POETRY by poetjpb

Monday, April 26, 2004

overstuffed chairs and vanilla walls and a moon looming into my window

VOYEUR MOON Once, I had a dream. I had a love. I had a home filled with overstuffed chairs and French vanilla walls, cream-colored drapes and coffee stained rugs. The moon huge and white, loomed its peering eyes into my living room window. And you were gone. Sign in to see full entry.

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Thursday, April 22, 2004

The words stick in my throat like peanut butter and I've never liked...

COMMITMENT Was it passion, impatience, or just the stupidity of youth that destroyed it-- our sweetness of love? Time has eroded the desire; I'm afraid the words would stick in my throat like peanut butter, and I’ve never liked peanut butter anyway. I don't recall you ever asking, "What is wrong... Sign in to see full entry.

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Tuesday, April 20, 2004

We are all rivers, forming an alluvial fan>>>

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Monday, April 19, 2004

I WON'T ALWAYS NEED THAT, BUT JUST NOW I DO>>>

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Sunday, April 18, 2004

Ever feel like your words drift out the window??? The hawk circles over my

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Thursday, April 15, 2004

EVER FELT LONELY? A VERY SHORT, LONELY POEM

ONE CUP idly brewing, lonely host. Only the ghost of our perfume remains. Sign in to see full entry.

posted by poetjpb at 9:13 AM Add or View Comments (4) (permalink)

Tuesday, April 13, 2004

City Santa, Jesus and Dylan

City Santa, Jesus and Dylan Listening to the strum of Bob Dylan, the hum of the expresso machine and the buzz of conversation, I sip the drip slowly. Tucked away in one corner, two men speak of Jesus, One with glasses, tucked in shirt, the other Loosely fitted T-shirt hanging out, Overweight,... Sign in to see full entry.

posted by poetjpb at 9:34 AM Add or View Comments (2) (permalink)

Saturday, April 10, 2004

No Easter Parade, no resurrection, my private miracle impossible>>>

A DIFFERENT KIND OF EASTER POEM EASTER Sun warms my back, breeze brushes hair across my forehead, past my eyes, as I stare. My unwrinkled body is old today, paralyzed. Numb. Ache in my pajamas till noon, curled on the couch under an electric blanket, wanting to hear her voice, wanting to share the... Sign in to see full entry.

posted by poetjpb at 11:44 AM Add or View Comments (2) (permalink)

Wednesday, April 7, 2004

A TINY POEM ABOUT PARIS, FRANCE AND HEMINGWAY'S CHAIR

HEMINGWAY'S CHAIR Here I sit in Hemingway's chair on a narrow street, in a Paris café, the pastry dry, and the coffee long cold. Peering into nameless faces, raw specs of humanity hide behind darting eyes as they try to avert my detection. Sign in to see full entry.

posted by poetjpb at 6:58 PM Add or View Comments (5) (permalink)

Tuesday, April 6, 2004

WILL ANYTHING PURE AND HOLY LAST TO THE NEXT GENERATION?

HERITAGE Rules are for fools we laugh, as we run and play. We’ve lost our faith, we are the world's waif. Think of our children left behind to find themselves, while we are out finding ours. What values will they gain? Will anything pure and lasting remain? What strength will they draw from? What... Sign in to see full entry.

posted by poetjpb at 5:45 PM Add or View Comments (4) (permalink)