POETRY

ROUTINE

I sit up and silence the incessant noise that shattered my sleepy dreams
And wipe the sandman’s magic dust from my eyes.
Morning sun beaming through the thin curtains
Blinds me.
A sunrise ritual begins again.
All over my face I paint it on, loose powder falls
To the floor sparkling in the early light. Promising
A beautiful day for all.




A LONE RANGER

I watch them;
Leaning forward, scratching pencils,
All brows are furrowed, all foreheads wrinkled.
Words soaking in, cerebral cortex pulsing.
All but one,
Who refuses to join
A cult, a craze, a march for success.
Her tattered notebook filled with doodles and scribbles.
A hood shrouding her face from all it can.
Aware of the world around her and yet,
Her eyes are glassy, her lips are pursed.
Denial of her place there, suffocating her.
Head tipped back, breath in and out.
It’s not enough.




GESTURE

Why haven’t his legs gone numb yet?
Nothing but time to waste, time to murder, I envy him.
He certainly looks cramped in that stone hard, tall chair
With his legs stiff below and his back ramrod straight.
Sipping, sipping from a bottomless cup,
Devouring the Daily News, with insistent hunger.
Oh my, he put it down
A sweep of the room, like a hawks quick gaze ,
I tense in fidgety anticipation. Then he goes back
To his flat soda and newsprint and I have no more time to watch
My new favorite movie I must pack up and leave.
Does he still sit there statue-like now?




BEAUTY RESTRAINED

Fuchsia petals huddled together from the storm outside,
Shining pink silk holds them that way, in spite of
A discouraged wilt on the edges of each.
Water, sunshine, even love,
Not one will brighten her up.
I suppose if I was a flower and was cooped up in a stark white kitchen,
With no one to see my beauty or breathe in my sweet scent,
Unappreciated, uncared for. Kept in a vase a bit too skinny and a bit too short,
No room to grow, and the weather not right for living.
I would not be so chipper and bright either.




WINDY DAYS

Playful breezes that send chills up your spine mingle with the trees
A sunbeam glints and winks a shining eye.
A whisper weaves around, teasing out a giggle.
Smooth metal clang together in rhythm to the breeze;
Building to a joyous chorus
Sweet little notes singing together in harmony;
With the birdsong as their melody.
Too soon they cease, but still hang in suspense;
The playful tune lingering on, humming between my ears.




FAIRYTALES

Composer of dreams; dreams that cause insomnia
That curse of fantasies that delight askew.
A list miles long of things to accomplish is not logical, but
How could dreaming be bad?
Its not: my dreams are rich—delicious, and beautiful… like chocolate.
And yet they say—do not; focus.
The rocks crushed by an ocean,
The waves that crash against the shore and stir the sand into confusion;
Have better luck at support than each desperately hoped for wish of mine.
The current stirs them awake each day with the rising sun,
My desire is only that they have as valiant an end as was the beginning.
I say they will all be tangible soon, most say there is no hope
But I’m proud to believe in fairytales.
I’m the fairy princess, you are the dragon;These princes are what keeps me alive.

Britter OUT.