A FEW POEMS FROM MY POETRY BOOK
‘Word Explosion’.
MIXED UP METAPHOR DAY
today I feel
as stubborn
as an old coffee stain
on a starched white shirt
as peaceful
as a freshly showered body
laying between
clean crisp
new bedsheets
but
as worn out
as an olympiads tennis shoe
after his marathon
as demented
as Jack Nicholson’s
McMurphy
in the Cuckoo’s Nest
and as
unsure
as a merry go round
fallen off the tracks
yet
as strong as an unwavering
spruce tree
with very large branches
that are
faltering
from age
…….
FALLING APART OR COMING TOGETHER
Am I falling apart
or coming together?
My skin feels tight
Worn out as old leather
Like I’ve been left outside
In dreary cold weather
Am I falling apart
or coming together?
Am I falling apart
or coming together?
My bones are heavy
My body’s a feather
I feel like a socialite
Also a beggar
Am I falling apart
or coming together?
It’s hard to define and
Harder to measure
The oddness of angst
Mixed with
Newness of pleasure
Writing and writing
These words since
December
Am I falling apart
or coming together?…
A few poems about my life in showbiz
STAGE FRIGHT
They ran backstage, screamed “You’re on in six!
Do your best tonight for the smug critics!”
Gotta find a moooooood in my tired bag of tricks!!?
I must hide
my stage fright.
Looked out of the curtain
saw them biting their pens
ready to judge.
Then my nerves kicked in.
My legs started shaking
my mouth — desert dry
like cotton balls stuffed in my throat
I thought that I might die.
‘Shit, What if my voice
Wouldn’t soar as I planned?
What if I freaked when my song first began?
What if I threw off my wig and just…ran??
I must hide
my stage fright.
I am tired of singing this night after night
Apathy’s replaced any beam of white light
What if I look like a deer in headlights?
I must hide
my stage fright.
DON’T RAIN ON HER CHARADE
She didn’t care much for the smug critics
Nor their pompous analytics
Tired of the arrogant skeptics
She just wanted to be alone
to write her lyrics.
She wanted to forget the numbing events
Not drown in the somber old pretense
beyond the stark white picket fence
DON’T RAIN ON HER CHARADE!
No more hiding behind her curtain
even though she might be hurtin’
ideas she hoped would soon be perkin’.
DON’T RAIN ON HER CHARADE!
She wanted it neatly tied up in a bow
So the shreds of regret and the blood wouldn’t show
She wanted it neat — —
Didn’t’ want ‘them’ to know
DON’T RAIN ON HER CHARADE!
