PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I stand
a bruised banister
upon the porch of
my more and more quiet
contemplation
as a set of injured
brooding brown eyes
haunt my heavy heart
with a near destructive
recollection
all my blessings are
at best
momentary
thoughtful decorations
to my cluttered mind's
noisy way of thinking
through my words
to some I seem
a comely sort of lass
to professionals
I must appear
a hodge podge of
misplaced miss mash
but I don't mind
not really
Yogi Berra said it best
'I yam what I yam'
I am an ancient original
weaving myself throughout
my splotchy, colorful history
pulled out and dusted off
likely from
a back closet of
many lives compiled
morally sound
I venture a twisted guess
yet as trepidatious as
meadow clover
the art of my industry is
thinking too much
as these ever tumbling words
once again test their spin
on the physical world
around me 
my longings take their breath
with might
I guard the hand that gloves
my very within
I am a slip of a girl
by many accounts
in a questionable lady's attire
slipping her dainty lace off
farther and farther
she tucks it out of sight
with these words
I gamble only
with and for
but the likes of
myself
charming the silence
into allowing me to stay
a few more misty mornings
as the darkness denies
my eyes the sunshine
they so ravenously crave
amid this mood of 'Misunderstood Twilight'.........
(March 7, 2011 615am)

I stand
a bruised banister
upon the porch of
my more and more quiet
contemplation
as a set of injured
brooding brown eyes
haunt my heavy heart
with a near destructive
recollection
all my blessings are
at best
momentary
thoughtful decorations
to my cluttered mind's
noisy way of thinking
through my words
to some I seem
a comely sort of lass
to professionals
I must appear
a hodge podge of
misplaced miss mash
but I don't mind
not really
Yogi Berra said it best
'I yam what I yam'
I am an ancient original
weaving myself throughout
my splotchy colorful history
pulled out and dusted off
likely from
a back closet of
many lives compiled
morally sound
I venture a twisted guess
yet as trepidatious as
meadow clover
the art of my industry is
thinking too much
as these ever tumbling words
once again test their spin
on the physical world
around me 
my longings take their breath
with might
I guard the hand that gloves
my very within
I am a slip of a girl
by many accounts
in a questionable lady's attire
slipping her dainty lace off
farther and farther
she tucks it out of sight
with these words
I gamble only
with and for
but the likes of
myself
charming the silence
into allowing me to stay
a few more misty mornings
as the darkness denies
my eyes the sunshine
they so ravenously crave
amid this mood of 'Misunderstood Twilight'.........
(March 7, 2011 615am)