Archive for ‘poetry’

October 3, 2018

#metoo

sleeping secrets stir
wake to rooster’s crow for light
answering #metoo

~ smj

 

 Alive, Sia

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October 3, 2018

Read Between the Signs

I keep seeing signs of you,
or from you.  I’m not sure which.
Or what you may be
trying to tell me.  Or if
it’s even you.  Is it?

Seems like a bit much
to be coincidental. Feels too persistent
to ignore. Too constant
to forget.  In the background, but
always there. Much like you
were in real life.

I miss the days when we talked
so much that we didn’t need to
anymore.  We only had to think it
not say it, but we knew we’d
always say it anyway.

I still see your eyes smiling
as you listened and talked and listened.
“I can read you like a book!”, you’d brag.
And, you could.  As I could you.
Usually.  We kept a few secrets.

Now, my inherited skepticism
is louder than all the forty-twos in the world.
I’d love to believe… but, it’s not like me
to not know you.  I’m not good
at reading in-between these signs.

~ smj

 

 

Stars,  Grace Potter And The Nocturnals

October 2, 2018

Thought Wrong

I thought I was moving on
from my past, from my problems,
from the person I no longer wanted
to be.

I thought I was moving up,
like the Jefferson’s – to the top,
to a deluxe, newly evolved version
of me.

I thought I had moved past
the worst of it.  That I had paid
my dues and was ready to finally
be free.

“Don’t think”, she said.
“You’re not good at it”, she said.

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December 1, 2016

Play

Orange record player
First class ticket out of Dodge
“Puppy Love” express

————

I vaguely remember, the time when I was just little… and my older brother taught me how to write my name.

I remember being very proud of myself.  My brother seemed proud of me too.  And he told me that we could now play a game… a great, fun, NEW game.  I eagerly and happily awaited his instructions.  I would do just about anything my older brother told me to do when I was little.  Something I grew out of, thankfully, but not before learning some lessons the hard way.  This was going to be one of those lessons.

I remember my brother giving me an orange crayon… and he said, “I’m going to go out of your room and count to 100.  When I come back in, anything that does not have your name on it – is mine.”

You would think that

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January 8, 2016

Looking Up

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wandering thoughts caught
frozen in shades of gray, still
she was looking up

~smj

Blackbird, Paul McCartney & Wings