies, please
No surprises, please
We are Siamese, if you please
Next position, please
Last orders, please
Lights, please
Please can we start again
Would you please crawl out your window?
Music, maestro, please
A little traveling music, please
Some Men Dream
Some men dream
Of a friendship like no other,
Forged from the ashes of despair,
At a moment in their lives
Where the future appears most bleak.
A friendship built on trust,
Common interests, open communication,
Respect for each other,
An awareness of each other’s needs
On a daily basis.
In time, perhaps,
It will grow into a relationship,
As that friendship turns to love,
Emotional and physical,
Unabated and unabashed,
A love for all the world to see,
A marriage of two men.
Some men can only dream!
It can never be too late…
Copyright 2009 by Reg Deneau
Even Just Pretend Gods Get Weary
No, I beg of you – not another one
I cannot stand one more late night
Ad exhorting me to rescue this
Child, dog, cat —city, country, planet
Plus photos and film a-plenty to go with
Evidence that my money will be well-spent
If I will just send it care/of this or that
Organization for as long as I live
So that they may also … how does one
Choose who to help, is it not a little
Like playing God – it feels like that
In the wee hours of the night
When all I really want is to sleep
And not be reminded that yes
Much of the world is going to hell
In that proverbial basket and if I don’t decide
To do something about it …
Please, just for tonight, I beg of you, no more
The Kind of Wish NoNet 9
The kind of wish you wish moves at
A numerical, vibrational speed,
It is codified by this;
A choice, that develops
From your desire to
Purpose it as
Kind or
Not
Chapel of Vibrational Application, NoNet 8
The Chapel of application,
Forged on into the circuit
Of infinite transport,
In the vibration,
It directed
All unseen
Wishes
Forth.
DISTANT DRUMROLL
He was dancing in black silk trousers
with a crimson slash from hip to ankle.
Not twenty summers old, and all
the girls were clapping, swaying to his
dance, while in his father’s field,
haystacks lay trampled under boots –
or was that the farm across the river,
where thunder rolled and thatch roofs
burned? His sweetheart wished
upon the dancing stars to bring him
home again. This last night
before the call to arms, how he danced,
so crimson slashes and the scarlet s
ash swirled and leaped like
blood, his pantlegs swashed with red
like flames of haystacks burning,
like flags before the muster, like one
last kiss before they march away.
Please tell me what the dream
means, or how to stop the war?
My pleas
on deaf ears
I fear.
Regret, reset;
knees –
Pretty please?
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012
A new form I’m developing. Only twelve words. First introduced at We Write Poems. I call it Hadron.
For explanation and examples see: http://wojisme.wordpress.com/2012/07/25/no-passion-hadron-poetry/
NOT GUILTY (BY REASON OF INSANITY)
I must have been crazy,
or in a haze of some kind.
My mind wasn’t right,
I’ve been up all night
(no big surprise).
My eyes are weary,
bleary and bloodshot
and I was not seeing straight.
But, of late there’s been
a weight lifted off of my shoulders,
and this ember smolders; a slow burn.
I yearn for your judgement to clear,
to leave me here where I started,
never half or broken hearted.
You’ve become my judge
and jury, so please hurry
before I lose it. I choose it,
this life sentence. How do I plead?
Not guilty, but reason of insanity.
I’m crazy about you.
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012
You are so tiny and look so sweet
I love your circus shows, they’re neat
I’d like to take you home to stay
But please don’t climb in my skin today
And Rover doesn’t like you much
You make him scratch and itch and stuff
Wait..what? Oh sorry! I read that wrong
And yet you let me carry on so long
It was much easier to write of fleas
I haven’t any poems of pleas
Love on the Run
Time after time
Waiting for the doorbell chime
Waiting like a fool for you
Wishing and waiting
Thinking you would return
Not realising that you had turned your back
Phone calls
Not a signal one
Ringing you
Only to hear an empty tone
Hurt and crushed to the bone
Heavy hearted
Shield of effort
Worn at last
Remembering when we had a blast
Now a barrier
Stand between you and me
You’re not the person you used to be
I was stupid to let you use me
Lessons learned
Fingers burnt
Fires aside
Emotions scattered
In a whirlwind mind
As the breaths of effort
You once made
Now have faded away
They have decade
Enough is enough
There is no way back
I’m moving on now
No more looking at life
Through an broken crack
Wind Swept
Standing in a circle
Of colourful light
Looking up to the skies
Not forgetting their fight
Courage and strength
All soldiered on
Even when times were tough
Took life by the horns
Spirits rise
Above empty eyes
Sparkles of shadows
Leaving loved ones behind
Whispers on the sunset
As their lives have shined
Whispering in our ears
Don’t be scared
Don’t feel afraid
Blowing kisses
On our neck
Leaving goose pimples on our skin
Wonders of who they were
And where they have been
Settling into the darkness
Where stories left them cold
Turn down the lights
Nothing was left untold
You can find my offering @ http://wordrustling.wordpress.com/2012/07/26/clandestine-cathedral-within/ this time round!! Smiles!
“My Plea To Stay With You”
Though heaven may be grace-filled for the soul,
my heart still hovers, halting near this earth.
Unless you, only love, were there to hold,
my courage dare not leap beyond this berth.
My life has need for your familiar ground;
I want no more than comfort from your kiss.
You are the whispered warmth my arms surround;
Such quiet bliss; I want no more than this.
If other orbs contain that shining light
seen glowing from the fire within your eyes,
then bravely I might take that unknown flight
to worlds where still I hear your softer sighs.
But now, my cautious heart is harbored here
where you, my love, are heaven to be near.
Dear Mr. Sandman
I’m sadly in need of sleep.
I’m kept awake at night
in a sea of heat and humidity
that’s rather thick and deep.
So maybe you could talk
to Mother Nature
and see if she could drop
the temperatures and dew point,
so I wouldn’t feel like a human mop.
I know you’re busy
but thanks so much
I need to sleep
to quit acting like a bleepedy-bleep-bleep- bleep.
Fire Sign Setting
I long for the day’s final glimmer
while the relentless sun settles
restlessness stirs within me
withering summer day
I long for relief
change of weather
come to me
rainfall
please.
A Plea of the Ages
In the soft, summer air, voices drift
From the open windows of small churches
And large cathedrals.
What are their pleas?
Listen to their words.
They are praying for peace.
Thos who would use war as a way to increase
Their profits have forgotten the agony of loss,
The shattered remains of lives and of cities.
The weeping of wives and children. The
Empty promise of youth poised to
Invent, produce and increase our
Knowledge to ensure the continuance
Of a democratic way of life.
Have they forgotten the flag-draped
Coffins that contain only the remains
Of promises , dreams, and prosperity?
Do they ever listen or even hear the pleas
Of those who lost their hopes for the future
Whose hopes lie in rows of cemeteries
Like the one in Arlington?
Can those who serve us in the military be ready
To defend us against unexpected enemies when
The best and the brightest will never rise again?
Such a simple plea. All we ask is that we have peace.
Peace now, peace forever and ever.
Peace.
PRODIGAL WISHES
My pleas dust cold stones
Smoothed flat from wishes.
Copper coins
Sink into water
And yet I am a filter
To hard hearts and cold
Music. No tune can
Carry this cut from my soul.
I’m waiting,
Still hoping that you’ll return.
I love your beginning!
For Only a Minute
I want to hold her fingers
tiny in my hand
to close my eyes
as I twist her wispy curls
and inhale her baby scent,
but she is in her twenties now
with a man to hold her tight,
and all that is left for me
of my little one
is her laughter
in the air.
Nancy and Jane, I am SO jealous! ENJOY!!!
Jane Shlensky here on Nancy’s computer. As you can tell from Nancy’s plea, our Honky-Tonk debut is imminent (soon to be eminent
Here is my contribution to our old time music and dance week.
Honky-Tonk Workshop
Darlin’, can’t you see I’m hesitatin’
to let you take my guitar out of sight.
I know you think I think you’re cogitatin’
about those painted hussies of the night.
But that don’t make me chase you like a rabbit
or track you like a bloodhound with a bite.
No, darlin’, I know well your fiscal habits–
don’t pawn my guitar just to drink at night.
Don’t pawn my guitar, Precious, for I love it.
Don’t trade it to a broker for chump change.
Don’t say you’ll buy another–you can shove it!
You know it helps me keep from goin’ strange
I’ve loved you like a project I can work on,
though love and drinkin’ don’t make stealin’ right.
You know we make sweet music when you’re not gone.
Don’t pawn my guitar just to drink at night–
NOOO, don’t pawn my guitar just to drink at night.
Amen.
Hold On
I know it’s hard
When the shadows close in
And you forget what darkness is
Because you haven’t seen light in so long,
But I beg you, hold on.
Trust that the light, now so far off,
Will reappear, and when it does,
Tuck one smiling ray into your pocket
To light your way
Next time the shadows close in.
The table is set
Ready, waiting.
Guests arrive
Storm clouds high
Flowers arranged in fear
Plates seem hesitant
With mired restraint
Accepting the hurried
Food that is forced upon it
Just fifteen minutes more
And my guests can go indoors
But not too soon
Get out of my head
You insincere thought
You random spark
Flitter away
You little butterfly
of an idea
Important tasks await
My focus is needed
Work piles
Run away, fog
Get behind the curtains
Leave me alone
Stop singing that song
I really like this. I totally know that feeling, too.
WINDOW SHOPPING
Storefront window on a deserted street,
your first day in this city.
Window display for a store – what kind
of store? Blank face on a hulking
stucco structure. No placard
announcing OPEN or CLOSED. Only,
in its storefront window, a human figure
in a bed – mannequin, surely –
and a second figure – mother, wife,
or daughter? – bending over,
laying her plastic hand on an
unresponsive brow. A death-scene?
What kind of window-dressing offers
one straight-back chair, dim lamp
with a single bulb; stale sheets, curtains
drawn against light – to advertise
mortality? At what cost, and
who is selling? The door is locked.
How do you plead with empty store-
fronts for a saving vision?
Taylor, your work is always far outside of my mind’s eye … until I read it, and it clicks, and my head nods in agreement and awe.
Wow, this is such an original take on the prompt! Well done.
Poets
P lease, bless my poet friends, I pray.
O pen doors a long their way.
E ncourage their hearts as they write,
T o touch thirsty souls both day and night.
S pirit, move upon their words.
May they soar like little birds.
Awwww! SOOOOO sweet of you, Connie! I plead the same for you. <3
Thanks, Connie!
I liked this prompt Robert. I think I went in a bit different direction than many others here, but if you would like to read my poem, you can find it here: http://hopefuljo.wordpress.com/2012/07/25/365-creativity-project-day-198/
Tangled Webs
Bureaucracy fails
when hoops rank
higher than people;
people whose only
choice is to play ball
or suffer consequences
dire, for failure to win
free of ever-widening
spheres reddened by tape
tangled into webs for
snaring unwary consumers.
Can there be no breaking
of these red silken threads
cocooning all they touch?
Can we ever remove the tape
binding our actions each day?
In answer to your poem’s final question: I doubt it. In response to the poem itself: I love it!!
I SEEK A PLACE
I seek that
quiet resting place,
wherein the
balm of solitude
allows the heart
and mind to rest,
and gather strength.
for times ahead.
Wedding Vows
It’s not good when your
wedding vow
sounds like a plea deal
Please Make It Stop
Drumbeats out of sync, ta-da-dum,
speed up then drop, like missed stitches,
sweater knit with yawning holes.
Clammy skin heats than cools.
My head pleads, stay calm,
inhale, and hold,
exhale, blow
softly
out.
Jane S. and I are spending a week at the Swannanoa Old Time Music and Dance Week. We’re going to a clas today on Honky-Tonk songs, so I thought I’d make one of my “pleas” fit that theme:
Plea
I’m not one to beg, though I’ll wheedle
and cajole, keeping my importunity
subtle enough to tug on heartstrings
without grating on the nerves, but
just this once, I’ll plant my knees
in gravel if I must, clasps hands before
me, imploring. No crocodile tears
will do. I’ll leave salty trails running
down my cheeks. In plain sight,
I’ll plead for you to stay with me
at least until I learn to let go.
And on a lighter note
Daddy please don’t go back to
that old honty-tonk again.
Mama thinks you’ve gone to Krogers
when you’re contemplating sin
And don’t make me ride shotgun
and wait out in the car
since everybody ’round here
knows the kind of man you are.
One time was one too many
to force your kid to lie.
How dare you ask a twelve year old
to be your alibi?
You’ll come back reeking heavily
of smoke and cheap perfume
then you’ll try to claim there were no
harlots in that old barroom.
The sound of ol’ Merle Haggard
now paints pictures in my head
of where you go before we stop
for some milk and sandwich bread.
I know when we get home she’ll ask
why we were gone so long.
Don’t make me lie to mother
just because you’re doing wrong.
Ooh… how nice that you and Jane are together. Have fun!
A great song, Nancy. It says so very much and say it very well.
The stalker
From your demeanor I get – what can I do?
Do nothing.
How can I change things, How can I control?
Go away is what you can do, control is negation.
Go away.
Let it go, you cannot control,
You can only arm and harm.
This is not the path for anyone,
Tunnel vision is for missiles,
That target and kill.
The barren fields call your name,
scream it from the depths of despair,
unable to roll your name on dry tongues,
but gasping, mouthing it through dry lips,
brown teeth.
Why don’t you answer?
Come to the table as asked.
Own up to your responsibilities, your duties,
our wishes, our commands.
How dare you condemn!
Please, baby
Come home.
Light our lives, again
Do not be afraid
We’ll treat you better now, yes, we will
Indeed
Just Stalking
A voice from the far side of the vacuum:
To observe the obvious and leave me alone,
Your calls are not welcome and your
Constant messages are filled with self pity,
The blank look of implied concessions.
The love I have is mine to create and give
There are no coercions here, the bastion -
The night of light and simplicity of one
Are not won over, not twisted to new form.
Cast your shadow elsewhere, call off the wolves
Get thee to a nunnery, an abbey, a retreat,
And let your mind run wild there on meditations
That might clear your smoke and transgressions.
A voice from the far side of the vacuum.
THE CRUEL MISTRESS
Perfect bodies, thin and long
Perfect feet arched and strong
Perfect, perfect, perfect line
Elegant, exquisite, sublime, divine,
None of you, none of you, are mine.
Cruel perfection leave me be.
Leave me, leave me!
To be me!
That is a nice statement about body image
Thank you.
What the media and some people find perfect is a very small window of possibilities for actual human beings. The secret is, we are ALL perfect, we just don’t know it.
Love this Sharon.
Thank you. Inispired by my ballet days, back in the “Stone Age.”
Such a succinct description of a massive problem! Awesome!!
I Like this, Sharon.
What Were You Thinking?
You let me go,
me and our three sons
(one was only six months old)
and you refused to help us.
(At least, without a court
order.)
You flew over two thousand miles
to take my car, though you
at least
allowed me to take the
car seats and strollers out
when I caught you at it.
You begrudged every single penny
the court made you pay
to care for your kids.
Is it just that you wanted me
to suffer? Even though you
were the one who
cheated?
Is it that you wanted to
simply wash your hands
of my part in your
history?
You tried to make me feel
like I was the bad one,
like I had done something
wrong
by not falling in with
your plans
as I did when we were married.
But my loyalty no longer belonged
to you.
You no longer had my trust.
My heart no longer held
you within.
And you could not comprehend
that I had given those things
to you freely,
you thought I was simply
dumb.
And I look back now
from a distance of twenty years
and wonder
what you could possibly
have been thinking?
I could never have abandoned
my children
to fate
regardless of the personal cost.
What was wrong with our marriage
was you.
Diana Terrill Clark
Powerful, Diana. Especially accompanied by the “broken” heart picture on your blog. The human spirit is amazingly resilient.
Thanks, Andrew. It really is.
^_^
Sounds like he was the real losser and the boys won their mom!
It took time and more time to figure this out. ^_^ Thanks Marjory!
An Englishman in Des Moines
You can fill a cup from the faucet
and throw a bag in the saucer
offer me a lemon wedge
and extra half-and-half
you can serve it cold
for all I care…
please just don’t
call it
tea.
Tea hee!
If it says “Lipton” it will be terrible. (Best to bring a baggie with one’s own tea bags.)
Isn’t this the truth!
Haiku does not rhyme,
but it’s not a crime, so I’m
begging – just this time?
(Here Walt, let me get this for you: Grooooooooooooan …. )
Hoping to get back later with a real one.
Yes, but why CAN’T it rhyme! ^_^ I like it just fine.
OK so maybe you invented a new form here – rhyme-ku?
Shy little goldfish
swimming in the pond of joy,
please don’t be so koi?
Who said it couldn’t rhyme?
See what you’ve started, Marie!?!
Rhyme-ku, uncharted
Anti-rhyme rules departed
Not for fainthearted
Groooaaannnn!
THE GRAVEYARD SHIFT
vigilant, I wait in the darkness
darkness which endangers my trust
trust that’s too easily cut
cutting hope from my life
life’s hazards are real
real, unto death,
death to grave
graveyard
pleas
2012-07-25
P. Wanken
(also posted for the Nonet Form)
I love this form, Paula! And it is a very deep poem…
Thanks, Diana. I was playing with a big, incorporating “Loop Poetry” a bit, though the last two lines don’t “exactly” fit the loop.
That was s’posed to say: “playing with it a bit” :-\
A winnrer, Paula!
“Why do you hate me so?”
Why do you hate me so?
I wonder what I’ve done,
nothing wrong.
Leave me alone.
Why do you reproach me so?
When you’ve done me the wrong,
you left first,
remember? Me. Alone.
Why do you need me so?
I wish you could love alone,
so I could too, do so,
then turn around and you’ll be gone.
Why do you love me so?
No heart you broke,
no need to fix anything, anymore.
Please, do not leave me alone.
KEEP WORKING ON LOVE
Live throws the high hanging curve
tempting you to swing for the fenced.
There is no recompense for foul balls
and striking out is always an option.
Love brings its share of heartache
breaking when all seems to swim,
but it is undertaken on a whim,
and the harder you work at it, the harder it gets.
Give respect when it is deserved
and deserve to get the same.
There is no more lame reason
than to expect respect. Earn it. Learn it!
Forgiveness is the key to progress,
for no matter how much of a mess you make,
it takes a big person to forgive. Live
like tomorrow never arrives. Share lives.
But, keep working on love,
that is a battle well won when one and one
become one, and for a lifetime. Can you try?
Keep working on love?
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012
Nothing says Love, like forgiveness !!! Great poem, well done!!
Hear, hear!
I love the play of words, like “battle well won when one and one become one…”
“Away”
Fat drops of rain
splay themselves
over the ground,
kicking up gray dust
with each impact.
I ask
for a slow, steady
drizzle,
a gray day to brighten this world,
burnt and browned,
yet fear
the ever increasing pace
will bounce
off of hard ground
and run
as fast as it can
away.
As I read, I almost saw this in slow motion… Wonderful, Jerry.
This works beautifully.
Client #12
He brought a gun to the Empire State Building
the same week
of the Batman movie massacre.
Not on purpose
but by accident
because in Harlan County
you carry a gun
in your car
by your bedside
in your jacket.
You always have one
close by, just in case,
and sometimes you even
forget that you’ve got one.
This one he’d almost forgotten
but not really
because it was hard
in his pocket,
a pistol,
silver shiny
and he felt it there
all day as they walked in
Times Square
and through Central Park,
because you never know
when you might need it.
And he felt it there,
heavy and a comfort
to him, really,
before they went through
the checkpoint,
where guards (also
with guns by the way)
were looking through
packs and purses
before the elevator ride.
Maybe they wouldn’t find it.
He didn’t know how
it all worked;
Would they x-ray his pants?
Not likely.
He’d never been up
in such an elevator before.
His father was a miner
and of course
went down into the earth instead;
and he was a car salesman,
truck driver,
unemployed lately.
His wife had a gun
in her purse
because she too
always carried one,
and so they were both arrested
the same week
of the Batman movie massacre;
the same week
no one wanted anything to
do with gun control,
not the president
or anyone,
because of people like him
unemployed from Harlan County
in New York City
for a weekend with his wife,
arrested (wrongly)
for gun possession
for a gun he’d forgot he had
until the last minute
(only he knew he had it,
he always had it,
had to have it)
because there was another gun
in his car
by his bed
in his kitchen.
His daughter has shotgun.
Last Thanksgiving she shot a turkey
and he was secretly jealous.
He wanted to shoot that turkey
he told his public defender lawyer
from NJ who never shot a gun
owned a gun
barely ever saw a gun
and was not supportive of the NRA.
The lawyer would try to get him a misdemeanor
for trying to bring a gun into the elevator
going up to the top of the
Empire State Building
because he didn’t know any better,
a gun owner,
harmless,
white,
unemployed
but married,
honest,
from Kentucky.
He was jealous of
his daughter,
he told his lawyer,
and that was the whole
problem.
I really like this, Ann.
Love this… What a wonderful poem…. Thank you for sharing.
What Tracks Must I Cross
pining through
tumultuous rapids
of each other
you are —
the rumba side of sheeted rain
the thunderous chill of aggression uncorked
a rainy season of treason tears
a teetering raft in gusty buran
skywritten in flashes
lightning in your name
we are opposites
begging
to be demagnetized
the fraternity of us
expelled in the dawn
what tracks must I cross
to find the crossroads
of you
© ~ Randy Bell ~
Good stuff here, Randy! I especially like “the rumba side of sheeted rain.”
Yes! And then the next line with “the thunderous chill of aggression uncorked.” Awesome!
VALENTINE REMINDER
I asked you to please be mine
But now I find that you’ve declined.
To tell the truth I could have guessed,
please don’t ignore all previous requests.
Please be mine for the 45th time!
Cute