tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60200088015559355942024-03-08T01:14:10.675-08:00Random ThoughtsAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-25543354798575358422014-03-13T05:52:00.001-07:002014-03-13T05:52:57.644-07:00Original Poetry - The Care Package<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #443f38; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px;">
The Care Package</div>
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The day after<br />they lost four<br />in a bloody battle<br />and a road side bomb<br />care packages<br />left unopened<br />Jim got cookies<br />Dave got CDs<br />Sandy got stationary<br />Eric’s contained one picture<br />a sonogram of<br />his first child<br />who will never know his father.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-41004312364963589172014-02-07T05:12:00.002-08:002014-02-07T05:12:12.745-08:00Original Poetry - Building<br />
Anticipation<br /> and excitement<br /> are one and the same<br /> she can wait no longer<br /> heart pounding in her chest<br /> as he holds her hands in his<br /> pressing her against the wall<br /> she turns her head<br /> exposing her throat to him<br /> he leans close and breathes her in<br /> their hearts beat in rhythm<br /> as he tastes her skin<br /> she pulls him closer and whimpers<br /> too long has it been<br /> buildingAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-42089682384625148262013-09-25T08:11:00.003-07:002013-09-25T08:11:30.473-07:00Original Poetry - On the Road to NowhereOn the road to nowhere<br /> the GPS sent us<br /> not a soul in sight<br /> except for that guy on the bicycle<br /> I still think he was a ghost<br /> riding the same ride<br /> over and over<br /> ending at the old, rusty wheel<br /> and the unmarked grave.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-65723035515931224622013-05-08T11:32:00.003-07:002013-05-08T11:32:44.017-07:00Original Poetry - Chapter BookHer life is like a chapter book<br /> offering only a little at a time<br /> leaving you wanting more<br />
<br />
Yet her coyness is not to tease<br /> it is for her protection<br /> from those who want it all<br />
<br />
Her heart has been bended<br /> folded<br /> mutilated<br />
<br />
Thrown on a dusty table<br /> leaving it for the next browser<br /> ear-marked at the juicy parts<br />
<br />
One day, a kind, old librarian<br /> will find this prized selection<br /> and put it back where it belongs<br />
<br />
Behind the protective glass of his love.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-39202526909253105132013-05-08T11:31:00.003-07:002013-05-08T11:31:54.761-07:00Original Poetry - Missing ChapterPages ripped from a book<br /> and thrown into the flames<br /> of fear and doubt<br />
<br />
Hiding the words that hurt<br /> yet garbled voices echo across<br /> the years and the miles<br />
<br />
The manuscript of my heart<br /> still beats with distant memories<br /> like the rhythms of a song long forgotten<br />
<br />
One page remains<br /> of a story still being written<br /> one word speaks volumes.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-72324892271282829542013-05-06T10:40:00.002-07:002013-05-06T10:40:55.958-07:00Original Poetry - Confused MemoriesConfused scribbles in chalk<br /> on the blackboard of her mind<br /> once erased lost forever<br /> memories of dust floating in the air.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-86418909000620545572013-05-06T10:35:00.000-07:002013-05-06T10:35:03.233-07:00Original Poetry - Hold That TongueHolding my tongue<br /> before I say too much<br /> offering my heart to you<br /> like the proverbial lamb<br /> for you to sacrifice<br /> twisting knife of your hatred<br /> oozing emotions<br /> until they dry up<br /> drip drip dripping<br /> onto the floorAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-32235777130295335992013-05-06T10:34:00.002-07:002013-05-06T10:34:09.519-07:00Original Poetry - Do The MathI added you<br /> subtracted things<br /> from my past<br /> my futon beer bong jean shorts too<br /> multiplied our debt<br /> and divided our friends<br /> but one plus one<br /> is greater than me<br /> for I am less than zero<br /> without youAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-43920746081029088792013-05-06T10:31:00.002-07:002013-05-06T10:31:30.785-07:00Original Poetry - A Broken ManShe opens her eyes<br /> like the sun breaking through the clouds<br /> and smiles<br />
<br />
My heart breaks<br /> because she used to be mine<br /> and I wallow in self pity<br />
<br />
Breaking my fast<br /> on stale bread and cold coffee<br /> because I don’t deserve better<br />
<br />
Tears fall slowly<br /> like morning dew<br /> on a waking leaf<br />
<br />
And I sit<br /> in the broken chair<br /> and stare out the cracked window<br /> of what my life used to be.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-42906660024286412982013-05-06T10:30:00.001-07:002013-05-06T10:30:35.942-07:00Original Poetry - Breaking BreadCome to my table<br /> and speak of days gone by<br /> before guns and knives<br /> and actions you can’t take back<br />
<br />
Come to my table<br /> and speak of a future<br /> of living side by side<br /> and working together<br />
<br />
Come to my table<br /> and speak to me<br /> in words I can understand<br /> where forgiveness is an option<br />
<br />
Come to my table<br /> and break bread with me<br /> mano y mano<br /> I am the enemy no longer.<br />
<br />
Come to my table.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-50507228121750560172013-05-06T10:27:00.002-07:002013-05-06T10:39:26.080-07:00Original Poetry - Autopsy of a DreamThe pages fall<br />
cracked and yellow<br />
from the yearbook<br />
<br />
Faded memories<br />
and broken promises<br />
reveal themselves to me<br />
<br />
We always said<br />
we’d be together<br />
always<br />
<br />
Travel the world<br />
never settle down<br />
and live forever<br />
<br />
I sit and stare<br />
as tears fall<br />
onto the page<br />
<br />
Like drops of rain<br />
washing away the pain<br />
but the memory remains<br />
<br />
Of how we said<br />
we’d be together<br />
always<br />
<br />
But not forever.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-65411091030679897012013-05-06T10:26:00.002-07:002013-05-06T10:38:57.395-07:00Original Poetry - CastanetsIs it the liquor<br />
or the movement of her hips<br />
that make my head swim<br />
as she clicks her castanets<br />
<br />
Faster and faster she spins<br />
the clickety-clack fills the air<br />
as her skirt twists and turns<br />
the sequins reflecting the light<br />
<br />
An ancient dance as old as time<br />
the Mariachi tries to keep up<br />
with her seductive moves<br />
and our eyes meet<br />
<br />
She smiles and lowers her gaze<br />
she has me in her spell<br />
of her I am intoxicated<br />
as my heart beats faster<br />
<br />
Clickety-clack<br />
go the castanets<br />
speaking to me in Morse code<br />
of an ancient ritual bathed in love.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-16754704645161574092013-05-06T10:25:00.002-07:002013-05-06T10:25:45.471-07:00Original Poetry - CastawayI am a castaway<br /> on this island called loneliness<br /> burning fires day and night<br /> like so many bridges between you and I<br /> in hope of being saved<br /> but the ships that sail by<br /> only want one thing from me<br /> that which I cannot give<br /> and the sand between my toes<br /> is washed away by the tide<br /> along with my hopes and dreams<br /> my message in a bottle<br /> is a cry for help<br /> and I cast it into the waves of desperation<br /> but every morning, alas<br /> it has washed up on the shore again<br /> unopened and unanswered.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-73776914702734905692013-03-01T10:38:00.003-08:002013-03-01T10:38:55.805-08:00Original Poetry - Descending Into Madness<div style="text-align: center;">
Descending Into Madness</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Up to the basement I climb<br />turn off the lights to see<br /><br />I wake up to dream<br />and live to die<br /><br />I’m afraid to be brave<br />for I love to hate<br /><br />Alone in the crowd<br />Unable to move in space<br /><br />I am rising<br />as I descend<br /><br />In this prison<br />I am free.</div>
<div style="left: -1988px; position: absolute; top: -1999px;">
Up to the basement I climb<br /> turn off the lights to see<br />
I wake up to dream<br /> and live to die<br />
I’m afraid to be brave<br /> for I love to hate<br />
Alone in the crowd<br /> Unable to move in space<br />
I am rising<br /> as I descend<br />
In this prison<br /> I am free.<br />
- See more at: http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/wednesday-poetry-prompts-212#comment-3382669</div>
<div style="left: -1988px; position: absolute; top: -1999px;">
Up to the basement I climb<br /> turn off the lights to see<br />
I wake up to dream<br /> and live to die<br />
I’m afraid to be brave<br /> for I love to hate<br />
Alone in the crowd<br /> Unable to move in space<br />
I am rising<br /> as I descend<br />
In this prison<br /> I am free.<br />
- See more at: http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/wednesday-poetry-prompts-212#comment-3382669</div>
<div style="left: -1988px; position: absolute; top: -1999px;">
Up to the basement I climb<br /> turn off the lights to see<br />
I wake up to dream<br /> and live to die<br />
I’m afraid to be brave<br /> for I love to hate<br />
Alone in the crowd<br /> Unable to move in space<br />
I am rising<br /> as I descend<br />
In this prison<br /> I am free.<br />
- See more at: http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/wednesday-poetry-prompts-212#comment-3382669</div>
<div style="left: -1988px; position: absolute; top: -1999px;">
Up to the basement I climb<br /> turn off the lights to see<br />
I wake up to dream<br /> and live to die<br />
I’m afraid to be brave<br /> for I love to hate<br />
Alone in the crowd<br /> Unable to move in space<br />
I am rising<br /> as I descend<br />
In this prison<br /> I am free.<br />
- See more at: http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/wednesday-poetry-prompts-212#comment-3382669</div>
<div style="left: -1988px; position: absolute; top: -1999px;">
Up to the basement I climb<br /> turn off the lights to see<br />
I wake up to dream<br /> and live to die<br />
I’m afraid to be brave<br /> for I love to hate<br />
Alone in the crowd<br /> Unable to move in space<br />
I am rising<br /> as I descend<br />
In this prison<br /> I am free.<br />
- See more at: http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/wednesday-poetry-prompts-212#comment-3382669<div style="left: -1988px; position: absolute; top: -1999px;">
Up to the basement I climb<br /> turn off the lights to see<br />
I wake up to dream<br /> and live to die<br />
I’m afraid to be brave<br /> for I love to hate<br />
Alone in the crowd<br /> Unable to move in space<br />
I am rising<br /> as I descend<br />
In this prison<br /> I am free.<br />
- See more at: http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/wednesday-poetry-prompts-212#comment-3382669</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-14472516906069681772013-02-20T06:57:00.001-08:002013-02-20T06:57:20.390-08:00Original Poetry - Don't Forget to Remember<div class="comment-body">
Don’t Forget to Remember<br />
<br />
Do you remember<br /> when I held you in my arms<br /> rocked you to sleep<br /> made you feel safe<br />
<br />
Do you remember<br /> when we went rollerblading<br /> riding bikes<br /> playing games<br />
<br />
Do you remember<br /> when you cried<br /> and I told you<br /> everything would be okay<br />
<br />
Do you remember<br /> I tried to be there<br /> but I couldn’t<br /> for one reason or another<br />
<br />
Do you remember<br /> that I love you<br /> and you’ll always be my little girl<br /> no matter what</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-21838484644834528222013-01-10T05:40:00.002-08:002013-01-10T05:40:32.240-08:00Original Poetry - If I Were Like Everyone Else<div class="comment-body">
<br />
If I were like everyone else<br />
you couldn’t tell us apart<br />
you’d miss my sense of humor<br />
my shy smile<br />
<br />
If I were like everyone else<br />
You wouldn’t know me<br />
because I wouldn’t be unique<br />
the man you fell in love with<br />
<br />
If I were like everyone else<br />
life would be boring<br />
we wouldn’t get the same jokes<br />
or the puns we toss at each other<br />
<br />
If I were like everyone else<br />
maybe I’d still be there<br />
but I am my own person<br />
And I cannot be who I am not.<br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-64927388610283046792012-12-05T10:36:00.003-08:002012-12-05T10:36:32.262-08:00Original Poetry - In the Company of the Unseen<div class="comment-body">
In The Company of the Unseen<br />
<br />
You walk past me<br />
like I’m not there<br />
not recognizing<br />
the sacrifice<br />
I made<br />
for you<br />
for them<br />
the children<br />
who play<br />
and laugh<br />
I am a guardian<br />
in the night<br />
so you may sleep<br />
and dream<br />
I cannot sleep<br />
I don’t wish to dream<br />
for they turn<br />
to nightmares<br />
of nights alone<br />
out on the wire<br />
with my weapon<br />
and silence.<br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-47265123666418849172012-11-28T09:53:00.002-08:002012-11-28T09:53:03.770-08:00Original Poetry - Let Me GoLet me go<br />
rock and roll<br />
eat drink and be merry<br />
for my days here are done<br />
<br />
We had some good times<br />
and we had some sad times<br />
but we always got through them<br />
because we were together<br />
<br />
And now we must part<br />
for He has called me back<br />
and I cannot deny Him<br />
be at peace, my love.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-19813942711717725522012-11-28T09:52:00.002-08:002012-11-28T09:52:31.348-08:00Original Poetry - Let Us GatherLet us gather<br />
around the fire<br />
and speak of better days<br />
<br />
Let us laugh<br />
as we reminisce<br />
back when the world was new<br />
<br />
Let us cry<br />
as we remember<br />
those who have gone before us<br />
<br />
Let us hold on<br />
and perservere<br />
and live through the pain<br />
<br />
Let us live<br />
and love<br />
and just…be.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-34141604138297113622012-11-28T09:51:00.001-08:002012-11-28T09:51:11.299-08:00Original Poetry - The Truth About Black Friday
Have to work on turkey day<br />
what is this world coming to<br />
when Walmart ruins my holiday<br />
making me leave my family for a few hours<br />
<br />
We sit together holding hands<br />
giving thanks for this bounty<br />
we lost two more yesterday<br />
from a roadside bomb<br />
<br />
I can’t believe this traffic<br />
this is the worst way to spend Thanksgiving<br />
we make so many sacrifices<br />
to be with loved ones<br />
<br />
A mortar hit on the way to chow<br />
and they have to feed him through a tube<br />
he’ll never walk again<br />
at least he’ll be going home<br />
<br />
I’m so stuffed<br />
I ate too much pie<br />
I don’t want to clean the kitchen<br />
I’d rather drink beer and watch football<br />
<br />
Sirens blaring, bullets flying<br />
giving thanks for my training<br />
I just want to get home in one piece<br />
enjoy a beer and watch some football.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-1712707231001352672012-11-28T09:49:00.004-08:002012-11-28T09:49:21.056-08:00Original Poetry - Collecting My Thoughts<div style="text-align: left;">
Collecting my thoughts<br />
with fingers on keys<br />
what should I write<br />
with thoughts such as these<br />
roll around my head<br />
and down through my hands<br />
and from my fingertips<br />
I write of strange lands<br />
and sailing on ships<br />
on seas and on rivers<br />
fighting some pirates<br />
they give me the shivers<br />
keep writing they tell me<br />
it’s good stress relief<br />
gotta work the brain muscle<br />
that is my belief.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-21279853837763672852012-11-28T09:48:00.001-08:002012-11-28T09:48:08.736-08:00Original Poetry - Father Figure<div class="comment-body">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
In his arms<br />
she felt safe<br />
her hand in his</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She refused<br />
to be a victim<br />
like her mother</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Blinded by pride<br />
ignored the warning signs<br />
sleeps with the light on</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Locking the door<br />
just makes him angrier<br />
so she takes it</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
One day she awakes<br />
and makes a decision<br />to end the pain. </div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-68336161823888868752012-11-20T12:18:00.001-08:002012-11-20T12:18:09.506-08:00Original short - The InnChris began to question the wisdom of this trip. The voucher was only good for a couple<br />more weeks, so he didn't want it to go to waste, but he was still weak and achy, having just gotten<br />over the flu. So he pressed on, dry swallowing Motrin along the way, and made up his mind to<br />have a good time.<br />
<br />The bus pulled into the station at a quarter past two in the morning. The bus driver shook<br />his shoulder. "Sir, your stop," he said.<br />
<br />"Wha'?" Chris said, "Oh. Yeah. Thank you." He grabbed his bag and stepped into a cold,<br />misty morning. He pulled his collar up and pressed forward. He wasn't exactly sure that he<br />wanted to be here, but he reminded himself to man up and make the most of it.<br />
<br />Chris flagged down a taxi and jumped in. "The Hillside Inn on Route 304," he said to the<br />driver. Chris gazed out the window along the way, not really seeing anything as his thoughts<br />returned to Jennifer.<br />
<br />They had broken up three months ago, Jennifer claiming she needed space. Chris knew<br />what that meant. The word "space" in a relationship only meant one thing: "it's over."<br />
<br />"I just can't feel you anymore," Jennifer had said. "I used to be able to. There were times<br />when I could just look into your eyes and know exactly what you were feeling. But now..." Her<br />eyes filled with tears and she shook her head slowly.<br />
<br />"I can change," Chris said. "Whatever I'm doing wrong, I can fix it. Just give me another<br />chance."<br />
<br />But she just shook her head and walked away. From that day on, Chris went through the<br />motions of his everyday life, like he was on auto pilot. He went to work, he came home, but it was<br />as if he was watching someone else live his life through a dirty window. He was in a constant<br />daze.<br />
<br />"Hey buddy," the taxi driver said. "We're here." Chris gave him a twenty and got out. He<br />looked up at the Inn, still wondering if he should even be here, and buttoned up his coat. The<br />lobby of the Inn was bright and cheerful, and Chris felt for the first time in a long time that he<br />belonged somewhere. The clerk smiled as he approached the counter.<br />
<br />"Good morning, sir," she said, more wide awake than anyone should be at this time of<br />morning. "May I help you?"<br />
<br />"Hi," Chris said, "I should have a reservation under Chris Brockstedler."<br />
<br />"Yes, Mr. Brockstedler. We have you in room 212, with a beautiful view of the lake. Do<br />you need help with your bags?"<br />
<br />"No thank you," Chris said. "I just have the one."<br />
<br />He tossed his bag onto the bed and opened the curtains. The clerk was right; it certainly<br />was a beautiful view. Chris sat on the edge of the bed and stared out of the window, wondering<br />where this new adventure would take him.<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-4429459731770277212012-11-11T07:41:00.002-08:002012-11-11T07:41:49.942-08:00Original satire - Birds and Bond<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>BIRDS AND BOND<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Birds. They’re
everywhere. Flying like they do. Shitting on my windshield. Their songs are so beautiful, except at 4 in
the morning. Crows are the worst. They don’t even have a pretty song. With them, it’s just that pompous “CAW!” Either learn a different tune, or shut
up. When the weather was better, it was
nice to sleep with the windows open. The
cross breeze coming through cooled things off just enough, and the sounds of
the night are peaceful.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then it begins.
CAW! CAW! CAW!
Son of a bitch; the sun isn’t even up yet. CAW!
CAW! CAW! Great.
I was in the middle of the perfect dream, too. I was dreaming I was James Bond, driving an
Aston Martin. Fast, too. There are no traffic cops in my dreams. I can drive as fast as I want, and there’s
never any danger of getting into an accident, unless the dream turns on me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So there I am, driving about 100 miles per hour on the Autobahn,
a hot chick by my side, feeling safe and protected, because after all, I’m
Bond. James Bond. And she’s so grateful too, if you catch my
drift. We pull over into the parking lot
of a diner. Not in the front…in the
back. Where it’s dark. She smiles tentatively, still frightened a
bit, but knowing that I’m there to protect her.
I gaze into her eyes and assure her that we’re safe now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She looks back at me, opens her mouth, and says, CAW! CAW!
CAW! You’ve got to be kidding
me. I reach over onto the nightstand,
hoping the cool spy gun I had in my dream followed me out, and my hand closes
around a tube of Preparation H. Speaking
of a pain in the ass, that damn crow is at it again. CAW!
CAW! CAW!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I roll out of bed and half walk, half stumble to the
windows, and bump into the wall.
Something else followed me out of the dream, and it’s probably a good
thing I bumped into the wall, because I probably would have otherwise closed
the window on it. Once the windows are
closed, I shuffle to the bathroom, trying to figure out how to urinate without
spray painting the walls. When I finally
figure out the right angle, a shadow catches my attention to the right. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perched on a branch outside the bathroom window, is my
nemesis, Dr. Crow. CAW! CAW!
CAW! So much for the right
angle. My stream hits the wall above the
toilet, ricochets off of a framed painting of the Virgin Mary, and catches me
right in the eye. Screaming and cursing,
I fall backward into the tub, grabbing the shower curtain on my way down, the
shower curtain rings snapping one at a time.
I lay there stunned, covered in sweat, urine, and the shower curtain, the
last of my piss circling the drain, ready to give up and just sleep here, until
he starts laughing. CAW! CAW!
CAW!<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020008801555935594.post-35780313386897773872012-11-09T05:42:00.001-08:002012-11-09T05:42:14.776-08:00Original poety - A Cry for No One<div class="comment-body">
A Cry to No One<br />
<br />
When he’s gone<br />
she picks herself up<br />
and sweeps up the pieces<br />
of her shattered life<br />
<br />
When he’s gone<br />
she tells herself<br />
it was her fault<br />
and believes it<br />
When he’s gone<br />
<br />
she covers the bruises<br />
with makeup and lies<br />
and forgives him again<br />
<br />
But when he’s there<br />
she lives in fear<br />
and tries to hide<br />
from the monster within.<br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760949587587221111noreply@blogger.com0