An Abundance of Love

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Each piece you hand out may never return. Giving it all away so freely, you must know dangers await. Without a string attached, it won’t know to return. How will you have more than what you’ve got, if you’re slapping it in the hand of every stranger that walks by?

Surely, you could take more care. Keep it closer. Dole it out, once worth has been assessed? It’ll all be gone and you’ll be left empty handed. Hollow-hearted. Weak and sad.

I keep all of mine in here. See? It’s just there. In that pile. Waiting. For the right time. The right one. The one that deserves it. Earned it. Needs it. I’ll be fine sitting here, watching you empty of your abundance.

Fine, go. All I need is just there. Under that layer of dust. Beneath the lost and lonely. Don’t worry, I know what to do. While you dump yours all over, I’ll have mine right here. Close and always waiting.

Fodder

i think i’m the worst sort of person. when is it okay to hurt someone else? when is it okay to say i can’t do this? only the worst sort would consider it. a person who thinks they deserve more than what they’ve got. that it could be better somewhere else. that constant waiting for the other shoe to drop will leave. the ebb and flow no longer dictated by desire or addiction. just ebb. ebb and ebb and ebb. til it’s gone.

but it’s never gone. even if you flush it out. chase it away. cut it from your heart. it’s still there. always hidden in the unsuspected. no matter the precautions taken. no matter the questions. no matter the reservations. always there. always ready to show me i’m wrong.

i am the worst sort of person
for wanting more than what i’ve got.

What are you fucking thinking? What are you fucking doing? Who the fuck do you think you are?

I don’t know.                 I don’t know.                Just lost.

Figure your shit out. There’s only one solution. Climb back on the crazy train. And hang on. You’re not going anywhere. You don’t know how.

I could figure it out.           I could stick up for me.

Please. You can’t. You don’t understand enough to argue. I’ll tell you what to do. You’ll do it. Because we all want the same thing. And that’s for me, I mean us, to be happy.

You don’t really care. You just want to secure me. Under your thumb. Shapeless. Faceless. Lost.

You’re ridiculous. I told you you didn’t get it. You’ve just validated my point.

Poem 3

For your unfettered consideration
and undoubtedly refined thought,
tell me how you interpret
all of these changes

that have come unexpected,
unannounced, and unwanted
into the lives of everyone
who manages to pay attention

and notice what wrongs have
been done, ignored, and
tragically encouraged with
the enthusiasm of

a two year-old child
and the recklessness of one
who knows nothing of struggle,
heartache, and loss.

Mighty 5 … in fifty minutes Workshop Margaret Pettis Poem 3: Goal to write on sentence (about 20 lines) that is one perfect sentence. Showing that I can control language syntactically, grammatically, logically. with 5 words per line.

Linda Pastan The New Dog that is one sentence that is grammatically perfect. See below.

The New Dog
Linda Pastan

Into the gravity of my life,
the serious ceremonies
of polish and paper
and pen, has come

this manic animal
whose innocent disruptions
make nonsense
of my old simplicities--

as if I needed him
to prove again that after
all the careful planning,
anything can happen.

You Never Learn

It won’t be the monsters you can see. It will be indiscernible, desiccating. So subtle, you notice too late; stuck in the pot that slowly boiled. With you too spent to escape.

It will be like you and me. Full of life and love and possibility. Full of promise and buried expectation. So much light, you’re certain nothing can be hidden, tucked away, shoved behind.

It won’t jump out or attack. It will slowly consume. You’ll look down and notice you’re gone.

Once again

Too quick to trust.
Too nice.
Too kind.

You never learn.

– Poem 5 – Someone Else’s Secret

Something that’s available to everyone must not be very good. I could kill us all and never have to say goodbye. Ignore me. It’s just the wine talking. Don’t worry.                           Grow Be free

Mighty 5 … in fifty minutes Workshop Margaret Pettis Poem 5: Goal to build on someone else’s secret

The Purpose of Should

An afterthought SHOULD HAVE
A driving force for unrelenting
guilt SHOULD HAVE
shame SHOULD HAVE
sorrow
SHOULD HAVE

SHOULD
Say it enough and it’s meaningless
Say it enough and it ceases to be

Notions for when it’s too late to change
When the results are in
And everyone you love is gone
When there’s nothing to be done

A Story Where

A story where I write about you, but you’re covered in changes.
With enough rearranges,
That someone could believe,
At least, a bit more than me.

A story where I write about you, but as tiny rabbit.
Hit by a car, truck, or train.
And all I can see is the skewed
View from the street.
Heatwaves and blood.
Snapped neck,
Gristle and bone,
Dark halo.

Heart
Slowly
Slowly
Slowing.

A story where I write about you, but you’re not such a dick.
You climb from the contraption,
Just to see what happened.
Spot the small bunny with eyeballs loose,
Runny.

A story where I write about you, but you’re hidden in
Flickers of allegory.
Splashes of enlightenment.

You with your hands on your hips.
And a sick smile on your lips,
Lift my broken body
With the tip of your shoe.

A story where I write about you, but the fantasy is waning.
And the truth is regaining.
So, when I go flying, I’m not that surprised.

I twist in the air.
Search for the semi, fox, or plane,
That will finish me off,
Instead of your face.

A story where I write about you, but this time I get it.
I can write all I want,
Reconstruct.
Make excuses.
But truth will out
And
It’s time for me to accept
That you’re just a fucker.
And
I have no regret.

– Poem 4 – Gloves

Long thin tail, dark corner
Lift the cardboard
Small rat, not moving
Muddled brown
Frown at swarming flies and accompanying smell
Death reigns, dried blood
Burnt sienna
Plastic shopping bag glove
Grip on the rat
Slough of skin, plop of muscle nut-brown
New glove:
Tawny rat puppet

Poem 4: Focuses on repeating a single color throughout the poem. Personal thoughts – everyone else wrote about beauty, flowers, longing, etc. I wrote about a personal experience.

Mighty 5 in fifty minutes Poem Workshop by Margaret Pettis attended during the LUW 2017 Fall Conference.

Sweetie Pie

Can you believe it? A perfect little fluff ball all curled up, purring in my lap.

She’s the most wonderful, soft, cuddly, tiny sweetheart ever.

Such a good Kitty.

Hey, let me see her! It’s my turn!

No, stop. Let go!

Ow! Bad Kitty! Mom!

Girls. Calm down. Kitties can be both. Good and bad do exist. Even in something precious.

3rd edition
Word count: 61

First Haiku-2