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Passions in Poetry

eggs (thanks for liking my head)

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bsquirrel
Deputy Moderator 5 Tours
Member Rara Avis
since 01-03-2000
Posts 8382


0 posted 06-08-2000 12:24 AM       View Profile for bsquirrel   Email bsquirrel   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to Submit your Poem to Passions  View IP for bsquirrel

I pray every night for fog to surround me
In fingers of low-lying cloud.
They could peel apart my worries, show them to me
For the waterwornout crutches they are.
I could shake hands with rain, smile
At the peeks of helpful things I found;
All the rest would be smothered to the ground.

Another day at work forgetting why I was born.
Listening to suggestions that nothing is worth waking for.
Phone mothers giving dysfunction to their Starbucks sons.

Currently, they laugh in the broken staccato of being bitter.
Their voices like so many eggs thrown against the pavement
To burst -- the insides glow as they slide away --
Leaving a scaly crust layered for days.

Why can't they be hatched? I know fog might be too cool,
But why can't they be hatched by someone not taken?
No. We choose the easy way out, mistaken,
Staring at our shells in the mirror. Begging it to give us answers.
Saying to the glass, when we finally grow used to our reflections,
Thanks for liking my head.

© Copyright 2000 MPC - All Rights Reserved
Janet Marie
Member Laureate
since 01-22-2000
Posts 18986


1 posted 06-08-2000 01:42 AM       View Profile for Janet Marie   Email Janet Marie   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Janet Marie

I pray every night for fog to surround me
In fingers of low-lying cloud.
They could peel apart my worries, show them to me
For the waterwornout crutches they are.
I could shake hands with rain, smile
At the peeks of helpful things I found;
All the rest would be smothered to the ground.

Another day at work forgetting why I was born.
Listening to suggestions that nothing is worth waking for.
Phone mothers giving dysfunction to their Starbucks sons.
---------------
No. We choose the easy way out, mistaken,
Staring at our shells in the mirror. Begging it to give us answers.
Saying to the glass, when we finally grow used to our reflections,
---------------
cool poem bsq...
love the fog imagery ...
I gotta stop reading these kinds of poems of yours on 2 hours of sleep...
it makes my head hurt  LOL
I'll let ya explain this one too...
atleast the voices-egg thing...
later groovy-gator
bs/jm


 
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