Poetry
Quick deal tonight... I'm posting a poem I wrote to be turned in tomorrow. Well, two actually.
Never Looked Back
She walked out the door one summer day.
She gave me a look as she went on her way.
It wasn’t the first, it wouldn’t be the last
Look that she’d tossed my way in the past.
The look plainly said it’s better this way.
At the time I didn’t know what else to say,
So I went in the house and unpacked my things,
But I know that to me she still sadly clings,
Yet her clinging is not of the affectionate kind.
It’s a mold, it’s a fungus, a disease of the mind.
I’ve done all that I can to keep her at bay;
She thinks that I’m hers, though she gave me away.
One rotten apple at the bottom of the bowl
Can taint all the others, leaving none whole.
She lingers in my life like an brown apple rind,
And she refuses to see that I’ve left her behind.
I wish that my mother had never looked back.
Billfold
I lost my billfold today.
No surprise there;
An elephant I am not.
I’m glad cards can be replaced.
New library card, new license…
No new photographs, though.
Little squares with tattered edges,
smudged by years of handling,
The ticket stub from the movie I saw last week,
The receipt from the sweater
I gave my aunt one Christmas,
The note my brother wrote me
before he left for college;
Just little bits of paper,
frayed and torn.
It’s just a billfold.
I’ll go and buy another.
I’ve looked everywhere for it,
I really have.
I just don’t get it.
So I lost my billfold today.
Why does it feel like more?
I'm still working on these poems, and surprisingly, I'm having fun doing it. I never thought I was much of a poetry person, as far as writing goes.
Never Looked Back
She walked out the door one summer day.
She gave me a look as she went on her way.
It wasn’t the first, it wouldn’t be the last
Look that she’d tossed my way in the past.
The look plainly said it’s better this way.
At the time I didn’t know what else to say,
So I went in the house and unpacked my things,
But I know that to me she still sadly clings,
Yet her clinging is not of the affectionate kind.
It’s a mold, it’s a fungus, a disease of the mind.
I’ve done all that I can to keep her at bay;
She thinks that I’m hers, though she gave me away.
One rotten apple at the bottom of the bowl
Can taint all the others, leaving none whole.
She lingers in my life like an brown apple rind,
And she refuses to see that I’ve left her behind.
I wish that my mother had never looked back.
Billfold
I lost my billfold today.
No surprise there;
An elephant I am not.
I’m glad cards can be replaced.
New library card, new license…
No new photographs, though.
Little squares with tattered edges,
smudged by years of handling,
The ticket stub from the movie I saw last week,
The receipt from the sweater
I gave my aunt one Christmas,
The note my brother wrote me
before he left for college;
Just little bits of paper,
frayed and torn.
It’s just a billfold.
I’ll go and buy another.
I’ve looked everywhere for it,
I really have.
I just don’t get it.
So I lost my billfold today.
Why does it feel like more?
I'm still working on these poems, and surprisingly, I'm having fun doing it. I never thought I was much of a poetry person, as far as writing goes.