Short Shorts 2

/ johnlmalone / 7 Comments
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Short Shorts 2

Shudder.

That shuddering in the tree.

Is it birds making love? he thinks.

It’d be a good place to make love.

High rise, picturesque, cover,

all those nooks and crannies.

He’d only seen birds make love once.

A pair of pigeons on the trampoline.

He had to chase them off before the grandkids

came over.

………………………..

Great Timing

“He got hit just outside the library.

A station wagon came swerving ….”

“Funny we were just talking about a collection of late poems

he was putting together, Had a publisher lined up.”

“ Great, Posthumous collections usually do very well.”

”””””””””””””””’

Notice to my Muse

don’t want to appear catty

but these late night visitations

are driving me batty.

isn’t it time you took a sabbatical ?

pic by pinterest

Ragamuffin Boy

/ johnlmalone / 29 Comments
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Ragamuffin Boy: a ditty

O, I’m a ragamuffin boy

mama’s pride and joy

I wear what I got

don’t know a lot

…………..

But I can pick a tune

sung by the loon

on the widdershins of the lake

o, pretty as a cake

……………

and I can make up words

to what I’ve heard

yes, I can whip something up

I’m no musical pup

……………….

Know my Bible too

the words that Jesus said.

Follow Him, mama says

Don’t heed what papa says

……………..

I’m mama’s pride and joy

her ragamuffin boy

love her a lot

I’m all mama’s got.

*picbypinterest

At 5.33 a.m ……

/ johnlmalone / 41 Comments
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At 5.33 a.m……..

At 5.33 a.m. I awoke to the sound of a bark

from inside the house.

I have no dog.

No one on Dover Court has a dog.

Only Matthew next door with a tiny terrier.

This was a big dog with a big bark. .

It had a voice like my daughter’s German Shepherd, Blaze

when someone comes to the door,

Only louder. Booming.

A Hound of the Baskervilles bark.

A dream dog. What was I dreaming ?

I did not much mind. It was only an hour before I get up anyway.

So I hopped up and wrote this poem then slipped back into bed

for another hour.

Our Hunchback

/ johnlmalone / 28 Comments
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Our Hunchback:

He’s not the hunchback of Notre Dame

or Cousin Lymon from ,,, ‘ the Sad Café’

but he’s our hunchback

and he’s coming our way

………

Like me probably wondering

where this summer’s gone so fast

and the world’s so sad and broken

and how long this war will last

……….

He’s not tethered, poor boy,

to a Miss Amelie

he’s a solitary now

a little like me

………….

you can tell he’s convoluted

he hasn’t got a clue

He grinds his teeth and chuckles

he doesn’t look at you

………….

now and then he loses it

breaks down and cries

in the supermarket aisle

like cousin Lymon does

then Security comes by

…………..

like that unhinged flamingo

at the Adelaide zoo

he had to be removed last week

for frightening customers

a thing no one should do

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

His name is Matthew

I’ve written about him before

bandy-legged, bushy browed,

orange vis jacket

looking like an angry bee.

*picbypinterest

A Raucous Morning

/ johnlmalone / 30 Comments
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It has been a raucous morning.

Cat nibbling poems in my ear.

Up, down ; up, down scribbling, scribbling.

Lights on, lights off.

F&&&K !!! Trip over the cat.

How can anyone get any sleep

in this house ?

  • picbypinterest

Cat Nibbles

/ johnlmalone / 30 Comments
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Cat Nibbles

No.

I’m not going to start the day

watching the NEWS

even if there’s a war on.

I’m not going to do that.

And I’m not going to phone X

and ask how she’s doing

and get that same shit thrown in my face,

People should be respectful.

I’m not someone’s punching bag

but I do smile at the cat

nibbling poems in my ears.

I’m up for that.

.

  • picbypinterest

Daks

/ johnlmalone / 23 Comments
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Daks

Used to slouch around in my Pa Kettle daks

tied up with shoe laces and old bootstraps.

I had the money but didn’t have the pride.

I barely hung together when the laces came untied.

So I ditched my daks and pranced like a star

wearing flared cargo pants like Kendrick Lamar.

  • pic by pinterest

Someone’s Moved in Next Door

/ johnlmalone / 31 Comments
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Someone’s Moved in Next Door

Someone’s moved in next door,

a young family by the sound of it,

screechy, excitable kids, girls.

I hope they don’t play loud music.

Nah, they’re too young for that.

Soon they’ll be peering through the gaps

and wondering about that dude in the car port

his feet on the deck chair

guzzling ice coffee, chomping on angel slices

and always writing in that book.

Is There a Name for That?

/ johnlmalone / 44 Comments
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Is There a Name for That?

I put down the magazine I was reading

and put aside the magazines I had lined up next

and decided to do what David Sedaris suggested

in his article on making it in New York:

go for a walk in the ‘hood’ ;

heaven knows what I’d bang into:

some old vet in a wheelchair puffing away

outside the fence looking for a pair of ears?

an accident maybe. a cat struck down by a car

 like Suzie, the stray?

or I might even be robbed — the stories I could write;

but all I can think of is that bloom in our street

spilling over the fence like boobs sometimes spill over bras —

what is the name for that?

that bloom, I mean