Sta.sh
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Pay Stub The inhale and the exhale,Pay Stub by *hamletspants
two weeks' respiration
in gasps and wheezes,
debit diseases;
twenty-six Fridays a year circled red,
twenty-six days we can breathe in
without pain;
but then, again:
the bills get scratched in,
need groceries, need gin, the car
still needs gas, credit card's on our ass;
breathing out those long
hours into check-writing prowess -
like air, it runs out; too
soon we've expelled
every penny as breath;
winded, we climb back in the wheel
to run madly again,
tides washing out, oxygen
changed slowly to carbon dioxide
fourteen days left
until we can breathe in.
Home I lived here, once,Home by *hamletspants
shaving moments into jars
sealed tight,
so I could look at them later.
My recollections gathered dust
in all my cobwebby corners,
stacked upon each other and wrinkled.
Sometimes at night a box bursts
open, flowing up before me,
too much light in the darkness,
old cardboard wet in the basement.
I lived here, once,
when the memories were fresh.
Mozart and Crayons A chapel, window-stained perfect,Mozart and Crayons by *hamletspants
notes of the orchestra rebounding
against the thick black oak of the pews.
A lady bug is flitting
in and out of the stage lights, drawn
to the heat or the music;
how must this seem
in the senses of an insect?
Vibrations tripping over each other,
pushing the air before them in waves;
what is the thrum of the timpani,
when even polite applause ripples
the very fabric beneath your wings?
Maybe, like birds against the rush
of highway traffic, swooping in to catch the thrill
of displaced air, her hovers
and dives are shaped by the invisible tide
of the violins, the bassoon.
Perched upon
insatiable fall upon me likeinsatiable by *Blueskye27
chocolate
offered to
underprivileged
children
devour me
by handfuls
until you
ache with
fullness
only to find
yourself
starving
for
more
Shuttered I sit at my deskShuttered by *Blueskye27
and look at the world
through a window
divided into four
equal parts,
four gray-trimmed
squares that frame the
countryside outside
into neat little sections
of blue and green.
My life is like that -
boundless skies and
rolling hills
of me contained
so closely that
if anyone ever
tears off my
shutters, breaks my
glass, throws open
my doors,
my release
will shatter
the heavens, never
to be again
contained.
will have the Montserrat Poetry Festival in full swing!
Peaceful 
