Cubicle World

The day ejected me like bad Taco
and I tumbled out onto my mattress
prepared to stare up at my mobile all night.
Sleep would not come to me in that darkness.
only the induced coma
of obsessive thoughts

of counting my mistakes that day.
Sheep counting would not work this time.

I take a deep breath
hoping to expel those critical voices in my head
to even out my breathing
so as to avoid that panting pace
I knew might signal a panic attack.

'Great.' I thought ' I have them just where they want me.'

All my morning resolve for the day had dissolved like water going through a sieve.
No War worse than an Office War;

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Misanthrope

I hand myself these challenges
and if I win
I preen;

I hand myself these challenges
and if I lose
knowledge and experience I guess I gain;

I hand myself still greater challenges
and hope they don't
ending up educating me to death.

Surviving then
the worst of these,
if lucky,
I could be crippled for life
but end up very very wise.

You know actually
I'd rather skip

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Love Talk After the Kids Are Asleep

He said when I see you at night my toga expands
She said when I see you from behind I think of cantaulope pistons

He said when I see you in your nightgown I think of milkshakes

She said I always notice when you scratch and hold.

He said I like when you dress up like a pirate and think of Johnny Deep

She said I like to see you get in the car in tight jeans.

He said I like it when I see you get in the car in a tight dress

She said I dream of coming to the office in nothing but a trench coat.

He said, I like to point at you without using my hands.

She said, I like it when you play horse

He said I like it when you play cowgirl

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Time Receding

The least of my thoughts are seldom of you-
only occasionally now
do the images flash-
those vague shreds of the past
which often sideswipe my mind
while I am doing something else.

The least of my heartbeats
are barely audible now,
I am smoothing out that rough road
which once was
our love.

But, I know your least
filled my every need
and only twice do I think of you now
but these two
are day and night.

My heart can't afford now other surcease

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Violent Intent

She rushed up from her chair
hands flying
nails unsheathed
scratching
clawing,
violent intent;
and she drew blood.

He crouched away
shielding his face
but too late
the bloody scratch line
grew crimson red
and instinctively
his hand flew up
to touch the bleeding spot
where his inside red fluid
became his outside red flow.

She was back again with a

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A Steady Hand-Mary's Font

Steady is the hand
that soothes my brow;
broad are the shoulders
which encompass me.

I'll see close
and I'll see far
and not see more
than my and
your rising need

Steady is the love
which has gathered up
precious memories
which trace their delicate filaments
across my heart quivering
each time
swimming in Love's Eyes;

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A Past, A Present and It Seems Dreams

Moments are so tragic;
each to pass from Now
to the indelible Used To Be so quickly;
to pass Out Of Existence.

Even Joy is moment-to-momentary
must be renewed each Now
to avoid its demise into the Used To Be.

Sad goes from my face Now
and is forever preserved and entombed
in the great Has Happened Already-
an Iron, unrelenting destiny.

There is no Un-Sad
which can undo grief
once occurred it sinks
into the
Last Moment's abyss;

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Good Poets and Bad Poets

Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.

Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.

Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind

Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.

Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.

Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.

Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.

All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.

Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.

Some poets take criticism and don't mind.

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Answer Me That

There
just so,
just beyond
the shadow.

I saw it-
a single sprite-
dashing,
hiding
effervescent.

Running quickly
I can just glimpse
it rounding
the enclosement
threatening
to break out
and be gone
to Futurement
escaping

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Gnarled

It was the eternal summer of her soul
which mesmorized me-
a shiny shimmering-
which glowed in the day time
and at night emitting its golden light
which played among the fireflies
on the veranda where we sat
sipping ice tea
in the Carolina smoldering,
smoky
evening;
where magic lived and crickets chirped
and her staring me full in the face
from which an overpowering innocence radiates
across the short space
between that look
and my paralyzed fearful state
while I was transfixed by her sky blue eyes
revealing to me it seemed the very face of God
looking out,

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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