They called her Melancholy Molly.
She was shy to a fault, a bit sad
and assured that her malaise
would last for days and days.
Happy was a state she never visited,
she never left her apartment. That's no lie!
She was truly melancholy!
(c) JPW - 2014
Showing posts with label Solitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Solitude. Show all posts
15 February 2014
20 September 2013
Mirage
and your heart believes that you
are seeing what it wants you to!
in misty faded wisps. You envision
beauty with beholding eyes, indecision
and your can swear her faces is
hidden in remarkable places.
you blame your meal, the light
and try as hard as you might,
You cannot replace her
and God forbid you deface her
her perfume, the smell of her hair
a gentle hand gracing your shoulder to repair
and you thought you could deal
with it, but you continue to feel
She is right here,
and you’re not clear
you, the task of waiting till mourning is daunting.
You reach to touch what is not there, leaving you wanting.
© JPW - 2013
16 September 2013
Painted Lady's Lament
She was born Catherine. A brunette of beauty and style and a smile that could melt hearts. But her confidence existed only in theory. The memory becomes a bit blurry. In her day, she played in their line of vision; a vixen, vivacious and classy and a bit too sassy for her own good. Would she be that sweet young (never innocent) creature again, her life would be vibrant once more. But a friend once told her, “Don’t sell yourself short!”. Deep inside, she believed she shouldn’t have been selling herself at all! Now, this was the life she had chosen. She stood frozen and cold, scantily dressed; sumptuous and manipulative, she could give them her eyeteeth, just to take their cash and valuables. Instead she found it easier to slather these ego-maniacal “johns” with faint praise just to get a rise out of them. Girls like her stayed single. Dreams of the picket fence never entered her ravaged heart; her thoughts remained vacuous. She starts to tear up at the recollection, staining her violet swatch of a frock with saline.
She spreads herself thin.
A slave to all who could pay;
she had one ma$ter!
© JPW – 2013
The SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #126
12 September 2013
Fate and Destiny Do Lunch
“Glad you could meet me,
it always works out just how I’ve planned!”
“Oh really? What makes you think
my wish is your command?”
“Why do you think they call me Fate?
I knew you’d be here… and you wouldn’t be late!”
“You don’t control me, no how, no way –
I’ve a mind of my own! I still have a say!”
“I’m not so sure, if I must sound defeatist!”
“Go to hell, you overbearing elitist!”
They sit and stew, as that’s my hunch,
the way it goes when these two meet for lunch!
The waiter arrives, with menus he stands,
but Fate waves him off with a sweep of his hand.
“I’ve already ordered and I know what she’ll have.
She’ll eat the veal (she loves baby calves)”
“You see”, he explains, “I’m planned by divinity,
don’t question my motives, they’re from my mythology!”
Destiny smiled. “Excuse me, nature calls”
and she headed off for one of the stalls.
Fate sat there sipping his drink and awaiting his friend,
a relationship that was a dead end!
They weren’t really connected as far as he knew,
as through the front window a transit bus flew.
There lays the late Fate, now in celestial unity,
since Destiny influenced a great opportunity.
Fate met his fate, his appointment with Destiny,
cards fall into place through a deal of humanity
Now a table for one, but what the heck,
she didn’t even mind kiting the check!
11 September 2013
Running Late
She should have been here
fifteen minutes ago.
It was agreed we'd meet
in public so she wouldn't make a scene.
Once the queen of my heart,
she has been relegated
to the upstairs maid.
It is said that time and tide
wait for no man, but
I'll give her another fifteen.
She must be running late.
She should have been here
half an hour ago.
She pleaded her apology
so I would agree to see
if her sincerity was worth
the time. I've been around
this bloc, and what's more
but you'd think I'd have learned.
I have been burned by her before.
Let's see if she shows another thirty or so.
She must be running late.
She should have been here.
I've waited for two hours.
These flowers are wilting
and it was working; her guilting
me into seeing her. Sure, she was
special back there, but her sordid
affair has got me in knots.
Just a fool, drooling on his shirt.
If she wasn't such a flirt I'd say
hit the road; a bill of goods
I've been sold. It's too late.
No call. No apology.
The technology exists to reach me.
Is she trying to teach me... What?
Excuse me miss? Did you just blow a kiss?
"You've been watching for hours
and those flowers should be in a vase.
I was supposed to meet someone
at this place, but I've been stood up
by that dirty son-of-a-pup."
She smiled demurely. She was surely smitten.
I guess it's never too late!
© JPW - 2013
Poetic Asides - Prompt #236 - Appointment poem
fifteen minutes ago.
It was agreed we'd meet
in public so she wouldn't make a scene.
Once the queen of my heart,
she has been relegated
to the upstairs maid.
It is said that time and tide
wait for no man, but
I'll give her another fifteen.
She must be running late.
She should have been here
half an hour ago.
She pleaded her apology
so I would agree to see
if her sincerity was worth
the time. I've been around
this bloc, and what's more
but you'd think I'd have learned.
I have been burned by her before.
Let's see if she shows another thirty or so.
She must be running late.
She should have been here.
I've waited for two hours.
These flowers are wilting
and it was working; her guilting
me into seeing her. Sure, she was
special back there, but her sordid
affair has got me in knots.
Just a fool, drooling on his shirt.
If she wasn't such a flirt I'd say
hit the road; a bill of goods
I've been sold. It's too late.
No call. No apology.
The technology exists to reach me.
Is she trying to teach me... What?
Excuse me miss? Did you just blow a kiss?
"You've been watching for hours
and those flowers should be in a vase.
I was supposed to meet someone
at this place, but I've been stood up
by that dirty son-of-a-pup."
She smiled demurely. She was surely smitten.
I guess it's never too late!
© JPW - 2013
Poetic Asides - Prompt #236 - Appointment poem
06 September 2013
Out In Front
Out in front
there's a rickety porch,
rough hewn timbers with tree bark
still clinging to their fibrous skeletons.
Rocking chairs and a stump table;
shavings from a whittled branch
strewn about the weathered floor boards.
Out in front
there's a tree; tall and stately,
a monument to the longevity apparent
since it was planted, a feeble sapling
much like himself - thin, gangly and weak.
It speaks of perseverance and dedication -
fulfilling its station to mark time and grow.
Out in front
near the tree, there's a lake...
a pond, really. Reeds and lily pads
defining its edge. Sounds of crickets and croaks
of bullfrogs, cicada whines reverberate in the late
afternoon. Soon their sounds will be silenced
as the seasonal change lumbers into the valley.
Out in front
is a tire dangling, a rope looped over a branch
of the stately tree. Dirt dug out, a furrow where feet
dragging and kicking kept sticking the ground
with a new found ferocity. Gaining in height and velocity,
the children take turns launching, airborne to land
in a heap with a thud; sometimes blood appears, the poor dears.
Out in front
a wagon waits; flatbed secured, a hitch holding tightly.
On a brightly hued morning, and without much in the way
of a warning, grandfather had passed. The town folk amassed
in respect; paying forward what had come around on occasion.
Sadly in procession, he was carried from the house - a finality.
Placed upon the caisson, a solemn silence ensued.
Out in front
the porch remained; rockers swaying in the stiffness of a late breeze.
Birds nested in the tree and the pond continued with activity
and the sounds of life. No one sat on the pendulous tire as it
swung hypnotic. The front door was ajar, but it was in exit,
not as an invitation to enter. Out in back the fields had grown
unruly and left to sit fallow. But, out in front a good fellow has gone.
©JPW 2013
Poetic Asides by Robert Lee Brewer - Prompt # 235 - "Front" poem
Poets United - Poetry Pantry #166
dVerse Poets Pub - OLN #113
there's a rickety porch,
rough hewn timbers with tree bark
still clinging to their fibrous skeletons.
Rocking chairs and a stump table;
shavings from a whittled branch
strewn about the weathered floor boards.
Out in front
there's a tree; tall and stately,
a monument to the longevity apparent
since it was planted, a feeble sapling
much like himself - thin, gangly and weak.
It speaks of perseverance and dedication -
fulfilling its station to mark time and grow.
Out in front
near the tree, there's a lake...
a pond, really. Reeds and lily pads
defining its edge. Sounds of crickets and croaks
of bullfrogs, cicada whines reverberate in the late
afternoon. Soon their sounds will be silenced
as the seasonal change lumbers into the valley.
Out in front
is a tire dangling, a rope looped over a branch
of the stately tree. Dirt dug out, a furrow where feet
dragging and kicking kept sticking the ground
with a new found ferocity. Gaining in height and velocity,
the children take turns launching, airborne to land
in a heap with a thud; sometimes blood appears, the poor dears.
Out in front
a wagon waits; flatbed secured, a hitch holding tightly.
On a brightly hued morning, and without much in the way
of a warning, grandfather had passed. The town folk amassed
in respect; paying forward what had come around on occasion.
Sadly in procession, he was carried from the house - a finality.
Placed upon the caisson, a solemn silence ensued.
Out in front
the porch remained; rockers swaying in the stiffness of a late breeze.
Birds nested in the tree and the pond continued with activity
and the sounds of life. No one sat on the pendulous tire as it
swung hypnotic. The front door was ajar, but it was in exit,
not as an invitation to enter. Out in back the fields had grown
unruly and left to sit fallow. But, out in front a good fellow has gone.
©JPW 2013
Poetic Asides by Robert Lee Brewer - Prompt # 235 - "Front" poem
Poets United - Poetry Pantry #166
dVerse Poets Pub - OLN #113
05 September 2013
Beach Front Property
Along the pier, planked and weathered,
boats tethered to the slips with twisted lines.
Spattered bow with gull souvenirs;
airborne psychopaths swooping
like kamikaze canaries on steroids.
And the noise in constant barrage
is a din that's never done.
But in the distance and on all sides,
the vignettes are very telling.
To the right the congregant gulls
continue their cackle, a drone.
Before wandering eyes, a horizon calls
sun speckled and bright, a light
of enormous clarity bringing this day
to a promising start. It is good
for your heart to be blessed by the beauty
inherent in this shore's edge.
Behind you are all the journeys
that have brought you away from a past
tattered and trampled, over-sampled
and weary. You can't go back again
no matter what your friends say.
For today, you take what's left.
Or to your left. Up the shore a way,
she stands in mirrored contemplation,
a situation you've encountered a myriad
of times; written in prose and rhymes
of every new view. Oblivious to you
she is lost in thoughts all her own.
A seminal glance; a chance look
that crosses paths and distance
to plant the seeds of curiosity
at trepidation's feet. She,
with her sweet smile (when
she gets around to it) and tender wave.
New "neighbors" sharing the open waters
along this knowing shore. Memories
of former lives play in repetition;
new players in this ongoing game.
The outcome isn't always the same,
but this pier brings you back to start;
to beach front property and exploring hearts.
© JPW 2013
Poetic Asides by Robert Lee Brewer - Prompt # 235 - "Front" poem
Poets United: Verse First - The Places You Love
boats tethered to the slips with twisted lines.
Spattered bow with gull souvenirs;
airborne psychopaths swooping
like kamikaze canaries on steroids.
And the noise in constant barrage
is a din that's never done.
But in the distance and on all sides,
the vignettes are very telling.
To the right the congregant gulls
continue their cackle, a drone.
Before wandering eyes, a horizon calls
sun speckled and bright, a light
of enormous clarity bringing this day
to a promising start. It is good
for your heart to be blessed by the beauty
inherent in this shore's edge.
Behind you are all the journeys
that have brought you away from a past
tattered and trampled, over-sampled
and weary. You can't go back again
no matter what your friends say.
For today, you take what's left.
Or to your left. Up the shore a way,
she stands in mirrored contemplation,
a situation you've encountered a myriad
of times; written in prose and rhymes
of every new view. Oblivious to you
she is lost in thoughts all her own.
A seminal glance; a chance look
that crosses paths and distance
to plant the seeds of curiosity
at trepidation's feet. She,
with her sweet smile (when
she gets around to it) and tender wave.
New "neighbors" sharing the open waters
along this knowing shore. Memories
of former lives play in repetition;
new players in this ongoing game.
The outcome isn't always the same,
but this pier brings you back to start;
to beach front property and exploring hearts.
© JPW 2013
Poetic Asides by Robert Lee Brewer - Prompt # 235 - "Front" poem
Poets United: Verse First - The Places You Love
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