Lost and Found
You know
I am familiar with
the subtle look
and the blatant
come on;
the attention
you can get
with a skirt
with just a too tight fit.
I know that hair done
just right
and the sheer blouse
that reveals
a little more
in the light
gets the glance
some days
and some nights.
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Conjugating
I conjugate the verb to be:
miracle sentences;
non-existent one moment
then coming into Being
utterly unique the next;
perhaps never before
uttered
in all of existence
before this
moment,
on this page
at this time
from this mind.
Miracle this,
shared by all of us.
I conjugate the verb Coming into Being
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Sleeping With Roses
I'll have to stop thinking of you;
it is too much like kissing a dying rose
or speaking into a void
hearing only my own echos.
It is too teen-aged sad
to obsess like this;
memorizing your phone number backwards,
counting the steps to your house,
taping your photo inside my bra,
making up excuses
to be where you are,
or might be,
lingering
long after it is clear
you're not there,
and not coming.
I'll have to snip these little traces of you from my mind;
remove your after-shave from the medicine cabinet,
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A Rainbow
She's not the end of my rainbow
she's its beginning-
I am blinded by her colors-
her red, crimson, blood-red lips
which promise fire and burn
into me with the furious fury of red river flows
she gives in her passion eddies.
Her cheeks glow with that same tint
and floating high her aureola gleams
above violet eyes which stream
out and into deep my soul-
where our Rainbow Yellow lives.
Joy is surely the color yellow;
we are joined-participled,
framed by her tresses of similar hue.
Her orange is mellow light
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Night's Breath
I'm the night you prepare for
with a soothing bath
as a lover does
with lavender scents
brushed hair
and anticipations.
I am your ebony dark
under the covers-
you and I snow-angel spread-
Anticipation's blooming
as I stroke your gentle face
our breaths slowing rising
as I pillow soft
slide down
beside you.
Blinding day is banished
as I your true companion
linger deep inside you
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A Gingham Dress- Beth's Memories
He told me that
he had seen me
on the cover of a dime store novel;
that I looked a lot prettier in person.
On our first date
he brought my mother
a box of cigars
and my father
a dozen used golf balls.
The trunk of his car had no lid
and you could see the road
on the passenger side beneath your feet.
He had charm.
He stood under my bedroom window
and tied a note to a brick;
it broke the window
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Your Boom, My Bust
So the he said
'Tell me capitalist
what is profit? '
He said
profit is what I earn
when I sell something for more than it is worth,
it is a reward for my effort.'
Ah, I said, if everyone did that
then the price of an object would
keep going up forever
since each person in the chain
would want their profft
and finally, the price would be so high
nobody could afford to buy
what the capitalist had to sell
and then we would all be in poverty
the last capitalist
would be the only one left with money
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Scarletts Melancholy
What did Scarlett know;
her green velvet dress
was made from draperies.
What did Scarlett feel;
hunger
more than Brett's love?
Did Love burn like Atlanta
in her breast;
did Hope incinerate there?
Or is it that flames
don't burn
because they're already afire?
Was Brett the ice and Scarlett the flame?
Does Fire Love more than it burns?
Are we all at base visceral
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Clothing of Faith
She took her Heart and placed it in a bottle
because it was reserved for only him.
She took her Soul and placed upon it a sign
that said 'occupado.'
All her going-out clothes she didn't need
she placed in moth balls,
gave some to her sister.
Her mother said
'What are you doing? '
She would always smile and say 'I won't be using these
until he returns.'
Her ring she placed in the sugar bowl
covering it with sweet sugar grains
putting it high
on a shelf that no one used.
She honey-dipped all her kisses
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Body Capture
Words will fail here
but my touch will not;
it moves from surface
to deep within.
Mere sentiment too,
is not enough
when Souls Speak
and the body gives
all its got-
willingly and involuntarily;
you know what I mean.
Only once or twice in all of life
does this fire ignite
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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