A Visual Poem

Obituary of a Field Mouse

Field Mouse, Apodemus Sylvaticus
Survived by Lennie, the murderous brute who killed him. And George, who laid him to his rest. But not by Robert whose apology still lingers in our ears. He was a brave mouse. Not afraid of the world, something many men couldn’t truthfully admit to. Lennie, too, is dead. Buried away with watchful tears. He never knew those you cried for him. They only watched and read. George was there, always by his side, hearing his last words. Of plans that never happened. Of a lost hope that was never given up easily. Lennie kept asking, though, to hear the future. And George kept telling. They fooled each other, each time they spoke. But that last time, George told it different. He told it like he knew it wasn’t true. Like he wasn’t fooled by the magic anymore. He knew that it was never going to be. But Lennie believed him. Each and every time, Lennie believed him. Sadly, his noble ignorance is to blame. And he now lies where the field mouse did. Though their paths never crossed. But Robert knew the truth behind the lie, before they were even alive. Robert knew, and Robert wrote, that “the best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men ‘often go awry.’”. But he never knew that his apology would be to more than just this mouse.

A response to the "Mistress" Poems

Conversation

The child does not like it
When mommy and daddy fight
This has happened before
A he said this and she said that
And no agreement in sight

“The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think do there embrace.”
Daddy says, softly, speaking of lost memories,
Things he could have done if life were long

But life is short and he tries to do the most he can
In the line of memories stamped in frames
Along his forgotten wall

The child listens, alone in her room
Trying to understand the noise she hears
But she has only heard one side,
For this is a wise child,
And knows she must wait to hear the other

“The Grave’s not just the body’s curse;
no skeleton can pen a verse!”
Mommy has a different view,
Of dark corridors filled with musty bodies
Rotting and weeping

She wants to fill her life with poetry,
Spend her time writing
And through her writing she will have
A line of memories trapped in a
Favorite pocket somewhere

The child does not know what to make of this,
She weeps for what she cannot understand
But soon the silence is broken
By more unrelenting banter from daddy and mommy

“Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.”

“Sir, I am not a bird of prey:
a Lady does not seize the day.”

“But at my back I always hear
Time’s winged chariot hurrying near;”

“I trust that brief Time will unfold
our youth, before he makes us old.”

Daddy falls silent at this,
Could he be wrong to think
That everyone should seize the day,
Fill it with joy and fun
And do not rest till it is done?

Mommy thinks so,
She disagrees with daddy,
One should not rush through life,
Instead taking the time to write
And through writing enjoy the scenes that unfold

She agrees not to take life and love for granted,
There mommy and daddy agree,
But she feels strongly that she is right
And so begins another fight

“So while this numbered World we see,
let’s sweeten Time with poetry,
and Time, in turn, may sweeten Love
and give us time our love to prove.”

“Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapped power.”

The child knows mommy has won
That she will always have the last word,
For daddy will not be heard again,
Lying in his dark and happy grave
Mommy begins again:

“Sir, I am not a bird of prey:
a Lady does not seize the day…”

Gwynn, R.S., eds. Poetry A Pocket Anthology. 7th ed. Longman. Print.

A Flawed Hero Poem

Dorothy

It was all a dream, but she knows it wasn’t

The thought has been haunting her since she woke up
All those years ago
She still wakes screaming and pleading
To be back in Kansas, not in Oz anymore

But there she is safe in her own bed,
Still surrounded by loved ones,
Still under the same blanket tucked tight around her neck

She hates reliving the dream, and yet it won’t end

Continually making the same mistakes,
Walking down the same yellow brick road
For every interested spectator

Many viewers have the nerve to replay, enjoying her torture
While they sit happily at home,
Under their own warm blankets

An Artifact Poem

A Walk through the Park

Brown fuzz balls dart back and forth,
chasing each other, a fight that
cannot be settled

Long planks glaze the walkway,
they must hurt to sit on, yet people
fight for them

Gray haired ladies are popular with
the squawking feathers, whom they
through grains at

Heavy iron structures control the children
in a rather unpleasant way, it seems the
children go crazy

A machine carries a man
who appears to be doing nothing but
go in circles

The whole place is caged by tall trees
skyscrapers, people lean against them
craving their support

Just A Poem

No Title

Nothing comes to mind when something usually

does stick to writing what you know I’m told at a young

age in kindergarten shadows linger in the empty

spaces of my empty mind claiming to be old

memories that I cannot suppress no matter how horrible

the place was in my brain where there is nothing left to be

worth the time spent reading a poem with nothing in it.

A Wang Ping Poem

Syntax

The way a sentence is put together is always the same.
But it can change, and the meaning gets hidden.

Is always the same the way a sentence is put together?
No, it can change and the meaning gets hidden.

Put together is always the same, the way a sentence is.
It can change but the meaning gets hidden.

When the meaning gets hidden, people do not understand.
But that can change.

A River Poem

An Adventure Under the River

The child embarks
On an adventure in his sailboat
Made by loving hands just for him

The boat is called mystic
And is just big enough for the small boy
The canvas sail

As soon as he leaves the shore
Gray clouds, plump and full, roll in
Ready to burst

The child is not scared
A smile slides onto his face
He patiently waits for the inevitable

A rough ripple tilts the craft
And with a splash the boy has fallen in
Drenched, he sinks lower into the dark water

But again the child is not scared
He has been here before
To this land under the currents

He sees a new world blue and strong
Large green weeds stand tall
Swaying in the wind of the water

There is a calm under the horizon
And the boy finds peace
In the lull of soft sand resting on the river bottom

A Billy Collins Nonsense Poem

Paradelle for Sunset

The sun sets on the misty lake
The sun sets on the misty lake
And I sit watching the shadows grow
And I sit watching the shadows grow
Misty lake watching sun grow the
I sets the the shadows on and sit

Waiting for a new day to come
Waiting for a new day to come
When the darkness arrives it’s expected
When the darkness arrives it’s expected
New darkness expected to come when waiting
It’s for a the, arrives the day

And sitting solemnly I watch the emergence of the moon
And sitting solemnly I watch the emergence of the moon
It appears from where the sun once was
It appears from where the sun once was
And where appears the I emergence solemnly watch
The sun left the moon sitting from once of it

Darkness appears on the misty lake
The moon from where its sit waiting and watching
Expected, the sun solemnly sitting of the emergence
Shadows a new day. I watch it sets
To come for grow the sun
I was the and arrives once

A 'Sacred Place' Poem

The Reverie Nomad

What is it that wakes you from your sleep?

A sleep so deep that you would swear your dreams were real
Mystical things, your dreams, which change your mind bringing up things from the past
Things that you would never want to remember, that’s when a dream turns bad
But there are good dreams too, lovely dreams that you run to with arms wide open
And hold tightly and never let go, but then the monsters can come
The monsters come right when you don’t want them to, and wake you from your journey
Regret washes over you when you realize that the monsters have won
When you realize that you can never go back to a place you can hardly remember

Awoken you sit trying to understand what just happened
Trying to remember what woke you from your sleep