“Forlorn”

“Corner Clover” ©️C.P. Hickey 2019

“Forlorn”

What I wouldn’t do,

To wake up next to you,

To kiss your exposed neck.

No passion held in check

Throw caution to the wind.

My beating heart begins

And all because of you,

Living life most true.

You seed my exposed rows,

And dormant feelings grow.

I need you near to me,

Why can’t I make you see?

My life before is through,

Now I live for only you.

You wound me with a glance,

Give this humble man a chance.

You act aloof despite my clues,

Look again, at breaking news.

Please give yourself to me.

I’ll await so patiently.

You and I were meant to be,

Why can’t I make you see?

My life before is through,

Now I live for only you.

“Cast Your Iron This”

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“Cast Your Iron This”

Iron man, holds heavy pan.

Sizzle and a griddle.

Eggs and bacon,

Campers waken,

Hissing from the middle.

Tasty morsels, full endorsements.

Cooking up the goodies.

No rejecting,

Plates accepting,

Heaping spoons bring good eats.

Iron wool, a pocketful.

To scrub a dirty pan.

Scour here,

And over there.

A regular pioneer man.

“The Liberty Of Confinement”

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“The Liberty Of Confinement”

Gainful employment.

Marriage.

Parenthood.

Mortgage.

Credit card debt.

Credit card, death.

Morbid.

Unplanned parenthood.

Miscarriage.

Sinful enjoyment.

Mirage.

Pixelated.

Forage.

Sleep number bed.

Spearhead.

Consumer dread.

Deficit.

Attention.

Bereavement.

Obstacle illusion.

Suffice it to say,

A long time confinement,

Operating from within the mind,

Of patient zero.

Never aware of which end is up.

Give me the liberty of confinement.

Give me the liberty of death.

“Stainsy Whippoorwill”

“Pizza Oil” ©️C.P. Hickey 2019

“Stainsy Whippoorwill”

Stainsy Whippoorwill, is a right plump tubbin.

He eats for pleasure.

And much to someone’s chagrin,

(surely not his)

He wears the stains of his gorge,

Across his beefy breast,

For all to see.

Rorschach medals on display,

Letting passers by,

Know the extent of care taken.

Stainsy, cares a smidge,

But not in excess of trading off his culinary compulsions.

He would rather taste it full,

Than trade in measure, even half.

He loves to dance morsels on his tongue.

Umami gets him intensely excited.

Nervous, even.

Anticipatory delights,

Forecast satiety.

Except, in that after place.

Where regret strikes hard,

At easy choices.

Fat chance is not an acceptable outcome,

But, a lifestyle digested,

And wrested,

From years of finger licking good.

Budge sweat, from his moobs,

and dirty bed aromas,

never stray far from his upper crotch belly.

Summer bus seats,

Are alive like coral reefs,

populated by Stainsy’s DNA,

When he peels himself from the composite molded plastic,

And struggles egress when station arrivals occurs.

His relaxed fit trousers,

Giving all they can,

To contain a girth of means.

Stainsy loves his food.

Believe me when I say it;

He loves his food.

“Sippin’”

“Sippin’” ©️ C.P. Hickey 2019

“Sippin’”

Sippin’, sippin’.

Playground trippin’.

Sandbox skippin’.

Tunnel vision.

Climbing high,

And sliding down.

Seesaw lever far off ground.

Finding hiding spots galore.

Nighttime pass,

So we can play more.