Above the Rest
Smoke sees the tumult prior to my departure,
It rises; ready, I glance at its eyes
Accepting the paroxysm that waits
When my fate arrives.
Smoke's vision, clearer than my own,
Lies to no man once determined.
A ghastly and costly affair,
It suffocates and drowns.
Our eyes refused to meet at first,
You see, my brain chemistry in question,
I honestly deluded myself into immortality,
Like Gaia, above the rest.
I discovered too late my laziness
Earned below average results,
Only my girl, pounding me with pills,
Feels differently.
A dying man can avoid desperation:
If I can muster the breath,
I'll chuckle my way to my judgment.
I'll ask my girl to place a smile on my corpse.
- Sander Blome
(featured in the poetry forum 02.28.12)
editor's note: With tears streaming, no telling what we see in any case; true love, life's struggle. Might's well lie down, swallow another pill, exit with a little laugh! - mh
While the Crickets Talk
Still, the dark cold November night baffles;
On a bare porch, at a wooden table, I wait
Until all inside quietly fall into dreams;
I manipulate complex equations
But with a screwdriver I thread nine
Out of ten screws, like the neophyte barmaid
Mixing up drink orders. The solutions
Generate swift praise - new designs,
Says the marketing VP, projected into
Profits pushing the corporation to previously
Unattained heights. Finally, slumber
Silences the numbered bedrooms within.
Crickets call, I note, without cell phones.
I wander the porch & figure the crickets
may end their calls soon, before sunrise.
Stars shine like the conscious charges
Felt in connective tissue between God’s
Spirit & your remembered new love that
Time she first laughed naturally by your
Side.
She last looked so serious, and
As the distant stars draw closer, I
Decide to retire while the crickets talk.
- Sander Blome
(added 02.28.12)
Fake Spasm
Ordain a cell be-nerved,
Keep a smooth countenance,
Crack open my setting tongue
Blistered at its tip;
Sizzling stirrups - past mare ride
Sally…,
And with showers of red rays,
Good hope crashes.
Rising eastward to whittle away soil
From shores of technocrats
Stroke and gasp,
Masculine make.
Send off to begin
Bright dawn, cross-eyed restraint.
Unapologetically mount my stake.
- Sander Blome
(featured in the poetry forum 11.19.11)
editor's note: A life-defining moment, a grand opus; or, another day in the workaday world; either way, "stroke and grasp." Make them believe it! - mh
Until Dawn Sinks
I. Wait; coffees - no disruption
Similar, Sunday - almost aware
Black, still grave
Eye sand - smoke, she-think
Hate, staircase in a flat
Aware, bats flit
Fast, early bird online
Available - no response.
II. As the kernel phase pays over the higher salaries of my TV sister, the kernel phase of today’s contract to build a seven-level living museum for students, tourists, feminists, most anyone educated in education, the first book lights one entry beyond the last, and, as dusk slips into sleep, by the twilight of my monitor, resolve to base another sunk dawn upon one paragraph remains.
- Sander Blome
(featured in the poetry forum 07.04.11)
Trespass to Eternity
In a poodle’s pan, like the muse barreling over a Waste Management Recycle manager,
A poodle, a common white short-haired miniature, lapping loose and gay,
Great Daddy lets go the leash, forbids Moses to free two captives,
And sticks twice-ridden odors away from cardboard and aluminum cans.
Aphrodite spat on the bitch’s grandmother when Katrina wasted the French Quarter,
2012 passed with damage but not fire and death;
Doom trespassed to eternity, schools professed wages, income, and tenured Ph.D.’s -
Today, for all days, never living in the past - the Third Covenant, whispers
Into Creation (over barbecued chicken served at evangelical picnics), but
Rae Rae, my cross-eyed mongoloid maiden wife-to-be (with wrongs),
Waits for her attendant, my wife, to serve pork sausage, eggs, and espresso
On a white paper plate for breakfast at 6 a.m.
Molly Mom, God’s wife, moves into precious condominium property,
Remembers, at present, Rae Rae, and Great Daddy’s girl, her first granddaughter,
Not a poodle, not in need or wanting a poodle, nor any pet at all;
Batteries of angels illuminate this family’s everything, and unnecessarily,
Absolute Monarch, a three-personn’d God, delights!
Eternity’s trespass, forgiven with each birth, before -
And life and death, death faltering, take all by surprise.
- Sander Blome
(featured in the poetry forum 05.19.11)
Ridding Self of the Noise
Staying stable for four years gave new hope to everyone,
His recent marriage was the operative factor in his brand new
balance.
Now if he could quit smoking, he could live to seventy like a
normal person.
This is what he heard his family and doctors say.
Personally, he lived for his 3 a.m. awakenings when his family
and doctors were in R.E.M. sleep.
- Sander Blome
(featured in the poetry forum 02.17.11)
Temperature
80 degrees
October night
University of South Florida loses its homecoming game
Without her methadone
She is in pain
My poetry day is not the same
- Sander Blome
(featured in the poetry forum 12.07.10)
Daydreaming at the Printing Press
Two sisters,
Working at the same printing press,
Both with Chrysler LeBarons,
Both with convertible tops
How I wish I were the same,
One with these convertible tops;
How I wish I could say
To the sisters where I work,
Someday I wish I were the same
One with the two sisters:
Convertible tops.
- Sander Blome
(featured in the poetry forum 09.17.10) |
