Mittens

As he stares outside
Will he be outside?
As the rain comes down
Thinking all the joys
Grass under his paws
The freedom out there
Tomorow he be with his boys

Best Days by Matt White

Every time I look at you
You always look so beautiful
Driving on the road again the Chevy’s packed
And it is dusk
And I will take some photographs
So I can dream of you

Can’t say I’ve felt such twisting
In my heart this way
we pitch a tent and have one sleeping bag
To stay away
The fires burning, softly singing songs
So close to you

Do you believe
In love at first sight
I think you do
We're lying naked under the covers
Those are the best days of my life

Can't take away those times
We stayed up and talked all night
Chain smokes of cigarettes and
Three bottles of red wine
Falling asleep together
Holding your body close to mine

Oh and in the morning
Your eyes opened so innocent
The sun is blazing we are sweating
You look lovely
Nothing else matters and anymore 'cause you're
In my arms again

Do you believe
In love at first sight
I think you do
We're lying naked under the covers
Those are the best days of my
Those are the best days of my
Those are the best days of my life

Oh I never wanna be without you
So just stay with me
I will love you endlessly

Oh oh darling, darling
Ooooooooh
Oh darling, darling

Do you believe
In love at first sight
I think you do
We're lying naked under the covers
Those are the best days of my life

Do you believe
In love at first sight
I think you do
We're lying naked under the covers
Those are the best days of my
Those are the best days of my
Those are the best days of my life
Best Days by Matt White Sound

Sappy Savvy Spawns

The sows saunter sturdily
speaking Sanskrit
in their sabotaged slum
with their sappy savvy spawns
salivating over scrumptious food.


Napping Piglets by ~nele102 on deviantART

Nele102. "Napping Piglets." 12 April 2008. Picture.DeviantART. 14 May 2009. http://nele102.deviantart.com/art/Napping-Piglets-82652051

The Mountian Dog

Is he dead?
Or just sleeping?
I dont see his chest cave in
And convex out
His fur is matted
Brown like a dried clay pot
Uncared for
Left for dead
His nose black like dried rubber
I stop and stare
Is he dead?
Or just sleeping?
I walk away
Just then he turns his head.


Sleeping dog. by ~Alice-x19x on deviantART

Him

One lonely figure
Not whole
Dancing in the dark
No. Squirming in pain
Piecies of him
Floating about in blackness
Red dark blood
Who took those pieces?
Ever to be put back?
Become whole again?
Heart not in one
But two
Not even man
But an outline
Filled with nothingness

Bechtold, Julia. "Missing Pieces." Acrylic on Cardboard. 2009.

On the Road

WOW! First 600 miles on my own
Wind rushing in and out, in and out
Husky midnight 85 Monte, I'm in control
Hands mastering the soft fuzzy wheel
Toes pressed upon hard rubber
Arg! No Cruise control!
I'm shaking
Taste of Rockstar lingers
Ug! Exhaust! Burned oil! Diesel!
Mmmm. Watermelon tickles my nostrils
Big beasts following
Lead into the distance by straight lines


on the road by ~rainyface on deviantART

rainyface. "on the road." 26 August 2007. Picture. DeviantART. 15 April 2009. http://rainyface.deviantart.com/art/on-the-road-63322699

Sorting Laundry

Folding clothes,
I think of folding you
into my life.

Our king-sized sheets
like tablecloths
for the banquets of giants,

pillowcases, despite so many
washings, seams still
holding our dreams.

Towels patterned orange and green,
flowered pink and lavender,
gaudy, bought on sale,

reserved, we said, for the beach
refusing, even after years,
to bleach into respectability.

So many shirts and skirts and pants
recycling week after week, head over heels
recapitulating themselves.

All those wrinkles
to be smoothed, or else
ignored; they're in style.

Myriad uncoupled socks
which went to paired into the foam
like those creatures in the ark.

And what's shrunk
is tough to discard
even for Goodwill.

In pockets, surprises:
forgotten matches,
lost screws clinking on enamel;

paper clips, whatever they held
between shiny jaws, now
dissolved or clogging the drain;

well-washed dollars, legal tender
for all the debts public and private,
intact despite agitation;

and, gleaming in the maelstrom,
one bright dime,
broken necklace of good gold

you brought for Kuwait,
the strangely tailored shirt
left by a former lover. . . .

If you were to leave me,
if I were to fold
only my clothes,

the convexes and concaves
of my blouses, panties, stocking , bras
turned upon themselves,

a mountain of unsorted wash
could not fill
the empty side of the bed.

-Elisavietta Ritchie (b. 1932)


Laundry Help by ~SlayerWolf on deviantART

SlayerWolf. “Laundry Help.” 25 May 2007. Picture. DeviantART. 15 April 2009. http://slayerwolf.deviantart.com/art/Laundry-Help-56112412