My Tiny Bag of Sand (February 2007)

under every pyramid
and bodies freshly tanned
finds the topic of my poem
it’s my tiny bag of sand

I can see it in my mind
like ideas newly planned
a little piece of Heaven
is my tiny bag of sand

people walk along the coastline
picking shells up in their hand
but they’ll never grasp the concept
of my tiny bag of sand

it’s my beauty, it’s my pleasure
it’s my way around the bland
it reminds me of a better day
my tiny bag of sand

   

      

Copyright L.M. 2007. (alternate end stanza:
it’s my beauty, it’s my pleasure
it’s my way around the bland
it reminds me of a better day
on vacation, far away
idolizing Hemingway
my tiny bag of sand )

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Station

I couldn’t stretch it
it began furtively
the weasel of a creature
stitching disaster with a golden flare
dancing brushstrokes in the air
stepping lightly
flooding slow
a prick to welcome
boring deep within
each layer, each flaking level
it could be cruel
but I’m sure this isn’t new
I know the tracks
and paint the country with pleasure
still be the train, upon them all
useless and crumbling
but ever so mighty
bending light with each day
crowding this heaven-sent boundary
to a cradle beneath
somehow immersed in everything
so carbon me
make me realistic
drawn and painted and sung
compose me your morals
stand with posture perfect
gripping ledges
haphazard leaping
and suddenly —
you see it too

so change it all, and harbour no chain
abandon weight, for I can help you fly

   

      

Finished: 8:28 a.m., Wednesday, December 5th, 2007.