PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

With all Christmas purchases made, she implores her invocation.

She casts a spell  for morning, well-being, and optimism.

She asked me what I wanted.

I’d like some dreaminess with hair on it.

Not smooth like some dreams come.

Or maybe, a good game of monopoly or trivial pursuit.

I shift between wakefulness and fantasy.

It is part of the unfortunate reality.

Not much difference between Crescent moons and sterling silver teaspoons.

They were hand-me-downs borne from to many war torn sights.

I found it ha ha ha hard to capture certain visions.

I took the sip of tea made of me.

I drew the cup between my lip and the moon.

I need it when my mouth is numb, broken or uninspired.

I learned, slowly, that poems have a mind of their own.

Be they soft and flaccid or bad to the bone.

Yet, I write about it, even if, I am wrong.

A man-child, I was eleven, and now nearly 1004.

My crisis un-read, not relaxing it makes my moon blue.

I can see around the corners.

Eventually, inventions become intentions you know.

She said go play intellectual monopoly and be-feared.