Thursday, October 15, 2009

A Poet at Play

Looking Back In Spades

I saw the afternoon crowd my horizon like a pillow case
shutting out the light like a tawdry window,
I felt the air as if it was a razor, jabbing with short
dull jabs into my midriff,
I wondered how come 1 and 1 never gets you 2,
I let the shutters spill like sugar all over my chin
and when the minutes fell like rain, I sat
pondering your useless minutes of pandering,
I stalked the orchards looking for fences to topple
and discovered cedar holdouts,
I am angered by the waste, by the fruitlessness of all
the commotion, your mouthed insensibility,
I am frustrated by the hours you wore like a slipknot,
by your disregard for commitments, and
the way you blow dried your own agenda,
how you sabotaged even the laughter with
your contrived blue smiling ingratitude,
I wished away so many evenings in a state of sleep,
you stole my daydreams,
I am jostling the balance of javelins on a whisper,
I am passed the hurt but not the lingering residue
of your charcoal impressions,
you haunt me like ash.

Kevin Harling.

Something's are best left unsaid

It's true that somethings are best left unspoken
so the poet in me will not utter a sound
but the ink on the paper will reveal how your eyes
make my sky bluer than blue, how your smile
makes the dawn blush with powdery pink cheeks,
how your hair highlights yellow and turns it into
glittering diamonds, how when you sigh the wind
is silenced becoming still and watching in wonder,
how when you blush the ground trembles softly
whispering sweet nothings with envy.
I will not utter a single syllable, for you are
beyond the scope of the most beautiful words.
You are lighter than light, more truthful than
any known truth, more genuine than the sun's radiant
Something's are better left unsaid,
but you could never be more perfect.

Kevin Harling.

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