“Moccasin Mockery”

Photo courtesy of Evangeline Vickery

“Moccasin Mockery”

Moccasin mockery,

Boylston debauchery.

Standing on disparate feet.

Strolling along,

humming a song,

a stranger, the first I should meet.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve no way of knowing.”

“Did you know, you have on two different shoes?”

“I sure didn’t notice.”

“You should channel your focus.”

“Thanks, next time I sure will.”

No longer a stranger,

I’m willing to wager,

as I continue humming a song.

Leaving one for the other

I’ll meet his twin brother.

And find a pair of shoes,

That will match this one.

• Inspired by E. Vickery photo

“A Long Musk”

“A Long Musk”

Let’s go down to that secret place.

That place where you can be who you want to be.

Who you are?

Where we can revel in the glory of attraction and anticipation.

Bated breath.

Sweat.

Chest to breast.

Bold biology.

Fulfillment.

Elbows, lips, pliable flesh.

Pink, purple, red, mocha.

Salt kisses, fingers submerged.

Dainty fingertips gliding along the periphery.

Sweat, warm wetness.

Pushing through.

Resistance.

Momentum.

Breathless butterflies.

Connected solely through electric fingertips.

Fingerprints intermingle, DNA altered.

Traveling towards the event horizon, no reset.

Skillful ravaging.

Contentment.

Certain.

Invasive intimacy.

Waves, waves, waves.

Eyes locked.

Final approach.

Hushed encouragements increase the urgency.

Swollen to a point of burst.

A civilization in its ascendency and decline, in one moment.

Palms slapping the top sheet.

Final advances assured.

Bucking.

Thrashing.

Grinding.

No stopping the launch sequence.

Liftoff.

Traveling up into and becoming one with the atmosphere.

Eventually escaping gravity, and floating.

Floating…floating.

A sweet reverie, wrapped in languid limbs and surrendered kisses.

An expanding universe that ends and begins in the loins of lovers searching for meaning.

“Timeshare Chicanery”

img_2358

“Woods Hole Harbor” © C.P. Hickey 2009

 

 

 

“Timeshare Chicanery” *

 

Come at once!

Make haste, you’ve won!

For your time,

a handsome sum.

You don’t have to buy,

despite our best try.

You’re free to go.

Just a moment, though.

Sit inside this hotel multi-purpose room,

and listen to our pitch.

You can have a free blender,

even if you ditch.

Let’s share some time,

and time some share.

A few weeks a year,

now that is all we ask.

Are you and your new spouse up to such a task?

Imagine, yourself in a warmer clime,

just sign here,

upon this dotted line.

Floridian, Caribbean,

abroad in some exotic place.

If those aren’t the weeks you want,

you simply trade your space.

Our industry depends on you,

we value your inability to say no.

Once we get a foot in the door,

it’s nigh impossible for you to go.

So, come at once!

Make haste, you’ve won!

You’re luckier than most.

Sign upon the dotted line,

and enjoy a sunny coast.

Two weeks a year,

is all we need,

to puff our bottom line.

We depend on rubes like you,

you are our favorite kind.

*seeded from a phrase offered by, E. Vickery

“Pretentious Poet”

 

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“Coarse” © C.P. Hickey 2018

 

 

“Pretentious Poet”

 

Pretentious poet, pretentious poet.

The kind that always lets you know it.

Metered verse, a bland haiku.

A clever line, their ego’s fuse.

 

God’s gift to all,

a sullied ruse.

No offense too small,

for a misused muse.

 

Keep your rhymes,

you sly ghoul.

Vanity crimes,

deserve rebuke.

 

When writing poems,

respect the art.

Sincerity goes,

somewhat far.

 

 

 

 

“Sanctification”

Poem 20 of the ProCrasstheNation Poemvember Poetry Project is dedicated to Claire W. The world can change in a moment, and sometimes the best we can do is to keep close the essence of those that sanctify us. This one is for all the Dad’s that brought us up, and sanctified our lives.

❤️

“Sanctification”

A quiet space.

A tiny prayer.

A weathered book.

An open window in a lazy sizzling rain.

A tender breeze kissing my cheek.

All these thing sanctify me.

They make me feel whole.

Wholly whole.

A felt bookmark.

An uncrowded bookshop.

A perfectly lit room.

A warm lingering nap on a winter morning.

A Tom Brady pass.

All these things sanctify me.

They make me feel good.

Goodly good.

Freshly baked bread.

Freshly brewed coffee.

Freshly laundered linens.

Freshly cut lime.

Freshly applied after shave.

All these things sanctify me.

They make me feel big.

Bigly big.

Found money.

Best friends.

When a song you are thinking about comes on the radio.

No lines.

No traffic.

All these things sanctify me.

They make me feel special.

Especially special.

A blank page.

A used bookstore.

A writing group.

An inspiring idea.

A completed story.

All these things sanctify me.

They fill me with purpose.

Purposefully purposeful.

My wife.

My children.

My family.

My friends.

My colleagues.

All these things sanctify me.

They make me feel complete.

Completely complete.