7up- a Collection Of short poems

'7 up...a collection of short poems.

When furbies die
the quiet's so complete
that you can hear
the crunch of
chow mein noddles
in Beijing
quite loud and clear
The roar of engines
a whistling object falling
Hiroshima ends

The city rebuilds
grown from the fertile ashes
of human cremains
Flies are orbiting my head
in hopes of soon regurgitating
the many flavors of my skin
but they still have not discovered
that as of now..I'm not yet dead
let their useless wait begin
I'm a poet who's reposing
in a hammock near my willow
watching clouds do abstract paintings
while my eyes begin half-closing
head perched on a rain-stained pillow
as from hard work I'm abstaining...
>: :: ---->: -----::
"AWAY!!!" you maggots freshly winged
find a pile of shit for circling
I've got much more time then you I'll bet
so "BUZZ OFF, PLEASE"...I'm not dead yet


Yesterday: Is irreplaceable
Today: is our blank canvas
Tommorrow: is priceless...
If tommorrow for some reason
fails to grace us with it's presence
then today is all we have to stretch
far beyond all we have done
for our yesterday's are journals
of what we have all accomplished
in pursuing dreams yet realized
beyond tommorrows borders
and today presents a challenge
to achieve more than what's past
for tommorrow holds no promise
that this trinity will last
Yesterday: the foundations that we built on
Today: the mortar and the trial
Tommorrow: the legacies left standing
or the ruins of what failed to materialize.


The ball is volleyed
spinning high over the net
his head moves
like a well-oiled machine
watching it's direction
the tilt
of the target
arcing across
his visual zone
his arms his fingers
unconciously reach high
straining in anticipation
of that momentary contact
with a skin of white leather
spanking that orb
punishing the sinners
hurling glory
with a mighty spike
in a low
and deadly accurate course
1/4 of an inch over the net
where it slams
between all opponents
in a resounding crash
to the floor
copping a buzz
on the adrenaline high
of the score
but the buzz
is the final bell
and the hum of
the surrounding crowds
as his favorite team
has fallen to defeat
and he is just a fan
in the stands
who has no legs!

The Ice Follies.

Beyond this portal
lies a dank repository
for the unclaimed deceased.
Its remains are sealed tight
to keep away the living,
the dead themselves
aren't prone to travel.
A large refrigerated enclosure,
holds stainless steel tables,
cradling shrouded mounds.
Knees tremble here,
hopes collapse,
and hearts break
when bitter truths
are uncovered
and given a face.

so weary my
heavy head it
drifts like a
dust bunny
down towards
the table
hard wax surfaces
reach up caress
my unfilled
brain cavity
on a cushion of hair
wake in 14 minutes
to a blank page
the unwritten words
the vision
still bound
in my soul
so weary my
heavy heads it
like a dust bunny
hopping into

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