poems

one of my poems i reread tonight and wanted to share.
i didn't name at the time.
it's sad
awful really
but separated from the second half of the story...
it is very very true
and real

They are...
tired.
Tired of thee apparent machine
that chews them up
crunches every resolve
chains their hearts.
And tired of failing to unlock them.

They are...
scary.
Each a portfolio of child-drawn
monsters and aliens:
A new hideous sketch every time,
to highlight every disgusting characteristic.

They are...
plural.
Everywhere you look, surrounding you,
In plain sight,
And in the smallest of dark corners.
Filling oceans with tears, because.....

They are...
alone.
Every single one cut off.
From each other. From every other.
From hope.
Every whispered plea either
fearfully ignored or faithlessly forgotten.


and just for your enjoyment
a poem i wrote about two years ago, in the style of William Carlos Williams
only the artistic types such as myself seem to understand and enjoy it.

the
green
pencil sharpener