Tag Archives: rhyming poetry

You can’t stop them from seeing (your broken life)

(Lyrics from the song, Hallelujah, by Leonard Cohen)

  [poem from   ~burning woman~   by Sha’Tara]

City streets can be colder than stone
when you’re vulnerable and all alone
nor ever paved with the rich man’s gold
in threadbare clothes, wet and cold.

She comes to a familiar doorway
in the night when she’s lost her way
remembers the days of her short life
how desperately she’d run from strife
finding a hallway, a basement stair
then running again from every nightmare.

The deskman knows.  She tosses her hood
and puts her hand on the worn wood.
Her words, like a voice from the tomb:
“Please, I need a cheap room.”

He smiles at her – or is it a leer?
He replies, she can smell the stale beer —
“Forty dollars for a night at the inn –
or free, and I’ll tuck you in.”
His hand slips over her cold wrist:
for the mill she will ever be grist.

Through the window, two sheets, a case:
she grabs but he says, “No need for haste.”
Here’s the key – it’s three – o – four –
and don’t forget: don’t lock the door.”

He watches her walk to the rickety stairs,
shoulders slumped, broken by despair
and as she steps on the very first rung
comes a line from a song she’d once sung:

“Baby I’ve been here before
I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked the floor
used to live alone before I knew ya
But I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Our love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah”

My Thoughts and I – a poem

I have discovered that many bloggers like to communicate with poetry.  Now, I need to admit, here and now, that I’m definitely “poetry challenged” and most poems just zoom right over my head without even experiencing a down draft.  Oh, hey, it’s not for lack of trying, but if you’re left handed, there isn’t much you can do with that clumsy right hand.  So I’m a left brain poetry reader and I don’t think the left brain was ever designed for that.  Be that as it may, I thought I’d throw something in the pot, seeing as it’s a long weekend here and all… 

Trigger Warning:  not issue oriented, and contains no conspiracies.

My Thoughts and I, a poem

In a wild field I see flowers and a butterfly
And in my mind, many thoughts flutter by.
Some of those thoughts make me cry,
And of those I don’t need to ask why.
Then there are those that make me high
Not of a drug high but of a sky high.
There were some I could shape into a lie
And finally, the very last one, made me sigh.
In the grass we slept in peace, my thoughts and I.

(Whew… thank whomever, whatever, that’s done!)