Poems · poetry

“Fringe Benefits”

“Between The Leaves” ©️C.P. Hickey 2019

“Fringe Benefits”

I don’t dislike daylight.

If I did,

I wouldn’t go outside in the sun.

I prefer the assistance of trees.

Their shade embrace,

Provides me shelter from the greater radiance of a distant star.

Then night falls.


“Crayola Census”



“Crayola Census”


When I smell colors, this is what I see.

The brown smells like wet cardboard and soggy Rice Krispies languishing in a stodgy bowl in a dirty sink full of dishes.

The black smells like licorice flavored liquor and settled smoke obscuring my vision on a deathly autumn night that seems to last forever.

When I smell colors, this is what I hear.

The white smells like vanilla candles burning special, on vanilla birthday frosted cakes, too, too sweet.

The red smells like angry acne and sweat from a sleepless summer nights of rejected sexual advances, festering in a marriage bed growing toward displeasure.

When I smell colors, this is what I taste.

The blue smells like the mystery of a shadowed ocean being overlooked by a winter’s dark starry night above.

The orange smells like corporate cubicles during rushed at-desk lunches, peels peeled of pride and dead inside, cleaning the clogged dreams with citrus solutions.

When I smell colors, this is what I feel.

The green smells like the verdant vegetative estates of spring sprawling out into the forever, ground up for health drinks consumption.

The purple smells like mountains majesty and spiced plums bruised by vascular varicose varieties.

When I smell colors, this is what I smell.

The peach smells like generalized skin tones of nude pantyhose on a Kmart shelf hanging suggestively from a plastic egg packaging.

The grey smells like the ashes of dead relatives left on counters at mortuaries and funeral parlors sealed with precision so all that is left materially cannot escape order.






“Timeshare Chicanery”

“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


“They say the sun is sometimes eclipsed by a moon”

“Event” © C.P. Hickey 2017


“It’s no secret that the stars are falling from the sky
It’s no secret that our world is in darkness tonight
They say the sun is sometimes eclipsed by a moon…”_The Fly-U2 Achtung Baby

August 2017 Poems-31 Daze


Poem 10 feels good. I don’t think I’ve ever posted ten days in a row, never mind ten poems in a row. Thank you to my former 8th grade Teacher Ms. Lisa M. I owe you a debt for the inspiration you gifted to me all those years ago. Thank you! I’m happy to have learned so much from you.  I hope you all enjoy this brief trip around the sun.


“Sunshine” © C.P. Hickey 2017


Sunshine fighting in the outline,

of conspicuous clouds.

Gathered energy,

Pelting passing places below.

Darting in and out.

Hide and seek.


Glanced in the periphery.

Taken for granted.

Shadows at play.

The hues are newer in this sky.

Newer than I have seen them.

Fresh eyes, new clouds.

Formation channeling el sol.

My soul,


Wrapped up and bathed in pixellated rays.

The sun always comes up.

The sun always goes down.

The sun.

The source.

Shining in a way Danny Torrance never could.

Perpetual. Perennial. Permanent.

Our sun’s light will travel to a far off place,

glimmering until it’s gone.

Shining shadows enveloped in an afternoon delight.

I go where it leads.

Always to tomorrow.

Rolling up out of the Atlantic Ocean,

Until it reaches heights and goals and dreams.

Guiding life as I know it.

Life, as I know it.

Let there be light.

Sunshine on me.



* “And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me, shine until tomorrow, let it be.”

*Lyric taken from the Beatles “Let It Be”_Lennon& McCartney