Sunday, February 22, 2009

Poem of the Week #60 and #59


I offer this passel
of words for your pleasure.
They dilly in rhyme
they dally in measure.
They come in the colors
of things once seen.
They stand up straight
for what they mean.
You can stack them,
crack them, bake them
in pie; ready reminders
of ocean and sky.
Poison when needed,
when need be, balm.
Words that clamor,
words that calm.
A must for teachers
and preachers and lovers lost.
My words are shiny,
with just the right gloss.
They fall from my pen,
cheap, late at night;
are more costly at dawn
or by candlelight.
So pay up now,
while the deal is on,
while the price is right.
Put a small sum down.
Leave your guard
at the door and let my words
wrestle you, gently,
down to the floor,
where they can smooth
you over and rough you up
just a little, just enough
to lure you tomorrow,
hungry for more.

Lisa Vihos


My Day, My Poem

I promised you I’d write a poem today
but then reneged, no pen touched paper.
I promised it would carry you away,
but now, it has to wait ‘til later.
My breath, my very day became my poem.
I breathed it in and out, a silent ruse.
At times I have no bread and am alone,
without a resting place, without my shoes.
I cannot always give you what I want,
but always I can give you what I can.
My words will rise and fall, independent
of the bodies they describe or plan.
I seek the verse that rights the mystery.
Some day, I’ll graft it onto history.

Lisa Vihos

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