poetry

Quiet

Image by Okan Caliskan from Pixabay 

Somewhere between sunset and sunrise

We exist, brothers and sisters,

In our nether world

Shared with more productive denizens

Servants of the light dwellers

Police and trash collectors

And tough waitresses at bad diners

They inhabit the world because they have a purpose

We inhabit it because we have none

.

The quiet is a sound of it’s own

It speaks to us

.

We are together and alone

Finding each other would relieve our ennui

Disqualifying us from this nocturnal club

This place is for the heartbroken

For the lonely

For the hopeless

For the over thinkers

For the overly dramatic

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We are inferior and superior

We hide our fear with introspection

Writing poems that no one will read

We turn our noses up at what we most want

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We can spot each other

I can pick out a soul lost in the night

They smile and laugh a little too hard

But I can see it in their eyes

The fear that no one cares

The fear that they will wander forever

Stuck in this darkness

“I should have been a pair of ragged claws”*

© Glenn R Keller 2021, All Rights Reserved

*The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock – TS Eliot

The Long Sweet Goodbye

Photo – Roger Puta

The rails had seen better days

So we crept along at a snail’s pace

Under big blue midwestern skies

Young corn, wheat and hay flanking us

We stood in the open vestibule

Taking in the fresh air

Feeling the heat

Of that early summer morning

We stopped behind a row of tidy houses

Eating breakfast in the diner

Enjoying the shade of their pretty backyards

Waiting for the more important trains

Which was all of the other trains

To get where they needed to go first

Late? Hours not minutes

No one was in a hurry

Conductors still whistled and held kerosene lamps

Porters still turned down bunks

Chefs still cooked from scratch

Food made in motion

Served on real railroad china

Waiters holding onto their pride to the last

The great lines were dying

Some of them died sweetly, softly

And we mourned sweetly, softly

For that which once was

And could never be again

© Glenn R Keller 2021, All Rights Reserved

Cold and Alone

Image by Hong daewoong from Pixabay

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I don’t ride in the cold

Because I’ve had to ride in the cold

.

Past darkened, brooding buildings

Full of oblivious, sleeping people

Past the darkened warehouses

Past the darkened firehouse

.

The cold cuts me

.

Traffic lights cycle Green, Yellow, Red

Meaningless. I am the only traffic

.

A police cruiser idles

Parking lights on

The soft glow of the dash

We are alone together

.

When I get home

Home to the two decrepit rooms

Fluorescent and linoleum

Tacked to the back of a decrepit house

I will be warm and alone

.

The girl a few blocks away

The girl that loves me

And another that might

Knowing that she is there

Knowing that I could lay in her arms

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I could ride there

I could knock on the door

Then I would be warm and not alone

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But I like the cold better

I like being alone better

Cold and loneliness are always there

Cold and loneliness never change their minds

Never look at you and say “we’re just too different”

.

© Glenn R Keller 2021, All Rights Reserved

The Fall

Image by Quang Nguyen vinh from Pixabay

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Your long tan legs, your shiny brunette hair

Who was I to long for your lips on mine

And why would I dare think I had a prayer

But I looked in your eyes and saw a sign

.

You came for me with those emerald eyes

Your breath in my ear that said this is real

As you disarmed me with your breathless sighs

Your body quivers, betrays what you feel

.

Then in a moment your life comes undone

I reach with my arms but it’s all too new

I try to find words but feel I have none

As your pain unfolds I know I’ve lost you

.

And I, unnoticed , as Icarus found

Spiraled my way from the sun to the ground

.

© Glenn R Keller 2021, All Rights Reserved

The Dean’s Office

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There in the front worked an angel so rare

With pouting red lips and skin velvet cream

The sunbeams dance through her long golden hair

At night, she sings in my electric dreams

.

I can see it all, like an epic poem

Yes we build a love that will never die

Raise perfect children in our perfect home

And write our names against the starry sky

.

There’s just one wrinkle, how do I meet you

An amorous scheme takes hold in my mind

Writing to you of the girl I pursue

Here’s a description of she I would find

.

I have to meet her or I’ll die you see

Then reading my note you blush “this is me”

The Cannon

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

To say why it didn’t go to plan

We’ll have to start where it began

And how we left it to Phil and Stan

The idea was awesome it was great

Those older girls would be irate

But we should have entrusted Bob or Nate

The laundryman was easily bribed

His weakness was that he imbibed

His task was easily circumscribed

The Rutledge twins supplied the gun

A massive piece that weighed a ton

They made it louder just for fun

We filled it with the stolen laundry

But then arose a major quandry

Our solution would come back to haunt me

You see women’s wear does not fly well

And we could not put it in a shell

But we reasoned clumps of mud the undies would propel

We should have trusted it to Ron and John

Or maybe even Don or Juan

But Phil and Stan if fell upon

Not the brightest in the bunch

Their brains were always out to lunch

But we were rushed and in a crunch

The job assigned we ran away

To find a place were we could stay

To watch the awe-inspiring display

A boom rang out

We heard a shout

And from their cabin the girls ran out

The first to yell was loud mouth Kate

The girl who filled us all with hate

As she favored no one with a date

The laundry rained down but something strange

Something we did not arrange

A horrifying new exchange

Just when it seemed to go so well

The girls running, yelling all pell mell

Kate, dreaded Kate, yelled out “What’s that smell???!!!”

And now we watched the travesty unfold

The girls screaming became uncontrolled

Our penance, we knew, would be too awful to behold

So if you’re going to break the rules

Don’t entrust your plan to fools

Who don’t have brains to use as tools

For even a little cub scout troupe

Or possibly a toddlers group

Would not confuse mud with poop