Poor Apostrophe.
He always seems
To show up
In the wrong places.
Places he’d rather
not be.
But it’s not his fault.
He’s sent there,
Against his better judgment,
By unseasoned authors
Who misunderstand
His mission
and worth.
On other occasions
He’s absent.
Left off guest lists.
His presence
Could’ve
Would’ve
Should’ve
Been a priority.
But, alas,
His worth
Is miscalculated.
Misunderstood.
Misused.
I just atethe chicken enchiladasthat were left onmy front porch Whichyou might beexpectingto be delivered Sorrythey were temptingso cheesyand hot Sometimes I reach out to the best for inspiration. Thank you William Carlos Williams.
Lost in the dream’s deep driftGhosts from my past settle nearWhere shadows shimmer and shiftWhispering, echoing snapshots of abandoned yearsOur tears heal old, hidden woundsHope shines as night fades bright
My poem, Miscommunication, is an acrostic and more. I decided see if I could play with the broken-down syllables in the title throughout the poem. Why not?
My life,full of dreams and designs,distilled to one essential duty:Just breathe.It sounds simple.You might scoff,roll your eyes, even.But each morning I wake up,before I say a little prayer,I breathe.Just breathe. My lifein the Salt Lake Valleyisn’t simple.Our skies rivalan unvented kitchen;smoke trapped and stale,summer wildfires,stir the airinto a chunky, smoky soup.Each breath, a cautious slurpfrom…
Dawn’s Opening HymnI rise with mountains:ridgelines brushed purple and bright.Whose hand paints this morning?Clouds offer white and gray,teasing ridgelines,moved by heaven’s breathacross azure sky.Leaves offer silent prayers,centered in psalmsI cannot translate,yet I know its truth.Wildflowers breathe the meadow breeze, rehearsing devotion,stems bending steadybut never breaking.Streams reflect morning light,singing witness,dawn’s opening hymn. Why morning? For me,…
Unraveling in solumn shrouded solitude,We retreat behind white-fenced fortresses,Shielding us from outdoor connectionsWhere sidewalks could lead to friendshipsNow lost in the void of personal space,Where we wither and hide. Deepening divides cut deep into heart spaces,In public parks and squares where silence now reigns.Pulling us from shared spaces, computer screen’s glow,The virtual worlds offer solitary…