Well I thought it couldn’t get much funnier. Someone came upon my site looking on Google for “homonyms stupid person” …..
my
Slate Grays
my hands are dry and rough from working
my eyes are small and used to squinting
my stature average, verging on petite
I have thin skin and veiny feet
my complexion’s poor, my tone is pale
genes say my bones will be quite frail
I have no nails as they are weak
my voice is too high when I speak
my mother thinks my hair’s too long
I think all compliments are wrong
I’m a sceptic, sometimes too much so
though I try to be fair to friend and foe
my opinions strong, my manner shy
in public you’ll never see me cry
in private I keep emotions tame
my anxiety has that cause to blame
I hate to shop, but buy a lot
no place could ever be too hot
I dislike snow, I dislike cold
I’m terrified of getting old
I have good friends who understand
I’m always later than I plan
I’m sensitive, and feel more pain
than I let off, or care to explain
I never intentionally drink alcohol
and for this, flunk social protocol
I dislike freckles, and have a bunch
I bend, I slouch, I slump, I hunch
I get depressed but never treat
I just stay up late and never eat
somehow, I’ve seemed to manage this wreck
to keep my addictive tendency in check
though these faults I easily admit
I’d like to think there’s some good to it
I’ll never regret the time departed
for when I love, I love whole-hearted
Copyright L.M. 2008.
The Miracle of Maybe (April 2007)
my knife has sat here all along
I watched it as it performed
magic
simply
and I could have waited
but the fans related
as I was thrown in
a sea of strangers
sadly oblivious
but I caught on and on
and I really did see a peace
they laugh, you laugh
so training began right away
worked on until sleek
smooth as ice
and forgiven I sat silent
still waiting
reminded of killers
and sounds of childhood
until finally
I was wrong
I might have mattered
Copyright L.M. 2007.
Fourflight
twice I watched my number pass
felt the crumbles of the blast
siphoned, mirrored, filed away
sickening by this light of day
parachutes of older grace
pick me up, cradle my face
I’m dying by the light of mourn
repelling with the scent of scorn
a patient man has never seen
the light of me, the plight of me
so sit still while I peck into
my scorching hands, Beautiful Blue
words that letters really ought
not touch the pearls that teach you naught
have wrung my hands into a knot
and teach me what shouldn’t be taught
Copyright L.M. 2007.
MakeShiftFrame
how must it be?
yielded to the raw
yielded to the deep
bowing slender in her frame
from misty claims of soulful keep
to fending fading lover’s leap
hassled adoration?
surely no one caves
surely no one dives
bending slender in my frame
not as so where she arrives
dares hopeful path she contrives
a time should be free?
it’s allowed to be raw
it’s allowed to be deep
blending slender in our frames
my misty hopes of soulful keep
tumble toward her horseshoed heap
Copyright L.M. 2007.
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