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
A musician and performer shares his thoughts, rants, poetic ramblings and musical pursuits.
Sunday, November 30, 2014
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
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
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
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
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
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