A Poem Definitely Not About Rain

I don’t care if you did arrive511618_rainy_day
In a gray palace of clouds
Or if your bartender
Is lightning and your house band
Only accepts thunder claps
As applause
I’m not one of those
Cliché poets
Chanting your name
To play one more song
Believe me, I’ll be happy
When you’re gone

 

 

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He Is Not So Drunk After All

BVance1

Photo (C) Brian Vance 2013

He is not so drunk after all, the bars have closed, the streetlights glow orange above the sidewalks, a man is staggering towards the corner, swinging like a desperate orangutan from post to post on the iron gates that line the front porches, his shoes untied, he is mumbling, he is incoherent, he is wearing his finest shirt, I understand his every word

 

 

 

 

 

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Sounding Naked

My spine makes a flimsy quill
When I first penned the poem
It meant sole and crown of me
Now I just hope it sounds naked
While I recite it with clothes on
As if I could turn a dial to show
The part of my heart it lands on
Here feigning an emotion so well
While in real life, I fight like hell
To hide all of it

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I and my Muther, Wunn

Over on the dirty side of town glimpsed between the red flashes of “don’t walk”
And barely visible through the steam spewing off of street drains
Leaned up against the neon sign of a pawn shop is a prostitute
Whose mother was a prostitute
Whose grandmother was a prostitute
Whose great-grandmother was a prostitute back
As far as they can recall
And she’s wearing the hand-me down wedding dress that fits her a little too well

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Hold on Beleaguered Artist

Hold on beleaguered artist
Though your ebullience is fleeting
Do not linger for that leisure you’ve been seeking

Now hunt down your horizon
Dare to impel your hurting heart
Before this onyx evening tears it all apart

It is no mirage you chase
No voyage lost on empty sea
So, if their curses rip your sails, know I believed in thee

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