[x]

The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.

the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav

He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.

The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.

But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a

Overgrown ColorsRed like blood on a rose.
White like bone and stars.
Black like reclusiveness.
Green like dead air.
Orange like the savage instinct.
Purity like a god's heart.
Red like thawing hatred.
White like a frozen, severe cry.
Black like the night's deprived shadows.
Green like the wind in the grass.
Orange like the light in the shadows.
Purity like the sun rising.
So discharging through the moon in a wheeze is like luminous white, dispersed red.

PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint

with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.

SurelyIt was raining
when we kissed for the first time,
for the last time.

Thin rivulets
sunk into the shrunken space
between our bodies
and divided us
like nothing could before,
like everything will
from now
until that never again
when we will
see each other once more,
no more.

Your eyes were
that bewitching shade
of dull brown blue
with all of the light darkness
whirling
in a placid pond
around a pupil
overflowing with vacancy,
and me
and my frowning smile.

The winter heat
fell like a rising tide
and,
for our every breath
was another death
so black and full of life --
embracing our boiled ice skin
as we drew apart,
came together and broke free

Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –

survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,

how many graves are we standing on, today?

SisterSister

A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.

A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.

I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!

I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
to come,
in the future.

Life, Death And A Pork Chop SandwichAll tangled up, hard to breathe
This steel cloud day that swirls
With heat and pounding hammers
I shake in my boots and cough up
Blood, rust and damaged flesh
Waiting for the second coming
Maybe next time around there'll be
Some chance for more than this

A twisted barbed wire halo
Wrapped tight around my skull
Blinding white light aura
Swarming with flies I'm flying
To pieces, thousands of shards
Cannot be brought back together
But I will remember the summer
Of my first Chevrolet in each bit

Gleaming bits of glass in the desert
Each reflecting a different moment
Still, now, enduring until the waves
Of a new ocean sweep them away
No pain

Pretty little things called words and dustif you weren't a hypocrite,
you'd be wrapped in the sweetest
perfumes
(learning
how to engulf the ocean
with your lungs
and think of how to cup it
in your hands
despite
your broken prayers and
still be beautiful)

dance with the gypsies
'till noon
(a quake in
your hips like the thrust
of continents
and the faultlines
emanating from
your spine,
but still
so, so graceful)

sing with the nymphs
in tune
(your voice,
it's growing old,
raspy even.
your throat's burning dry
like a monsoon
faltering in a desert,

and tones
still octaves
powerful)

be nestled in a king's arms
soon
(oh, you precious
little thing.
how

Puppet My tears fall,

like invisible

diamonds.

My heart beats,

like soundless

drums.

Unwanted,

because of the

strings attached.

Lost In ConfusionMy mind is spinning without a rest
emotions whirl and twirl around
A merry-go-round gaining speed
Until the world blurrs before my eyes
What's happening? What's going on?

The simplest thought slips away
Right from my mind, fading so fast
Trying to focus, I stare and stare
Until my eyes are heavy and unclear.
I don't understand, what is going on...

Emotions rise and fall again
Within the blink of an eye
I'm crying, laughing, and depressed
A rollercoaster ride that never ends
Am I losing my mind in this ?

I try to close my eyes and rest
But the world spins me around
I feel like I am failing this test
Voices and noisies echo in my min

DangerousMermaids; they seduce you then hold you under
Vampires; will kiss your lifeblood away
Mages, will turn your own mind against you
While trolls will hunt you down if you stay
Run through the woods, don’t stop for nothing
Monsters wait with jaws opened wide
Ignore that pretty elf, who’s probably plotting something dark
For she will torture you once she’s lured you inside
Orcs; will have a craving for your flesh
While dwarves are just prejudiced against your height
Dragons are very skilled when it comes to fire
While faeries will torment you throughout the night
So run little weakling, don’t stop now
The faery realm has go

A Night By the FireNo light,
The light sired by the night
All above whilst the day's delights
Now disappears from mortal sight.

Faded away is the sun's power,
Taking the stage now is night's sallow flower;
Now mortals may behold the stars and falling shower.

Set in a pit Nature's skyscraper ablaze
And revel in the emanating heat as you gaze,
Looking down on occasion when you hear a crack from the fire
And witness "fireflies" flying away from mother's blaze;
Dying shortly after but not lacking burning beauty do they desire!

I look out towards the teasing shore
And meditate as we sit upon her door,
Thinking on what my future has in store;
Who I am now and even

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From Rattling Cages

by *low-kee--Poetry, May 25, 2010, 9:54:34 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

(1)

The Old Barn

Old barn retires
on hillside.
New shed handles the
old farms load.
Blisters and busted
knuckles are replaced
by how well one can
sell acreage.
Along the outside,
classic vehicles rust.
Heavy equipment
grows lighter as metal
like the money that once
made the farm work,
vanishes.
All that used to be is
now all it can be.
No floors inside that old
barn anymore. Boards
all broken with age, farmer
by inflation.
Has all he can do to manage
the Walker.

(2)

The Fields

Shingles from a once
sturdy farmhouse
filter rain where the earth
grows loose.
All that had plant and
harvest is now dead
and flat
'til the trees
back by the brook give
the eyes a good climb.
Rat's nest back in the left
help the snakes
survive. As long as there is
rodent, there is
kill.
The Deer have no corn
to eat or hide in,
no wheat to bake
in the farmer's bread
and the passerby likes it
that way.
Fences go up around
a survey, while the works to sell
off portions looks back
to the brook.
You can see if anything sold
between those rocks.

(3)

Past The Fields

Brings me back
to the old barn.
The months have
brought the farmer
to sell all but ten
acres for he and his
wife of almost
sixty years. The worn
farmhouse stood
so many generations
like a statue of
esteem, now sets
a single wide
where the children
bring their young
to see the grandfolks
on week-ends and
holidays. The Farmer,
even in his weakness
does odd jobs on
the side. Says he's still
one hell of a carpenter.
A pond fills the emptiness
the corn left and the barn has
just too much pride to fall.

From Rattling Cagesby *low-kee--Poetry

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

From Chapbook "Rattling Cages."
(Grateful Acknowledgements to Flash!Point Press).
All Rights Reserved.

Do not use these poems under any circumstances
without written permission from the author.
Copyright 2004 by Flash!Point Press, 2010 by Doug Paugh

*low-kee--Poetry Jun 23, 2010 Professional Writer

Thanks for the

's buddy.

~Heaja Jun 17, 2010

This is really great. It reminded me of a barn I rode my bike past the other day. It was very old and abandoned, there was an old decaying car inside of it still, but right next to it was a shed with some flat tired machinery that is still in use on the farm, presuming they have to dig it out of the mud each year.
That was really excellent. Wish I could come listen to you recite!

--Nate

*low-kee--Poetry Jun 17, 2010 Professional Writer

Thanks, I appreciate the compliment. I still do readings and Book signings,
but not as often. Now-a-days I can do them when I want to. Gives me more time
to write and do family things. Family and friends always come first for me.
That's how I find stuff to write about.

*pyrrhite Jun 13, 2010

heartbreaking, so tender, so sad.

*low-kee--Poetry Jun 13, 2010 Professional Writer

Thank you. Those 3 go in the order you read them in, assuming you read all three.
They're out of my chapbook, Rattling Cages, which took 1st place in a Full length Chapbook
Competition in 2002, published in 2004. These three I think I've read at every Poetry Reading I've done
in the past 10 years. Certainly favorites for me. Your comment is well taken and appreciated.

*pyrrhite Jun 13, 2010

Yes I read all three, I very much appreciate the sentiment presented, I love old farms and feel sad so many have succumbed exactly as you have described in your beautiful way.

*low-kee--Poetry Jun 13, 2010 Professional Writer

Thanks for the kind comments, and compliments.

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