Bladed
Bladed
How dull is the knife wielded in passion's ire
which lands that menacing blow
where the bad time amplifies
tragedy's plateau
and wounds grow with time.
Things small
sometimes sting the most
tiny cuts which swell despite the years
And we allow them so
because their very smallness ires us so
we see they were avoidable
yet
that blade sliced thin slivers
which in time became infected
A cannon wound more understandable
because unpreventable
but lover's cold eye
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Sentinel Dad
Silent he,
the Sentinel Dad,
rampart high,
just beyond emotion's walls-
over which
messages are tossed;
and gifts showered saying
'I love you child.'
But he did not
leave enough
his Provider Post-
manned at all costs
but silently spoke
miming
'don't you know
I love you most? '
And I
in child's reply
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Maryann's Lament
Sculpting you in Precognition's Mind
had been my special mental preoccupation
and now
I cannot abide
ever leaving you;
your vision's
become
my sustaining aberration
gleaming it is in Perfection's Glow
and now no one
I fear
will match
its silver tones
its dulcet notes
which have now
captured me;
its vision
cannot
abide
another now
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Next Chapter
I have always expected to be happy in my mind
there I wanted to experience euphoria
and jubilant jubilation,
but instead
what I feel is in my body
not a voice I am used to
listening to.
Where does happy live;
apparently not only in the mind;
if it did
happy I would be.
But Body Happy
is new to me.
It is Peace;
unhurried
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Happy Pain
There were weeping tears stacked ten to a row
in her warehouse
along side Bitter Sweets driven
deep into the mind's vestibules
and corridors.
There were laughing tears seen only through
happy smiles and contented years;
silent joys and noisy ones
membered and remembered.
She placed her hand on the Book of Gathering Time
and pressed yet another memory leaf
into its many pages.
The gentle breeze of pages closing
waifed up to her
butterfly soft;
the smells of her history
and children who
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Love 's Terrain
At what point was our love
checked into the Found and Lost?
Who declared it without an owner
and turned it in?
Who turned it down
at the Lost and Found?
Who came to make a claim?
I did;
but they said
it took two.
Was it lost in your eyes?
Was is boredom
or other eyes
which sought you?
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Spackling
While there are many roads
I have traveled
and random ones
where I had no control;
who I travel with
is one decision
I did have some say with.
Even as I have been swept
ahead unpredictability
I have held your hand
with which to steady myself with.
So much of life
I now realize
is not the road you take
but who you travel with.
And you my love
have
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Love Play and Other Things
I allow the ways
in which you manipulate
me
and I feign
not noticing
that you do.
These small things
seem important
to you.
I gauge my willingness
to allow them
as quiet demonstrations
of my caring.
I oppose sometimes
playfully
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Van Gogh Ceilings
The colors of our nights
flow in different hues
blood reds on the satin sheets
deep dark blues of gentle breathing
candle light soothing;
the smells of body scents
and perfume;
August's most heated nights
the sweep of enfolding arms
the over head fan twirls
over gentle writhings
healing tremblings
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Van Gogh Nights
The colors of our nights
flow in different hues
blood reds on the satin sheets
deep dark blues of gentle breathing
candle light soothing;
the smells of body scents
and perfume;
August's most heated nights
the sweep of enfolding arms
the over head fan twirls
over gentle writhings
healing tremblings
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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