i wear a sign
free to a good home
out for the rag n bone man
Mr. Barney
modern in a rolling van
[author’s note: friend has told me the rag n bone man Mr. Barney still rides in her town, except now he walks beside a rolling van….]
Category: poetry
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rag n bone man
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poetry to remember in the rain
a selection to fit my mood…..
To Alexi Murdoch
http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/04/to-alexi-murdoch-breathe.htmlA Small Girl in the Rain
http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/03/in-honor-of-post-101-small-girl-in-rain.htmlthe re-reading of the Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock
http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/05/re-reading-of-love-song-of-j-alfred.htmlPortrait of Baltimore on Rainy Day Rush Hour
http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/04/portrait-of-baltimore-on-rainy-day-rush.htmlConfessions
http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/03/confessions-on-rainy-day.htmla lost young man
http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/06/lost-young-man.html
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the blue building
the blue
is painted over bricks and over
a diagonal set of indoor stairs that
may have had windows one time but
now are bricks covered blue as well
and the blue
extends over in a shadow on the sidewalk
and picks up the little knobs and knots
on every building, ducts or meters — allblue
in the sun the whole building takes a disco
stance and proclaims
slate powder sky ocean traces of your eyes
BLUE.
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rainy days depress indoor flowers
red gerber blossom
looks forlorn with face
pressed against a half-open blind
petals bend resigned
to a window blurry with rain
watching puddles
twitching with annoyance.
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the biggest secret of my life – published
Check out my new piece on EveryDayPoets.com — it’s something a lil different.
http://www.everydaypoets.com/the-biggest-secret-of-my-life-by-jody-costa/
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Zeus
he baits
a vulpine’s trap
with flexed bronzed
arms in clothing torn
his romantic
poverty in thick rough hands
liberal on my thighs
his predilection a
whispered ancient cry–
make love to meif i say no,
he thunders
with a searing pernicious
desire —
he is not my handsome farmer
but instead immortal
desperate for one small glimpse
of my delicious joy —
sweat sweet color till
dirt grit between my teeth.
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crazy people
crazy people
rock on white wicker chairs
and sit on green paisley cushions
and chain smokebecause it’s a crutch or
a good way to pass time
or to remember to breatheand they write in little black notebooks
and they scribble and scratch
nonsense
like its god damn poetry.
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green chair (haiku)
green chair you sit patient
with generations you speak
“i am always here”[author’s note: my green chair is beyond a piece of furniture… it is a deep connection to the past and strangely enough, a friend]
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pious
across the way
the children come from church.she is naked
from the shower,
hair drips falling from shoulders
across belly and down each leg
steaming the window, warm.he closes the blinds.
when he asks her to kneel
she takes and eats.
from her, he drinks. all is dark as
in the beginning.[circa creative writing class 2002]
Poetry by JC Snyder 