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Wanda Swim Strunk

Winter Heralds In

Winter heralds In a level of depression
That surpasses
The level of elation
I feel when spring arrives

I accept that poets and predictions
Cant stop the worlds afflictions
That have been there
Since the dawn of time

Still I look to strength
Between God and booze
Only to realize
They are empty methods too

So I sit here and write
In the half dark
Of the coming night
Wondering what to do

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You Poison My Mind

I poison my body
Because
You poison my mind

My words hover around you
Like lint in the air
Unnoticed
Until some light is shed on them

They whirl around you
Until
I breathe them back in
Just to spit it all back out
Again

The dirty dusty old words
Land around us
On our what-we-bring-to-the tables
For a moment
We dust off our arguments

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I wanted to be a Willow Tree

Tangled in the loving slender arms
I would knot the ends
To make a swing
Under my willow tree

It sat next to an old farmhouse
Deserted since the depression
Along the banks of
The Wapsipinicon

Untamed grandeur
During a storm
I climbed into her knotty divide
The tree held me
Like a mother cuddling me to her breast

I wanted to be that willow tree
Its soulful sway
The ability to stand firm
Throughout the worst

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August is the dying month

August is the dying month
When hot July struggles to keep her hold
Moving toward a hopeless chilled September
Pretending to be summer
As if children heading back to school stir the cold from the sky

It is a refined deceiver

August is a butterfly crushed on a roadway
One side dead to the pavement
The other is still vibrantly flutteringly alive
Fighting to fly away but it’s fate is already sealed

It is a delicate executioner

August is the month colors trickle from trees
A first leaf unnoticed tumbles
Sheepishly the others will shortly follow
Shamefully they will drift to the ground

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Some guitarists I know

Casey hides behind an Elvis swagger
And a marlboro red
He's small and charming
He has a smile that is velvet
He wants to live in a comic book
When he sings
Emotion hangs on his guitar strings

And He plays beautiful guitar

Green likes the blues
Johnny Lang, Stevie Ray
He has the style of Bruce Willis
Charms the pants off of most women
Sometimes he wants to be in love
But wonders why he cant love them
Like Jade and his mom

And He plays beautiful guitar

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Dirty Kurty

He looks to get high
In the lowest of low places
His world swirls
To a mangled mess
Lighting foil
To burn his midnight oil

I get glimpses
Before the high takes flight
Vanishing the man I once knew

He’s lost to me
He’s lost to you

His charm is a device
To make me think he’s alright
Into thinking I might be wrong
To question my reason
Allowing myself to be seduced
By his cheap song

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