OMG, it’s been a month since my last poetry prompt! And it’s the 200th Wednesday Poetry Prompt ever! I guess I’d better quit using exclamation points, eh?
For this week’s prompt, take the phrase “In the Company of (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles might include: “In the Company of Strangers,” “In the Company of Poets,” and “In the Company of Abraham Lincoln.”
Here’s my attempt at an In the Company of Blank poem:
“In the Company of a Bunch of Good for Nothing Scoundrels”
Guy walks in the door and everybody turns to take a gander
hands at the hilt, fingers on the trigger. Happy, the guy says,
“I’m getting married! Drinks are on me!” The barkeep uncorks
a bottle as a few men cheer. Others stare at the guy–suspicious
as ever–but he doesn’t pay them any attention. When one big
dude with a handlebar mustache sneaks up on the guy, he
turns and ducks just in time to miss a punch. Then, he counters
with a right that lands the mustache dude against the bar,
which is all it takes to start others picking up chairs and throwing
punches. The whole bar a kicking and a gouging and a robbing
except for me and the barkeep. While he keeps clear behind
his bar, I play a catchy tune from the safety of my piano.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
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For the record I wrote mine on Wednesday, even though it was posted on Sunday.
http://wp.me/p2Xft0-6f I hope someone enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
IN THE COMPANY OF MEN
In the company of men
There is no good thing.
In the company of men
There is everything.
In the company of men
You never win.
In the company of men
How you sin.
In the company of men
How you cry.
In the company of men
How you fly.
In the company of men
How you try.
In the company of men
How you live.
in the company of introverts
silence is rampant
but not relentless
no day is bland or boring
but instead delicate
there is no stress
in this space we’ve forged
an innate spectrum
that rejuvenates
we can coast
not speaking
keeping our opinions
under our hats
In the Company of Sorrow
By David De Jong
December 8, 2012
I found him lying helpless, shivering in the snow,
His golden coat loosing its warm tempered glow.
With each breath he struggled for life from the air,
To see him, made my heart grieve, it just wasn’t fair.
He was just a dog, but an old faithful friend,
My spirit plunged, knowing this was his end.
Gently I gathered him, alone, far from his warm bed,
Wrapped him in a blanket and then placed him on a sled.
Up to the house we went and I carried him inside,
Not knowing what else to do, I just waited at his side.
Each gasp showed strain as his eyes began to fade,
No strength to move, tucked in a blanket, he just laid.
The vet was busy, attending a distant farmer’s herd,
It’d be all day before he finished, is what we heard.
So we started to wait and watch, giving him comfort, best we knew,
Blood and pain in each breath; I couldn’t make him suffer through.
I left him in the house and went to dig a grave in frozen ground,
Wondering where, I remembered some hay on the hill, left in a mound.
Still on the sled I took him for a final walk over the snow.
The look in his eyes, he knew it was his time, asking to go.
We said our goodbyes as I wrapped him and carried him to his spot.
Winter’s silence was broken, as my rifle released each aching shot.
As the two pieces of lead pierced my old friend’s heart,
Absolute agony simply tore me completely apart.
With no disrespect, I often ponder that time and the sorrow of the loss,
Wondering how God felt, watching his Son suffer and die on the cross.
How He too watched in agony, knowing exactly what He must do,
Observing, sensing the pain as each nail His hands and feet pierced through.
I dare not compare my grief to that of God’s watching His Son die,
But it gives me a small taste of the sacrifice, His sorrow, if I try.
All in all, it demonstrates just how gracious and loving God can be,
That He would actually do something like that, for a sinner like me.
In the Company of Angels
I walked alone –
no one to hold my hand,
no one to hear my voice,
a mantle of snow
on my shoulders.
I walked alone.
My road ended at a gate
and seeing nothing but swirling snow
around me, I entered,
closing the gate with an audible snick.
I walked alone.
I turned
and the snow was gone,
lush green fields filled my vision
and the sun descended
and landed before me
welcoming me home.
I no longer walk alone.
This was originally called ‘In The Company Of Newton.’
Newton
We used to be free, lightly treading over treetops,
Making sport on flying brooms,
Turning somersaults over the moon.
Then Newton taught us
About the force that binds us to the Earth,
Laid down laws dictating that we cannot and will not leave the ground.
We still do of course, when he’s not around,
Dropping to our places when he enters the room.
The braver pupils hover an inch above their chairs,
Dare each other to float to the ceiling
When his back’s turned to write on the board.
Yes, Happy 200!!!!
Love your poem Robert!
http://wordrustling.wordpress.com/2012/12/07/in-the-company-of-pigeons/
In the Company of Angels (A Shadorma)
Shepherds sit
Drowsy on their hills
Until light
From heaven
Wakes their simple souls with fear
And joyful tidings.
I love this…I was just thinking of “In the Company of Angels,” you’ve gathered in a beautiful moment with yours…imagine how amazing that was…wow.
In the Company of Wolves and Winter
It wasn’t long before the fire decided
to breathe one heavy, hissing sigh
and pop into a forlorn pile of grey and white.
We waited in silence until the room was cold,
too cold for the likes of me and her,
and so we folded in upon one another,
sucking in at the last scratching heat in between us.
There comes a point in the evening where the sun
no longer gains purchase in our eyes;
it becomes no more real to us than the
wintery upheaval surrounding our entangled limbs.
The moon will rise tonight.
Affection, it is not.
Our casual conversation keeps coaxes us to sleep,
or tries to anyway,
since the hoarfrost is gathering in our eyelids
and the it is currently snowing over our shoulders.
I try to think back about what brought us here.
Perhaps, it was just a series of swerving miscalculations
where we thought we had reached a point of settling
and now the skies were finally clear.
Perhaps, it was the theory that we still had enough fuel to
keep the combusters combusting.
Either way, it is too much to be crowded with
a winter wonderland.
She sighs so much that I fear her spirit is slowly making a
run for the edge of this world,
seeking self preservation in the warmth of the afterlife.
I don’t blame her for anything.
Our bed is a shovel
filled with the powder that falls every December.
Eventually, we find sleep,
trick it out from its hiding place,
and lay our heads on each others’ arms.
It is not comfortable,
laying here as we are,
huddled up like two chuks of beef in a stew.
In the distance, the moon beckons the response from a wolf,
a world away,
snarling and smiling for he
knows something we do not.
He knows that survival is instinct,
and in this moment of weakness,
she and I lack it.
In the Company of Cats
Silent, sinuous, she sneaks
Through the door. Snake-like
She squeezes close to the floor
Slithers between the legs of my chair
Purrs her appreciation at he pieces
Of chicken I sneak to her from
My dinner plate.
In the Company of Christmas
Christmas and I walked the streets of our town,
nineteen days before his birthday.
Everyone seemed to know him.
The kids waved and yelled, “I can’t wait for you!”
and “I know what I want for you!” and “Why don’t
you have a red suit and a long white beard?”
A businessman hustling by gave Christmas
a thumbs-up and grinned, “How’s my cash cow?”
A beefy guy in coveralls with a lunch pail said,
“I hope this year you’re white.”
“I don’t think he meant to sound racist,”
said Christmas. A serviceman saluted.
“I’ll be home for you.” Some folks said,
“Happy Hanukkah!” and Christmas said it right back.
A self-righteous woman scowled,
“There’s not enough Christ in you,” but Christmas
just smiled. “I know what I’m all about.”
As we got closer to the center of town,
the bustle became louder. People pushed
and shoved in a hurry to get to Christmas.
They wanted his autograph; they shouted his name.
“I want you to be the best ever!” some laughed,
but those who’d lost loved ones sobbed,
“You just make more depressed.”
The stores were shrines and paeans to Christmas,
and the loudspeakers blared his name.
“It’s beginning to look a lot like you,” I said.
Christmas just shook his head.
“Nineteen days. I can’t wait to be over.”
Oops! Line 24 should read, “You just make me more depressed.”
Haven’t read any except Robert’s, and that is inspiring.
In The Company Of Strangers Sitting In A Darkened Theater
Needs escape.
Not in an over-sized
television screen–
movie playing in HD–
nearly riding reality
into her living space.
Awareness of familiar
surroundings cannot
disappear, limiting
definition of escape.
In cool, dim theater,
identically soldiered seats
face forward, focus on stage
where screen provides
the only truth. Periphery
of senses absorb sweet,
and salted scents, perhaps
muted male colognes, or
female flowered perfumes.
Darkness obliterates all
but the film, filled with sound
of speaker’s song. You disappear,
a silent role in a storied escape.
In the Company of the Quick Posters
There was a young poet named Rickly
who posted his comments to quickly
he tried to slow down
and said with a frown
won’t someone please fix this blog’s tickly
In the Company of Darkness
Lightbulb burned out
can’t see a thing
but I know my way around
Until something buzzes
past my ear
was it a bee
My hand on the rail
used to be smooth
but now feels scaly
And its moving
open my mouth
to scream
Nothing comes out
I can’t move
but am moving
Shaking
honey wake up
it was a nightmare.
In the Company of Monkeys
A thousand monkeys
on typewriters
can knock out a best seller
And here I sit
alone
no freaking monkeys working for me.
Okay, I have to admit I took a U-turn with this one and did something completely different. I did a travel history piece with this about a place I thoroughly enjoy. I have no explanation as to why I did it, other than it’s the first thing that popped into my head upon readying the prompt.
In the Company of Past Texans
Within sight of Gulf’s waters,
Hemmed in by asphalt stretches,
Resides ranks of past Texans;
Some famous, some obscure,
Yet all proud to claim their
Names and their places amid
Monuments from centuries past.
From Jean Lafitte to Michel Menard,
Principals walked the streets, singing
Opera, or gaining stature, influence,
Leaving imprints in sand, history, and
Names upon stone lintels among rows.
The Great Storm claimed thousands,
Leveled near as many buildings, giving rise
To blazing pyre’s black smoke to darken
Galveston’s skies, leaving behind
Grim determination to persevere.
Those brave and farseeing fighters
Wrestled time and dirt and rock,
Raising island’s center for survival,
Allowing future storms to bash, but
Not batter and bludgeon them again,
Not even when Ike came to visit.
Moody Gardens add a peaceful touch
For those who have walked the Strand,
Observed the tall ship Elissa, or wandered
Gently curving beaches beyond seawalls;
Always within sight of modern additions
To history made by lingering past Texans.
Love this, JW.
The system is being squirrley again today. This comment was meant for the poem above mine.
Thanks claudsy; the blog monkeys are at it again lol
LOL!!!!
In the Company of the Trees
Overwhelmed, I breathe in, deep, what once was air
to fill my lungs with quieting peace,
instead I am painfully tickled by what ought not be there:
smoke – and all around me are the trees.
Towering, metallic, reflective, highly polished –
there are people leaping from the trees;
they plummet down, down, and they’re demolished.
The earth sustains some psychic injuries.
I walk, and I walk, and I run, ’til I can’t,
and I walk and I run some more, and more
out of breath (even more than when mere soot clawed me); and,
I collapse there — on the forest floor.
My insides are bleeding (I’m feeding the cycle –
we wake to die further each day –
refusing to reuse the refuse inside of
the earth organism that we’re throwing away).
Even the trees of the forest are poison:
their bark-char the tar in our veins,
their leaves leaving us; they’ve all made their choice, and
we’ve driven the trees all insane.
Their sap is an oil, their roots are all cables,
their wood pulp is rotting, their full of old flesh,
and I’m choking to death; catch your breath if you’re able,
but the trees have stopped making fresh
air, fresh water, fresh life and protection.
We die harder each day with our chemical erection
thrust deep into some machine
while we spill blood and spread plagues, and crush all the eggs — for to conquer a world that’s unclean.
I am in the company of the company of trees –
trees that forsake me, and break me, and take me
to their new world (a world full of peace)
by slaying those who would ask: “Can’t somebody wake me?”
But, my life, my world, my now, I’d rather keep,
So I guess I’ll just stay asleep.
In the Company of Cats
Your ego me first
Adore me
Stills fingers momentarily
But come on I am writing about
You.
But for now
Put down pen
And words
To rub our ears
Ahh purrr
I’m a dog person but love it lol
News from a small town:
In the company of dirty horses
the barn sighs, as ever, grain rattles
in the bin when the creaky old top
tips open. a flake of hay, some
designer horse vitamins, a splash
of apple cider vinegar, the slam
of a gate and the sough of the wind
and there around the corner, sliding
in mud comes the little mare; I could
have sworn she was black and glossy
but that was September. winter now.
Sorry. I’m tardy to the party again. I’m asking for punctuality for Christmas.
In the Company of Techies
They come as from another land
into my office, galking at books
from floor to ceiling, remarking
“All of that could be on Kindle.”
They listen, nodding before I’m finished,
Yes, yes, they see my problem,
not theirs, of course, MY problem,
born of technological ignorance.
Can you just click here, they say,
then here, then go to Tools?
Do you see Tools? It’s at the top,
that’s right, you’re getting it.
The older one speaks softly as to
a frantic woman holding a knife,
but the younger one is impatient,
Just move, and let me do it!
I don’t curse them as they humor
me with their techno-banter
for they are conquerors entering
the village they’ve won only to find
it filled with idiots, children, the aged
who look down the barrels of their weapons
wondering where the kaleidoscope is.
And besides they pity me. We click.
I abide the condescension,
the snarky looks and rolling eyes,
if they will only fix my problem.
Then I’ll be in a position to explain
computer-side manners, to say
that in this non-digital environment,
the villagers are funny and wordy,
endearing and deep and send cookies.
Love the whole idea, but especially this line: “who look down the barrels of their weapons/
wondering where the kaleidoscope is.”
Thanks, Julie.
IN THE COMPANY OF MY SISTER
I choose her favorites:
blue, green, purple
shop
for ornaments,
a blue star
for the top.
My tree is alive with
her colors
and I am in
the company of my sister
once again.
sweet
thanks. it’s just weird knowing i can’t talk to her anymore, so this way she’s with me for Christmas.
Oh, my julie e. …this breaks my heart…my sis and I have such a close relationship…I can’t imagine…my heart goes out to you. Beautiful poem, julie e. .
In the Company of Water
You begin to remember
that you once knew how
to float, great breaths filling
your sleek chest.
Then there is the fear
of things below you, dark
above and light beneath.
The hurrying, the panic,
as you thrash your fins.
You strike out across
the still surface, breaching
and sounding, streamlined,
giving up your bones.
Until, at last, you copy
your very history, drag
yourself through the shallows,
raise your eyes to dry land.
In the Company of Ketchup Packs
There was only silent
dignity
as she rose from the cafeteria table
walking like it didn’t matter
that her new blouse
was ruined,
that her efforts
to make one friend,
just one,
ended as Kyle began
his one handed show
of strength.
The contagious virus
fell on every table
as their hands began
quivering over smirking grins,
not one of them
strong enough
to stop it.
In the Company of Crazy
Chronicling a life of lunacy
Has had its moments
No doubt about it
Week after week, trotting
Out the evidence that yes
My constant companion
For oh so many years
Has been Madam Insanity
And she can be a harsh
And horrible hoodlum
Hanging about my neck
As surely as any albatross
But just as much as I grew
To resent her omnipresence
Without quite realizing when
Or how, I also fell under her spell
Of familiarity – and it didn’t breed
Contempt exactly, no, instead
I got so used to the constancy
Of my craziness that I could not
Imagine my life without her
Began to rely on the fact of her
Being there, with me always
Started to resist any attempt
To remove her presence
Her somewhat comforting
Alwaysness – isn’t that, well
Crazy?
S.E.Ingraham©
IN THE COMPANY OF DOGS
Who was it last night—in my mind,
the silhouette of a shepherd-dog, dark
against sunset, skimming a ridgetop
above Winnemucca Lake.
None of my living dogs. Cowboy’s
stretched out in the entry, asleep with ears
alert to intruders. Loki’s curled against
my legs. But in my dream, leaf-murmur
of a dog moving through dark woods.
I see the ghostly-green light-stick, good
spirit of the forest; a dog on search.
And then it changed as dreams do.
A shepherd pausing by a pond as autumn
woods drifted saffron-yellow down
around her. I called a name—Roxy—but
it changed to Cody – Taco – Prissy – Sardy.
So many lost friends. But now,
Cowboy stands by the bed and Loki’s
nudging me awake. The sun’s still dark
behind Stone Mountain.
In the Company of Silliness
Games and gags and puns and wits
and giggles, knock-knock jokes, odd bits
of nonsense are what make me tick
‘cause being silly’s such a kick.
I really love when someone makes
some jest which leads to gross spit takes.
I think that life’s a big joystick
‘cause being silly’s such a kick.
…but didja here the one about…?
yeah, laughter rocks. I must point out
I love a sense of humor. Slick!
‘cause being silly’s such a kick.
So bring on silly walks and then
a whoopee cushion, squirting pen.
I just adore it – all this shtick
‘cause being silly’s such a kick.
###
In the Company of Northern Decemberists
Year end rapidly approaches.
Sunlight fades and night encroaches.
Ice-blue shadows. Apparition.
That’s December’s disposition.
Days grow shorter, colder, solemn.
Breath becomes a cloud-like column.
Monochromes in snow tradition.
That’s December’s disposition.
Holidays with twinkling lights:
displays in greens, reds, blues and whites.
Every year, in repetition,
that’s December’s disposition.
A festival of sight and sound.
Emotions stirred become unbound.
Year end’s aim? Juxtaposition.
That’s December’s disposition.
###
And Santa Lucia Day only a week away!
In The Company of Henry Thoreau
I walk around the pond
and meet him head on
coming toward me –
and we both turn and
with a deep breath
regain our solitude and
walk
the
other
way
Ha! Love it! That is just what he would have done!
Me too, Pearl.
In the Company of Myself
Often times,
when my friends have fled,
I’m alone
with my thoughts.
I find I rather enjoy
my conversations.
Oh, Rob, you’ve helped me embrace my inner crazy. I talk to myself all the time, especially in the car, and really do enjoy conversations with me, sometimes missing my exits. Reminds me of The Importance of Being Earnest, when Cecily carries her own diary so she will have something enjoyable to read on the train. Such good company, friend.
‘Nother one, here:
http://whimsygizmo.wordpress.com/2012/12/05/in-the-company-of-silence/
This is a seed…beautiful, De.
In the Company of Loving Lunatics
You don’t get to pick
your crazy, she
says and we all snicker
squeal
allow ourselves to feel
and
deal
with the hands
we’ve been
dealt.
.
Happy 200th, ya’ll!
de
Yes! I always say that…”We’re all our own special brand of crazy…not a sane one in the bunch!” LOVE your poem my friend!
In the Company of Giants
Footsteps boom through the rooms, nearly cracking the floors
Objects carelessly fly through the air, lacking all precision
Crumbs and splatters leave a trail, deceiving the path of travel
All of this and more, in the company of giants
Carcasses, covered in colorful fur, are recklessly strewn about
War cries and shouts cause walls to shake and leave ear drums nearly shattered
Artillery has lost its luster and is left to collect dust in the corner
Such is the life, in the company of giants
Receiving unexpected and fierce embraces without an explanation
Being chosen as the conqueror of fear and pain when they are on the threshold
Exploding with fathomless, raw love when looking into the eyes of my beautiful boys
To be so very blessed, in the company of these two giants
-T. Sisman
In the company of Rules
Found in places
where no one else goes
shallow breaths
shallow halls
beyond imagination
fearing falls
Scream and no one hears
no one knows where it leads
no one can sense
your isolation
no one really cares
In a mind of frustration
in a state of solitude
in a body of lingering nothing
shaping up against
a shadow of before
Smiling glimpses
of who he used to be
not yet knowing where he was going
looking for effort from all
who lay before him
the nothing filled him inside
nothing filled his wild
Master of all
of none had he become
until she walked
into his life
filling his inner sight
No judgement
no thoughts of indifference
only wanting to understand
his feelings of unpleasant
Share it out
reap me like a wild flower
pull my stem
from nothing that is there
wolves on my sleeves
for all to bare
In the Company of Pops’
Everyone’s friend
when he’s holding a beer
if you overlook his slack-jawed
tobacco chewin’, pig farming, misfit ways
A train wreck on two feet
but oh can he cook!
pig roasting maestro
host of legendary shindigs
whole pig stuffed with whole turkey
turkey stuffed with whole duck
partridge cooker extraordinaire
semi-famous among the in-crowd (Phish)
smoked salmon/ trout spread ,
smoked salt, smoked quail
smoked bluefish salad
and of course most famous of all
Pops’ Original Smoked Maple Syrup
among friends of friends
Pops’, a legend in his own mind
Congratulations, RLB, on 200!
And thanks!
My poem here (it’s kind of be-bop visual):
http://fightswithpoems.blogspot.com/2012/12/in-co-of-co.html
In The Company of the Unseen
You walk past me
like I’m not there
not recognizing
the sacrifice
I made
for you
for them
the children
who play
and laugh
I am a guardian
in the night
so you may sleep
and dream
I cannot sleep
I don’t wish to dream
for they turn
to nightmares
of nights alone
out on the wire
with my weapon
and silence.
This may sound a little sappy (for me at least), but we sometimes pick up this little nonagenarian and give her a ride to church. She is living with pancreatic cancer but shames me with her optimism. The “little secret” she always stage whispers to everyone who shows her the least kindness.
In the Company of Saints
I find myself in the company of saints,
wrinkled, wizened, bent by burdens
invisible but real—age, disease, time.
She hobbles unsteadily on her walker,
her knit cap pulled low over her skull
as bare as a baby bird’s.
An act as simple as climbing into the car
becomes an orchestrated effort—
step, scoot, stoop, turn, shift—
trusting others to stow her stuff.
the small gifts teetering on her handlebars,
one for the child who will always
be a child, who always smiles
at her approach; another, the recipient
unassigned, brought along just in case.
Reaching our destination, she takes
the hand offered, lifting her out,
back onto her feet. Beckoning
with a crooked finger, she always says
to anyone who aids her, “Let me tell you
a secret,” one she’s told so often
it is no secret, as bending down we hear
her say, “ I love you.”
Aw…Lovely Nancy, and what a lovely lady. <3
I like her, Nancy. She sounds like one of my old dears.
IN THE COMPANY OF ELVES
(a shadorma)
Here I wait,
one of many elves…
we worked all
year to get
him ready for his big night.
Hurry home, Santa!
In the Company of the Undead
Dry bones, dusty and
acrid with the patina
and scent of
years long
gone.
They rattle as I move,
and I try not to move too much
so as not to disturb
their slumber,
though I am half-asleep
myself,
awake in only the most
subliminal sense.
Still, my mind is not asleep,
and I wonder if this,
this is the actual fate of those
with insomnia
and busy minds that are never still.
Is it my destiny to really
never
rest?
Ever?
I surely don’t belong here,
yet,
here I am,
surrounded by
the emptiness
and hollow sound
of me not breathing,
my heart not beating,
again trying to fit in
and not wake the rest
of the dead.
Diana Terrill Clark
Inspired by Domino’s poem:
IN THE COMPANY OF MY BEERS
Here we sit, together,
my six friends and I
no worse for wear
(excluding the headache and retching)
and I’m catching a cold on top of that.
I can never remember:
Feed a cold? – Starve a cold?
I’ll just get the bastard drunk
and let it sleep me off!
LOL – I like yours better. ^_^
In the Company of Artists
when I was a child
I sat in the corner
and listened as my
parents laughed
and talked with their
friends in our tiny
walk-up apartment.
Once, at Christmas,
someone brought
my father a rainbow
box of colors and I
thought how wonderful
to play a whole
life long.
When I was a child
I stood low
and watched
as men in suits
and women in
best dresses
spoke softly,
admiring paintings
on the walls
of one or another
gallery and I thought
how wonderful
to share a whole
life long.
When I was a child
I sat very still
in the back
of my father’s
friend’s car
and watched
them paint the
afternoon, she
in the front seat,
he by the road
and I thought
how wonderful
to keep a whole
life long.
In the Company of My Betters
How can I explain? I feel
like a poser
at times.
And maybe somehow,
I figure
if I practice
a lot
and rub shoulders
with giants,
then, someday
maybe, with some hard work
and lots of inspiration,
I might be as fine
a poet
as you
talented people.
Diana Terrill Clark
Congratulations! Someday is today!
In the Company of God
In His presence
The upside-down becomes upright
In His presence
Belief so small becomes immense
And darkness flees inviting light
Boldness appears instead of fright
In His presence
Love this, Connie.
I sit in darkness
unable to feel the warmth of the sun
the caress of the wind
the kiss of the rain
the security of the earth.
I sit alone
but in the company of grief.
The faces of lost souls appear
memories of voices speaking but unheard
for I cover my ears
unwilling to hear their goodbyes
unable to let them go.
http://mywordsarealive.wordpress.com/2012/12/05/in-the-company-of-grief/
TWENTY-SIX YEARS
In the company for twenty-six years,
you’d think I’d learn by now,
that I’m the legs of this machine
driving this cash cow.
I’ve broken your back (literally) for these slobs
and little thanks is given,
I tore my shoulder into shreds,
it’s a wonder I’m still living.
Bi-lateral hernia, discomfort and more
and yet the pain still begs,
Years later and I’m still quite sore,
should’ve lifted with my legs.
Just an army of one,
and my work load’s increased,
If I weren’t having fun
I’d think I’m deceased.
In the company for twenty-six years,
a fact you take quite humorously.
the gold watch they’ll give when I retire
will probably be posthumously.
line five – *my back
IN THE COMPANY OF STRANGERS?
I know them.
I know them by their words.
I know them by their hearts.
And it all starts here that I know.
We have grown as poets; friends
we haven’t yet met. But I get this feeling
that we are dealing with a community steeped
in unity and expression. Our sole mission
is to reach deeply an offer our words to touch
and cajole , taking full control of our wit and poetic wile.
We have a style that we all share, a flair to write
what is right. In the company of strangers.
***Sorry, hand tremors made me double clutchd on the post comments button. This is the last three line from above.
Celebrating the poetic friends established here at PA and flourishing at the POETIC BLOOMINGS site, where we’ve released our new collection, “POETIC BLOOMINGS: the first year”.
In the Company of Dogs
Is this a battle
of the sexes, or maybe
perhaps breeds?
A one-dog-up-man-ship
vying for all of me?
In my lap,
a fluid harvest
awaits, treats
cultivated
especially
for each one
or so you’d think
by the way
they act
as jealous as
a teenage crush.
Singing sideways on the sidewalks of sun
Whistling wandering words on Wednesdays
Blowing billowing bubblegum balloons
Listening to lounge lizard Larry lie to Lisa
I laugh through life in the company of fools