PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

   Outside the clouds are spaced neatly

in tiny rows of bruised fluff;

         not purple because the sun is setting,

   but because a storm is developing over the lake.



Please don’t tell me

   that tomorrow’s another day,

  because this place seems too dreary without you

       to paint it home;

even the spiders won’t spin their silk here,

  and the mice don’t leave tiny footprints

       in the inch thick dust like they used to.



The electrician

  said there won’t be light for another hour or so,

     and I don’t want you to leave me in the dark;

I turn into a pumpkin at midnight

  and it’s already half past two.



    The thunder rumbles somewhere over the hills,

and the lightning flashes in response,

  exposing the mocking grin

        of a yellow-toothed piano down the hall;

     fingers have not danced over its keys in years

to the tune of anything superior to childhood nursery rhymes.

  Maybe you should play something now –

for old times’ sake.



Presently, there’s no sense in loving you;

    the low notes put you straight to sleep,

  and the others don’t enthuse you.

          Oh well,

    that piano has never been touched by professional hands,

  and yours are too amateur to place on me.



  Don’t worry –

         I’ll behave, tonight.

That is if you stay.

But tell me something;

        are you always this articulate?