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My Poetry Poems

A New Poem | “Pre-Nuptials

HANS TIETZE AND ERICA TIETZE-CONRAT

Imma gonna marry you
I can’t take it when eyes are so sullen and blue
I’m just not interested in pokin’ round this hay anymore
I’m interested in the stars and opening their spring bottom door

Take it slow
Let all the rest of it go
We’re gonna be a much happier Kannon
Workin all week saving up for the weddin’.

A horse of turnips and emerald glass
The neighbors will all sigh and wave as they pass
Who’s that button poking his nose through the glass?
Wait up too late and the fading lights will dimly ask.

Send him to Cancun we’ll sport the bill
His last shot at dancing getting a thrill
No mammas too tough to ask back her babe
We’ll leave so early so she won’t know ’til light we got away

Stay all night get drunk til dawn
Then fly back home and curl up on the lawn.
Babe hold on to the last string in the score
We’ll wrap it around the 12 headed monster bursting outta the sea’s silky floor.

No no don’t drink that sour old milk
We can’t chalk it up ’til we’ve sealed the deal.
I know, I know you want to be brought to the village door
Hear the reverend’s sacrament and the townsfolk roar.

The only life worth livin’ is just outside of town
The cityfolk sayin’ those bastards are clowns
I think back dark how cold it was
Christmas was soon the square was abuzz

Too brave to start
All strung out didn’t have no heart
As long as I was threatening I had to go
I wanted to see the ice caps crystalize in the snow.

I’ll never forget the tears you shed
Or the lives we led.
We’re brave souls in the nest we made
It’s all headed to hell, but at least we’ll have each other right up to the last day.

Sent from my iPhone

Posted via email from stephenpickering’s posterous

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My Poetry Poems

In Their Glow

We’ll stake the embodiment.
A deadly priestess dresses the aisle during Lent.
Depressing as it may seem,
the little lecterns take their places in the scene.

Washing Mary cold and foot,
the diesel engines blast down to the blessed root.
Actual fire stretches the islands leg,
and individual pieces can only stray out and beg.

It wasn’t their fault in the beginning.
They thought this ritual had an ending.
A pitied the boy dressed up in a mask
Answered questions that no one could ask.

Watch the candles out there. Watch the candles fall.
Dressed up like an Angel. Dressed up like a doll.
All winter she waited for the snow dove’s feathery song.
It flew through the flickery flame the darkest, most silent of them all.

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My Poetry Poems

Back at the Lake House

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Each relationship different, bare
The lakehouse is empty, but our soul’s still there.
Under the water, near the island of trees
the shallows have grown years of mossy memories.

We swim the narrows into the mauve and purple light;
The boat dock’s restless, and the dog’s are howling for the night.
We don’t think about people anymore but fish.
Our slick rubber noses run us through the cool eddies motionless.

They really are on Cape Cod
Scotch plaid shorts, knit polo, feeling like gods.
Thinking of what people really like to do
A beautiful woman, bright red shoes
(Come see through me, sing the blues!)
I wish I could go back to my time
And lose my ever friggin’ mind.
The whisper handed slew
The bobble banded boo
The only thing I worry about this late
Is avoiding the sticky eyed gate
I can beat this with a smile
I can wait up for you for a while
We’ll tease the clouds to crack a blush
And escape the mind numbing feeling of the morning rush.
I dance like a cloud
I choose to be free and wild
I’ll perch in the sycamore tree
Jump and then be free
I choose not to be better
As in choosing to write a letter
There are boring people know more than me
Who’ve dug up a hole underneath their dreams
A new path is ground
Sssh, don’t be too loud!
Let’s dance the boogie dance
Get all cute and caught up in romance.
Big blocks of iron are thundering down
Except these don’t make a sound.
We’re the ones who have the need
To take the bastards out and punish them with greed.
Have you noticed it’s not the being
But the leaving?
Ballyhoos streak the sky
Desperately knowing just where we lye.
Let’s capture the blue eyed goat at his door
I don’t feel like being here anymore.
The cigarette ashes poke through the hornets’ nest late
They’ve determined to go it alone leaving it up to fate
Theses are the lovelies, the ties that bind
We’ll be allright another year, another century, with them by our side.
Spaghetti for breakfast; get ready for tea!
We drift through the eons in bliss with our lovely coterie.

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My Poetry Poems

The Lovely Couple

Honey, let’s grow our own branch.
Let’s give the white tiger of our hearts a second chance.
Let’s look into the woods and be still.
Lose all we learned, and do it by feel.

All right you’re wrong. Wanna’ to know why?
All night long you hold courtship with the phantom sky.
You brace the breach and clutch the straw
And wonder why everything comes out wrong.

You’re a thespian with your speech.
It’s something I can’t hold out and reach.
I’ve tried with my song
But sadly it just lopes and lopes along.

OK, be a ruler with your king.
I won’t hold back a thing.
I’ll teach you to draw and do studious things.
I’ll teach you to whisper to the mountain and the breeze.

Finally, at last, in the darkness we’ve reached our peak.
A little boy in the drawer raises his head out to see.
His face is covered in lashes.
His cheeks are blanch, spotted with rashes.

My kingdom for a good eye!
The riders mount with their fellows to the sky.
They know how it is down and out.
In Paris and London and all about.

I’d like to take you outside and shout.
But I dare not let darkness out.
He’s a snake whispering to his lover the dark.
A small minded man willing to ransom my only spark.

Oh, how I wish you wouldn’t see
The little man who’s running inside of me.
He’s a traitor I tell you. Don’t believe a thing!
If you do, I swear, I’m gonna take back that corn blue sapphire ring!

Cutlet sized blazers and ribbon shaped hills.
They keep us haunting this house recklessly in chills.
I’d sign you out, but you wouldn’t last
You’d thrash around hysterically screaming about the past.

You’re a duckly little darling aren’t you?
Heart shaped whisper, streaming lake colored eyes.
Who wouldn’t imagine an ocean looking at that radiant blue?
Will it do any good if I throw away all of the signs?

I want to thank you for being here this evening.
It’s a drama we couldn’t have done without you.
Little birds take your seats and be still
We promise what we say will be real.

Longers, long for your garden covered roses then.
We’ll be back if there’s room at the inn.
Make it cozy, fresh coffee and bread
And all the things King Solomon had by his bed.

Beads and roses of rubies and stone
Don’t bother us too early. We want to be alone.
Stop crying in your castle when we’re not to blame.
Each year we come back and its always the same.

Oh lovely, I touch your soft place.
It’s a bed of roses, your other face.
Be humble and proud and laugh out loud.
Once their done with us, we’ll just be another face in the crowd.

We stand upside down on the surface of the sky.
I can already see them waving their hands goodbye.
“They’re like Angels,” they scream, “Hold them to their words.”
But its too late. We escape their providence and fly away like birds.

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My Poetry Poems

The Proposal

Can I hold your hand in Spring?
It would be a most beautiful thing.
I can take you ’round Haskel’s for lunch
On Saturday so we don’t have to rush

If its dry I’ll hold your clutch.
Otherwise you’ll beat me to the punch.
I love living in your bowl,
And do you know on Saturday they offer free rolls!

Gratis, no kidding,
But before winter you must bring them some knitting
Do it up in style
So they can be proud and look at us smile.

I’ll be your bookkeeper too.
God knows you’ve earned your due.
I’ll wish you all the best
When the pumpkin headed monsters put you to the test.

Awake in my dream
Oh, it’s a marvelous thing
To think you’ll be my wife
And pour my coffee the rest of my life.

You are all pumpkiny when you blush
It’s a smile I’ve seen for miles when I’m free.
I wish you would hold me up in your tree
Feathered and silent, tasted of your touch.

You are Grandma’s dream
Coming alive at the seam.
A wish maker’s dance
Held still by a trance.

You are diamonds and hides
The King maker’s bride.
Can we saddle up and ride
Until we reach the other side?

I’ll take you in hand
And be ball rich grand.
Let’s stake us out some land
Just to show Daddy that we can.

We’ll build rich farms
That grow honeysuckle charms
And dream of monkeys and apes
Who eat our wine maker’s grapes.

They sing winter songs.
We work hard all week long.
They lay in the carafe,
Soaking in their warm bath.

Shower me with hope.
I know you think I’m poor.
Poor with words and can’t cope.
So if it doesn’t work we’ll open a store!

At Christmas I’ll cut you a ham.
We’ll stream icicles across his limb.
We’ll build forests for sleep
And burly ranches for our lazy sheep.

I’m a sheep rancher’s wife.
A coat maker’s bride.
God, it’s good to be alive
With only you by my side.

Honey, can you slide the ruler of life?
Can you be quiet for a while.
I want to sit and gaze at the beef
And dream of what its like to be a tree.

I want to take the chariot for a spin
And this time not for pretend.
I want to ride rope and spring
Like on a grasshopper’s dream.

I like grinding it out for while.
It doesn’t all have to be trophy’s and style.
We can be lazy for a day,
Or run outside and play.

The frisbee catcher has a dog
The Honeybee keeper acts like a stupid, wet frog.
A kiss from you will make him smile,
But don’t be gone for a while.

Let’s sing and watch the Sun.
After all, it’s how we begun.
We’ll like dancing in the trees
And after its over back down to the sea.

A clown maker’s wife.
A bee boppers life.
Oh, what marvelous pets we’ll be
Sold in a store, unlocked from our cage, for free.

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My Poetry Poems

A Poem: “Where the Ring Comes Together”

Mountain goats are often seen at the top of Ha...
Image via Wikipedia

I miss driving up that street
The last in the land
With winds singing up Harney Peak.
A blue diamond cross
And a sailor’s sunburnt hand
Are all that’s left
Spreading across the dry land.

The night is thirsty for the juice
Of speech.
Woodmills chill the cherry bark;
The pond of the mind has drained dry,
And all night long little crackleberry roosters
Pray their way into the candles of the sky.
It’s blue. But what isn’t?
The candle burns the cathedral
Headed skulls through the mud, and what’s left of a town
Run by the rocky mountain weeds
Covering their faces at dawn.
(Oh teacher! Teacher! You taught me, but now its no fun!)

Who knew. Who knew? “Zu” knew. That’s who!
That’s it, we are climbing into the big Benz nude, only moonlight for a guide.
But what, pray you, have we got to hide?
Shills whispering sermons up ribbon covered hills?
For that we’ll take a dollar and climb it ourself.
Too bad for the Presidents. They didn’t see us live.
But we could have seeded candy for them,
And the green in our forest and the maple of our blanched cheeks
Could have penetrated their fossil tongues.

On climber! You’re goodwill has been left out to rot.
Better to make it before sun down when the heap in you
Gripes out you’re lost.
Come home closer, or better yet, stand still, and forget everything,
Except lusting the inside of this rock,
Has been wrong.

They will claim me back from the marble hill
For referring back to the never ending stream,
The one that runs uphill; to whispers that have no lips
Hunting inside the heart’s canyon’s rim.
Off with their heads! I’ll say it again, and I’ll say it last:
Supper grows growling like a hood wrinkled owl
From the depths of the mind.
Of-quoted sister ant curls her arms around the wind.
It’s cold up here.
We’ve been freezing for years.
But is that the past or the future?
Past present, past future
Pass me the presents!
Still we’ll go down quietly back to our dove like
Whipper-will past. Let’s hope for a time at least (present, future?)
The further in the vein we scamper,
We’ll be able to hold her still.

Still I’m confused. Who knew a climber could get so hungry?
Especially when the higher he gets the lower he feeds.

The bathing quilt whom the Sun with his rays impregnated,
Her sons said to the spider woman,
“The lover of a lifetime.”

And then she held the roots still,
Until they became wicked and flew over mountains
Through the balance of the circle from which they came.

©2009 Stephen Pickering
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