Georgia Summer

On 2019042520221007 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

We live in Georgia.
Summer sucks.
It’s hotter than Tabasco —

We need to find a cooler place,
Like Maine, or like
Nebrasko

The pavement’s black
And radiates.
It’s positively solar —

That’s followed up
With hurricanes
To feed the general dolor

The beaches are
All far away;
We’re plagued by large mosquitoes

And all we have
For sustenance
Are chips and margaritoes

The summertime
In Georgia is
A thing best kept at bay

For once it’s here
We moan about it
At the Chick-fil-A

It’s hot and humid,
Miserable,
And generally a bummer

But college football
Precamp’s here.
That is a Georgia summer

Morning

On 2019042420190424 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

Morning stretches out her feet
Slowly onto the shore,
Sitting up languidly on her bed of water,
Spreading her arms out wide.

She dresses in the dim,
Afraid to wake the neighbors,
Donning glorious attire
Self seen as casual frumpiness.

She takes in a full, fresh breath,
Realizing this world is hers,
And prepares to keep careful watch
Over her sleeping children.

Other Islands

On 2019042320190423 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

I am the first who didn’t fight
Among the generations on both sides,
Questioning my own fealty

I am just one among the hearers
Of the incomprehensible ocean melody
Washing my feet

I don’t presume it’s been easier for you,
For no possession comes at higher price than self,
And while your ripples may reach me, faintly,
We’re all still islands.

I am the first who shunned the stage
As I do not bear close (or distant) inspection, and
Audiences, crowds, and mobs are just variant spellings

I am just one among the scholars,
Toiling through the ancient manuscripts,
Inking my hands

I don’t assume it’s been easy for you,
For no solidity is more fragile than self,
And while these birds have glimpsed you, distant,
We are still islands:

Sharing only the sound of the waves

And the same yearning to reach beyond

Our own shores

Sliding

On 2019042220190422 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems1 Comment

Each day somewhere between falling and gliding —
I guess that’s sliding —
The voyage is down, I know, but still,
Life goes where it will,
And the storms always come to menace us,
But that needn’t finish us.

Life is a playground, a swing set, a sandbox,
With blocks and clocks and short talks
About our misguiding;
And yet, we keep sliding
Down into adulthood
Which sounded better than it feels good.

The road, the hills, this landscape — our destiny;
At least, so it seems to me.
So, take it in; be flexible, versatile,
Rain is not personal,
Trouble’s abiding, and won’t be subsiding,
So just keep on sliding

{ black saturday }

On 2019042120190421 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

the feast of our unleavening
the yeast that isn’t there
the gift that has been freely given
i’ve not learned to share

the stars of one black saturday 
that rise upon the cold
the rainbow promise fire-lost
within the crown of gold

A Pebble’s Life

On 2019042020190419 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

Sometimes we are not

Really seen,

But our effects are

Dysphemism

On 2019041920190419 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

I tried creative, it was artificial;
I aimed for stylish, things were fashionless —
I meant wide ranging, I got superficial;
To show good temper, came off passionless.

So many good things bordering on bad ones,
To hit our mark, both difficult and rare —
Is it a pearl, or is it a secretion?
The way we feel determines

What is there

too close

On 2019041820190418 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

conversations flow like melting snow upon the mountains of the memories of what we'd make the world / and in between the moments we demur to take the blame for every season brings the hope of something more / and every single one of us not you not me but all of us were there / to solemnize a promise that we'd never hold too close what we should share / but there were moments in the dim our tongues touched to the whiskey and the salt / when we rolled in and out of beds not too specific but way too gestalt / it turned out love was all we knew but we were not that good at it it seems / and now we shift our focus such that signifies our paucity of dreams / the feelings that you've lost a type of backwash in the center of your heart / and all this talk a hillside view of what became of what we meant to start / of what we meant to start and kind of did and kind of didn't in the end / and now there's only melting snow and what is left of what was once your friend

At First

On 2019041620190416 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

At first, you
as a hero saw me, one
among the many, different —

But slowly,
melodies don’t match, and
much the sound we make is dissonant —

I feel your
warm skin in the dark; I know
that you are here, that you exist —

But thinking
of that lost connection, what
could be more make-believe than this?

I rise, and
hear you slowly breathing,
lost against the shadows of the night,

I hear again
the angry echoes, knowing
in my heart that you’ve been right —

I pour a
glass of water, pounding
heart and head that feel like they would burst —

You saw me
once a hero, fallen,
but you’re never falling like

at first

No Talent For Certainty

Tag: #NationalPoetryMonth

Georgia Summer

Like this:

Morning

Like this:

Other Islands

Like this:

Sliding

Like this:

{ black saturday }

Like this:

A Pebble’s Life

Like this:

Dysphemism

Like this:

too close

Like this:

At First

Like this:

To share is human:

Like this:

To share is human:

Like this:

To share is human:

Like this:

To share is human:

Like this:

To share is human:

Like this:

To share is human:

Like this:

To share is human:

Like this:

To share is human:

Like this:

To share is human:

Like this: