................................................................................................
The Poetry Of...
Charles P. Ries............................................................
MY YOUTH
Dating that crazed, heart-breaking Italian,
wanting to die as my first feelings bleed all over
the sidewalk
........................
W.B. Yeats in my backpack,
................................................true love, my religion.
Youth is painful
Pretending the zit on my nose wasn't as big as a condo,
and that at sixteen such things didn't really matter.
Are you looking in my eyes or at my pimple?
I now understood how women with large breasts must feel.
The schizophrenia of wanting to be unique and yet fit in.
Wanting to be liked, but hating what you had to do for it.
Youth is confusion
The irreconcilable news flash from my mother that,
"You're not so special!"
Cautioning me not to make too much of the standing
ovation just hours earlier,
she protecting me from Vanity Falls.
Failing in the laboratory of French kissing.
Thinking how it is an acquired taste like beer.
Her mouth awash with the scent of garlic -
a remnant of the Italian restaurant and the dinner
I bought, hoping to warm her toward the submarine races.
Blackheads, spontaneous hard-ons, body odor,
braces, humiliation, disabling crushes, and scrambling
for balance while being assaulted by hormones.
I drowned in the sea of experience
............while I struggled to become a rooted adult.
HOW TO LAND A MAN
Beauty, intelligence and wit
are the insecticide of mosquito
men.
Who eat their dinner over the sink.
Coveting their:
................Old shoes
................Worn shirts
................Endless routines
................Knowing it all
Beauty must wander this
lumber yard of slumbering interest
in soft silent moccasins.
And in perfect harmony to his buzzing
she hums:
You're so dear
............You're so brave
........... You're my exceptional man.
Feeding him a two course meal of:
1..........Beauty
2..........Adoration
She learns precision as she becomes
the architect of romance.
Rising perfectly each night
evaporating with the sun.
in her costume
.of indifference.
SAKS FIFTH AVENUE
Time moves so slowly as we wait for
our loved ones to exit the dressing room
- again.
Exotic birds parade before us
Tight fitting
............Low riding
........................Up lifting
.....................................Miracle bras
Moving in synchronous motion
from rack to stack.
My male comrades and I
.warm the bench.
We're the second stringers.
Shoes
............Accessories
Lingerie,
Lipstick
Eye shadow.
You exit a new woman.
Main Page
This site sponsered by
|
<![CDATA[<xmp>
<body>
]]> | | |