Behemoth
Tranquility washes over me in sonic waves
The wind is light as it pushes the sails
on a broad reach thirty five miles offshore
at a slow, but steady five knots
I spy the beast as he expels
his briny breath at the surface
P
F
O
O
S
H
and spray explodes!
Mine eyes have struck a rare sight to behold!
I watch his black back rise and fall
upon this watery wasteland
Forgetting fear, I am enthralled
from the safety of my vessel
He
S
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poem by Sara Fielder
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The Belt
The man in charge pulled out his belt
His mean eyes turned grey green
It pleasured him to whip her
But she would not say a thing
His angry insecurities
With silence she would mock
So he'd beat her even harder
In her mind she'd take a walk
He‘d say, 'This hurts me more than you'
She knew it wasn't true
'Be good and take your medicine'
And spank her black and blue
Yet she would never let him know
While he was raging mad
Contrary to what he believed
Reverse effect it had
It woke her sleeping spirit
On the edge of dying doom
As universes spun around
The ghostly darkened room
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poem by Sara Fielder
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September
September crisp nips at the furnace orange
And drizzles wet with shiver cold
With candle waxy smells that keep us warm
And light our way to this new season born
The harvest in the garden now is gone
All packed in mason jars within the shed
Now soon upon the couch to clip coupons
As earth prepares her icy brown brick bed
Behold the sweet lashed eyes of sparrows there
Flitting limb from limb in search of seed
Where oak, and elm and maple trees near bare
Dank and wet leave them for me to feed
And children in clean outfits walk to school
Eager fountains bubbling in their youth
Learning, growing, leaving rooms to cool
Where mothers think of love and need no proof
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poem by Sara Fielder
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The Lookout
Watching the ivy tendrils slowly climb
A glass of table wine within his hand
Windows blowing lace and shuttered blinds
He dreams of burning her with love's hot brand
Alone on second floor above the stair
A lake of dreams too deep to hold him up
Where purple rose clematis scents the air
He sips from crystal etched and half full cup
In stuccoed walls with mother's hearth sun clean
The ships a cobbled town that he calls home
French music plays and no one there is mean
Yet fated is his lot to walk alone
And night the starry cap that twinkles bright
A muse like heavy hair that pours on him
He'll walk with soggy dogs within his sight
And quiet like the sound of dropping pins
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poem by Sara Fielder
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Do Unto Me
Crashing in like a surf break pounds the shore,
soak my flesh as every grain of sand,
till all my bones ache to their very core,
and passions fiery heat need not be fanned.
Then carry me, like a curly golden maid,
as fresh as eggs collected in the morn,
who reaches for the milk jug in the shade,
to wash your feet without an ounce of scorn.
Who cherishes each vow to keep life sane,
engulfing loneliness inside the soul,
as earth spins hyper fast and numbs the brain,
like a hungry swirling mass of purple hole.
Untie the knots in unforgiving space,
to wrap them up again as ribboned bows;
representing gifts of love and common grace,
like a newly polished chalice all aglow.
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poem by Sara Fielder
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Miserable
One quiet moment free
of shipwrecked rusted iron duty
to sit and write some kind of poem,
and yet, my centered self's not home.
I stew and simmer in my pot,
for manacled is my sad lot,
preoccupied with what comes next,
"The dog needs food".
"Come rub my neck".
And never one kind word of thanks,
just steely eyes and verbal spanks,
and selfishness that's gotten old,
wasted on me like a meal gone cold.
Continuous complaints I can't repair
As if I could fix what your neighbor wears?
Petty hollering before it hurts,
sinister dreams, unhappiness dirt,
that fills your empty bucket holes
not knowing the patch is a charitable soul
Unconditional love you weren't born with
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poem by Sara Fielder
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Doctors
I waited in the lobby as the television blared
While my mother was in surgery
Me wondering how she fared
Where the old ones in their wheelchairs
Pushed by strangers came and went
Wearing dressing gowns of cotton
With their dignity a-vent
And the doctors came to treat them
In their valuable time
Looking down upon these people
Without SEEING them, like mine
With their faces hid by masks
So you won’t know that they don’t care
Wearing paper shoes and paper hats
Such that you’d never dare
To waste their time by asking questions
And risk seeming like a fool
Just by virtue of the fact that they’ve
Had twenty years of school
But the sickly in their wheelchairs
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poem by Sara Fielder
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I Will Wait
Behind the tomato fence
I sit as quietly as Sunday
waiting for her to come
and hum me Camelot,
where I have won a showdown
with the red wasps that stole
her ruby nectar.
But the only sound I hear
are the flirty chirps of sparrows,
and the only thing I feel
is air.
Still, I will wait
behind the tomato fence,
sitting as quietly as Sunday
for her to come
and hum me Camelot.
And when I catch sight of her
I know I'll gasp just like I always do.
She steals my heart away in chunks you see,
but she will blow me off
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poem by Sara Fielder
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Rap Poem
You think you're cool because your mouth
is like a garbage can?
I think you're stupid and you
prolly need a CAT scan
You go to school,
but you haven't learned the one thing
To be a man you have gotta
keep your mouth clean
What goes inside,
must come back out
and if you're listenin' to that trash
you're lost there's no doubt
So pay attention,
and have I mentioned?
When you have kids that are your own
they will not listen!
Are you a sheep?
Are you asleep?
What makes you think the emphasis
should be on bleep bleep?
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poem by Sara Fielder
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Deer Chili
He would walk out alone two by two into the Mishy Mashy woods allot
To find what he'd forgot
On this day, when the air smelled of meat
Charred and blackened on crusting surfaces of peat
He remembered that the sun was on time,
And that he had to find what he had missed before he got too old
He climbed up high to reach the handy stand foot by foot wherein
The foggy canopy space is curvy and dewdrops are pearly
Thinking that his slicker slacker was too bright for them to see,
He misted his pelt smelt
The cranberry clearing below was regretfully empty
Yesterday, it bore the color of lavender and reddish gold
He tried to clear the muggles from his mind or take a lichen to them,
But he couldn't
So he put away his bow and handed himself a pocket
In it was the hair of a locket fair and bygone losted
His body was frosted
Still, as he ran his fingers through it he gladdened
And sparked the why of which he mainly camed
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poem by Sara Fielder
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