Sunday, November 30, 2014

Unable To Say Why

Unable to Say Why

By: M. MacMinn

My eyes are not open
My mind, not switched on
My body, draped with clothing
My belly, full with breakfast
My thoughts are fluttered from the night before

How such fun turned so poorly upon confession
A notion hard to hear
playfulness forgotten and left
as quickly as it began

Absent in the daylight
vanished in the shine of a beautiful day
The air as cool as my heart
The street as empty as my compassion
and just as unable to explain

You are thinking about this incorrectly
though, I am unable to say why


www.markmacminn.com

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Uncommon Treasures

Uncommon Treasures

By: M. MacMinn

Wind chimes baby
bringing us home,
with a twinkle in the wind

it's unworldly, it's hopefully,
it's without monetary value
it's timeless, limitless, sacred

It's like reindeer on Christmas
and rabbits on Easter
pointless, beside the point,
everything, the meaning itself

Russian roulette in reverse
substance and shortcake
strawberry ribbons on bow wrapped presents
stockings full of heavenly garbage,
tasty to consume

wet panties on whiskers,
during a sunny afternoon
Butterscotch to fancy
Lemonade on ice
Peach cobbler for breakfast
and sundaes at night

smokes on top of mountains
valley's full of dew
pleasantries in moments
moments all too few


www.markmacminn.com


Sunday, November 16, 2014

Puddles

Puddles

By: M. MacMinn


So much has been about the celebration
the party, the drink, the pussy, the distortion
The self-fulfilling puddle of pleasure

The denial of work
the pursuit of pursuing

The bitter pill of failure
the late blooming eyes
of unfolding misfortune

The acceptance
and Buddha-like moments
in the span of a cigarette

The lack of change
and expectation of

Wanting to be seen as more
than presented

Consuming to consume
following the leader

The lost idea of self
the false identity


www.markmacminn.com


Sunday, November 9, 2014

I'm Here

I'm Here

By: M. MacMinn


the rain is calming
open air is warm on the porch
gutters are trickling droplets
a fire burns between my fingers,
upon my lips and in my lungs
water is cool, not cold
waiting in a glass, close in reach
time is still
the night finds peace

tension twists down my spine
struggling to be content
safe, secure, relatively without worry
but stiff, stern
conditioning dreams
denying sleep

posture is tense, anticipating
nothing is coming
except the train whistle in the distance
so near, it can't be seen
flinching, I'll gaze
taking more in

tired
just tired
it's been a long day
it's difficult to recall
all that's been done
but it's done
this day
it's over, work was done
and also some play

that time on the bed
wet and smooth
beers in the mouth
with tongues on each other
what a quenching release
thank you
though that too
is done

hunting for magic
but it's not always there
I'll look again tomorrow
and each day that
I'm here


www.markmacminn.com


Sunday, November 2, 2014

Tongues

Tongues

By: M. MacMinn

Where is your heart
at home, on the stage

Who sees your beauty
with the value of days

As you breathe air
fast and asleep

Or drinking in water
while eyes open, repeat

I'll tell you a joke
on your grave, where you lay

Fashion is frugal
on tongues you shall stay


www.markmacminn.com