a flat world where things sometimes roll off

sitting at my kitchen table–
a flat world where things sometimes roll off
‘thoughts’ cram my vapid head
never to disappoint, there she is my gooey, ‘Annie Oakley’
the incessant ‘creative’ cowgirl who rides my bulging brain every morning
trying her ‘Wild West’ best to lasso bucking words
working up quite a sweat she is, as I so often do trying to be ‘clever’
I’ve no chance of corralling these wild beasts
wax fences are nonexistent in my vacant mind
the most ‘insightful’ prose gallop directly out my right ear
wax that should be in my empty head is on the kitchen table–
a flat world where things sometimes roll off
here a tiny flame–cruelly trapped in a jar–flickers
–
like my tongue used to so many years ago
watching the singular flame burn, I imagine it raging
but the cold fireplace is empty like my head
outside the kitchen sliders, a tiny tufted .6 ounce titmouse
enjoys the seed I loaded in the feeder
others will be along
oh yes, here they come
the heavy snow is cascading down and these frail birds are stronger
than my slumbering two hundred and fifty-five pound son at the moment
when I was little
my mom and dad served as bookends at our rectangular kitchen table
their six children, incomplete chapters
now my parents have a round table too, with obligatory leaves for visitors
no more sharp corners for any of us
oh, a beautiful red-headed woodpecker has joined the snow-ladened feast
luckily for him his long chiseled beak is as sharp as it is
otherwise, he couldn’t reach the seed
life doesn’t have to dull everything down
it is glorious to have a point sometimes
isn’t it?
wildfire

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6 thoughts on “a flat world where things sometimes roll off

  1. Beautiful work AnnMarie I wanted to share with you my Valentines poem I wrote for my Valentine Julia. You will like it. Julia loved it. It was inspired by a movie all is lost with Bob Redford he is mourning his own death than I liked the idea of a man who thinks he’s dying in me and I write my last piece of writing to be given absence of all that mushy sweet things I usually say about the girl this was brief and speaking to myself to her in my own life. I am not one for ambiguity but I left it open if he lives or dies on my blog I say he dies. Take a lokksee

    For Julia, My Valentine

    It’s June 24th 2077, 533 Pm I’m sorry. I am not sure if this will mean much.

    I am Who I am you know that.

    I have tried, I think you will concur with that was what I did. I tried.

    I tried to be honest, brave, fair, strong, to be kind and to love.

    You knew this. And I am sorry.

    Now I am no more except for body and spirit.

    It’s inexcusable really, I have learned that now.

    It took me too long to admit. But I did.

    I fought it until the very end.

    I’m not sure what this means to you.

    But I fought. You know this.

    I have always hoped more for you Julia.

    I will miss you.

    I am sorry.

    I love you!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Dan
      thank you for sharing this intimately raw piece and I can see why your special Valentine, Julia, admired it
      you wrote this with a mature monochromatic sensibility – setting colorful words against stark reality – love is endless whether we are living or not – beautiful, my friend
      am:)

      Liked by 1 person

      • Thanks AnnMarie my sister thought this was a beautiful poem because it sends the message to everyone Valentine’s Day are we telling the people we love in life be it fam, gf or wife enough. And on the flip side the women will ask if they are getting the love I need. So it was not my usual mushy sweet type of stuff a little sad yet more touching and you feel in your soul.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Excellent diaristic work of art, AM. I’m amazed, truly, whenever I read your words. What will she do next? I often wonder–and then you do something that blows me away. Pain and tiredness prevent me from writing what I mean to here … so … will you please remind me come April (or before, on phone) to tell you exactly (and it will be detailed) this piece blows me away? My words couldn’t do it justice here. Hint: it’s how you paint the canvas. And 2 lines:
    “here a tiny flame–cruelly trapped in a jar–flickers–
    like my tongue used to so many years ago”
    I’ll explain why those 2 lines are, to me, riveting.
    DS

    Liked by 1 person

    • you know, DS – I never know what’s coming either – the best I can hope for are words that flow somewhat
      geez man, I hope the pain moves on and out so you can fully focus
      I was explaining this piece to Keith and telling him why I enjoy when words are able to represent the entirety of my heart – this particular piece nearly does that – a little humor, a little irony, a little sensual, a little stark, with a touch wack – and it all may or may not ever make sense
      am:)

      Liked by 1 person

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