Crystalline 1

I whisper the curse
The boy’s tragedy remains
Forever instilled

Fate calls the master
The domino must not fall
No harm continued

Pain is the counsel
The man’s tragedy endured
Never repeated

© 2010-2011 Michael Yost booguloo@live.com

Weeds Vs Nants

The collection grows larger every day.
Wants, Needs, and Weeds. Changed Weeds from Nants.
Nant going to get it, didn’t have that expecting feel to it; With weeds they grow anywhere any time. In fact I have two neat piles of Wants and Needs but I’m overrun with Weeds! You learn to cut em back and fit em on a pile, kinda like, I need to eat, but I want Ice Cream sorta sorting. Well you get the idea. The one Weed that’s hard to put in a pile is that Sex Weed; it likes both piles and it’s a hold out from the last naming, Nant. I’m nant going to get it so why bother sortin.

© 2010-2011 Michael Yost booguloo@live.com

The Spell

The words flow by without
so much a sigh

Hearing it’s a lie, and to
ponder why.

So many do cry from words
up on high

Others do try but only
manage goodbye

 

No Trip or trill, never
heeding of spill

Helping you still, to
succumb to their will

Not using a pill or
drinking their swill

They’ll have their good
fill without any bill

 

Its magic they say, for
use you will pay

Likely today, there’s no
other way

No use to belay, you
cannot betray

You are nothing but hay
and potters clay

 

©2010-2011 Michael Yost booguloo@live.com

Rip Curl

The tap root lay bare exposing its throat in the center of the earth crested wave; surrounding the base of the behemoth taken down by heavy winds.  The height of the root circle was more than ten feet high and on either side the wave continued rip a curl from the earth.  More than a thirty foot total moss covered curl appears to be launching this fallen Goliath into the foaming surf of uprooted grubs, worms and insects.

© 2010-2011 Michael Yost booguloo@live.com

Mine

Memories of our friendship never seem to change in time;

They can’t be taken too, by your new love, well because they’re mine.

You were with me a long time then and now gone longer still.

Your shadow may be gone never to be the same questions fill

You were the first to say so, so it must have been my blame.

The kind that bends your knees bows your back and shoulders the same.

Memories of our time together will never change given time.

That harvest can only be reaped by me, because they’re all mine.

Long walks in the park, and longer happy hours on the porch,

And I don’t think I can look at it any other way having already passed the torch.

It’s hard to remember any cross words we may have spoke

Just part of my memory that my heart was once broke.

Maybe the memories are too good to be true given the time;

That’s okay too, because I choose them, and all in all they are still just mine.

© Michael Yost  booguloo@live.com

Happy Holidaze

The evening cold and snow had already taken over the feelings in his hands and feet.  Adjusting the packages to see his watch; the twenty minutes seemed more like an hour.  When he first arrived, only briefly facing the brisk wind to survey the big white house, he had seen living room bay window still lit and the electric candles in every window.  Behind each candle was a sparkling red wreath reflecting the alternating filament bulb creating a beautiful haloed effect behind the frosted window panes.  The children’s lights have been off for a few minutes, but she was adamant about not seeing them tonight.  I had them for Thanksgiving…

© 2010-2011 Michael Yost  booguloo@live.com

It Caresses the Tip

It caresses the tip
Rushes in on a musky sweet wave
Almost like flash flooding creates and behaves
The cool sensuous flesh soon fills the void
Shooting cold chills through her opening Freud
Pushing forward and up clamping shut
just in time
only to lose a couple drops of the sublime
Melon for you
Melon for me
Such aware company

© 2010-2011 Michael Yost 

The Broken Red Lock

Summer heats over a quiet afternoon
In the fall when love fell, azaleas bloomed
The mere mention of love and there it was,
The black box with a ceramic white dove.
Her perfumes‘ persistence mocks 
After having opened the box
With the broken red lock.

Clasping hands with a swing and a strut;
Wanting of emotion, an empty gut.
Silliness of newness, cutting edge of loss
Feelings and images faded, losing their gloss.
At least allow peace or recover some chains
Let me have something tangible to gain
Her perfume still mocks
Hovering over the box
With the broken red lock

Let the dove take wing, carry me away;
Hear my pleas now, give me some say!
Suddenly in the heavens looking down from above
Released from its grip, at last peace from the dove.
Her perfume no longer mocked
Having tossed away the box
With the broken red lock

© 2010-2011  Michael Yost   booguloo@live.com

Scents of Time

The grinder whines the pipes sing
The beast gurgles brown stew
Tickets whirl the bell does ding
The coffee here you need to chew

Cinnamon arrives before the pie
The apple strapped to its heel
Flaky crust next a tear to my eye
How the scents of time make you feel

© 2010-2011  Michael Yost   booguloo@live.com

Cold Tile

The cold tile felt so good on my face.

I just couldn’t move but for the

shaking.  It wasn’t the chills; my

body was shutting down from

all the meth I had been taking for

the past week.

Heart attack or panic attack didn’t

much matter right then, I just knew

I was going to die.  The paramedics

took one look and had me strapped

me into the gurney and off we went.

I was feeling a little less anxiety

being with the medics keeping me

talking about how I felt, asking what

happened and not once did they

mention drugs; although I thought I

saw knowing glances between

themselves.

After several hours of prodding and

monitoring they got my blood pressure

down and with some hesitation let me go

home with a no work slip for seventy

two hours.

I took a week off got rested and returned

to work.  It wasn’t four days and I was

starting to feel sluggish and drained.  I

had a line to pick me up.  I was going strong

but felt a little more would be better.

The cold tile felt so good on my face.

I just couldn’t move but for the life

of me I didn’t understand why I looked

so pale.

© 2010-2011  Michael Yost   booguloo@live.com