24 Jun 2015
by wordcoaster
in Free Verse, Poetry
Tags: 1 Corinthians 15:47, Claire Anthony, McDonalds, Poetry, Psalm 103:14, Teddy Burkhardt
The firstborn
Leapt into the world like a unicorn
With twice the myths surrounding her.
She laughed some, cried some, smiled some, screamed some,
And laughed some more,
Laughter contagious like chicken pox
And we all caught it,
A dotted itchy mess.
Fought to hold it in
With not a chance to win
When
She introduced us to her friend Matilda
Her violin
Or
Told us about little so & so
Who ran snot-first toward her shouting,
“I FOUND SOMEONE I KNOW!”
Or
How she valiantly defended her treetop throne,
Held her own
Against assailants young and old
From her perch at the McDonald’s playplace.
You
Do not know Claire
If you have not walked with her for miles,
An appropriate mix of talking
And taking in the world around,
A pleasant sound of ponder wandering.
You
Do not know Claire
If you haven’t sat eyes closed ears open
Listening to her sing
Winged words of truth and beauty.
You
Do not know Claire
If you haven’t seen her five minutes before she has to leave:
“THIS DRESS LOOKS AWFUL AND WHERE ARE MY KEYS!?”
And then glides pretty as a bluejay out the door.
You
Do not know Claire
If you haven’t engaged in the rousing drama
That is llama tag.
I
Do not know Claire
As well as some
As well as one
For He knows how we are formed
He remembers that we are dust
But
The first man was of the dust of the earth
The second man from heaven, Jesus Christ
The water of life
Turns the dust to mud
To open the eyes of the blind
That we may see
And know that He is God.
And on that grand canvas
Amidst all the other spots
Today He connects two dots.
06 Apr 2014
by wordcoaster
in Free Verse, Poetry
Tags: NaPoWriMo, Poetry
The third stair squeaks expectantly
like a mouse in labor
and whispers to the fourth step,
which passes the message silently along
to the fifth step
who never had a library voice in his life.
The sixth step sighs
and rolls her eyes
and the eighth step shakes his head disapprovingly
as the tenth step asks politely, “Pardon me, but what’s going on down there?”
and then you’re here.
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09 Sep 2013
by wordcoaster
in Free Verse, Poetry
Tags: Poetry
In-out
Another pair of headlights come and gone
Another body speeding off into the black heart-attack night
Her face backlit by the setting sun
This car is too quiet
There’s too much air to breathe in-out
Thoughts are like screeeeeeeeching tires
Turn the wheel,
Lose the silence:
Here are the sirens
In-out
She had a red dress on and smelled like summer
Windshield wipers in-out and she’s gone
Brakes.
More
28 Apr 2013
by wordcoaster
in Free Verse, Poetry, Something Borrowed, Something New
Tags: Harper Lee, NaPoWriMo, Poetry, To Kill a Mockingbird
“Hey, Mrs. Dubose.”
She was as pretty as a picture
Of Hitler at the podium,
A greasy, zit-speckled face,
A baboon’s bottom,
The 1980’s,
Honey Boo Boo,
Nicolas Cage,
A hairless cat,
And the Citarum river,
All Photoshopped together.
For: http://withrealtoads.blogspot.ca/
21 Feb 2013
by wordcoaster
in Free Verse, Poetry
Tags: Poetry
Don’t hedge your bets//
Too often we stand at the cliff edge and blink ourselves into oblivion,
Unsure whether to close our eyes to the vastness
More
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11 Sep 2012
by wordcoaster
in Free Verse, Poetry, Something Borrowed, Something New
Tags: America the Beautiful, Amerigo Vespucci, Anna Kriebel, Ben Hay, Cate Reynolds, Chris Reynolds, Connor Reynolds, John Reynolds, Maddie Reynolds, Mr. Draper, Peter Kriebel, Ray Lewis, Ray Rice, Richard Nixon, Ron Hay, Valerie Reynolds, Walgreens, Wall Street, Walter Jones
My America is not
Wall Street, but
The Walgreens down the street
Not amber waves of grain, but
A beer can in the sand
Not purple mountain majesties, but
Purple Rice and Lewis jerseys.
More
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25 Aug 2012
by wordcoaster
in Free Verse, Metaphor/Simile, Poetry
Tags: Andrew Carey, Claire Anthony, Poetry
I sat by silently as doctors ripped into my research like it was a patient due for a quadruple bypass–
I rode the bloody carcass of a cow down a dark highway, pitching over potholes and narrowly scraping other cars like fingers on a chalkboard–
I jotted down a few notes on poverty as the silverware rang out louder than Big Ben at midnight–
I spent the night in a bed of strangers as the prostitutes paraded past in various states of disarray and Modesty slipped down the fire escape as the gin flowed freely–
I ran with the wild dogs and they came back and bit me in the butt with their rabies fangs shredding jeans like paper–
I trashed my taste buds testing textures of animal parts not even considered fit for hotdog meat as eager children grabbed greedy handfuls off my plate until it vanished like a black hole–
I vacuumed up a baby from the womb, washed her off, and handed her to a still-grimacing Hillary Clinton, restoring her faith in humanity.
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