Lectric Daze Buzz
I sit here in smoke in the
Realm of the Wallow where
green sky has frogs and the
birds that dive down from
the cliffs and the trees in a
valley where dogs chase the
lizards all day and kids hear the
songs of a red ice cream monkey
that sometimes turns blue.
poem by Rick Stokes
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Leaves In The Wind
I'm no longer at the top of my mind.
'…only the best that he can be.'
I bumped my head. I'm getting old.
No longer sharp. My humor's flat.
But that's ok. I'll play my hand.
I'll win this game;
that's even if the game and score
are merely settings in my mind.
poem by Rick Stokes
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Large
The quiet man exploded
like a termite full of
poison through the air
and on the table with
used napkins and a
quarter for a tip to
go to waitress who
had served the man a
tuna on a bread with
mayo sandwich and a
coffee and a jalapeno
chopped and mixed
with beans.
poem by Rick Stokes
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What I Call It
I had a brain injury.
I have a brain injury.
I injured my brain.
There.
I said it four times.
Wrote poem once about
a moth flew round light
in circles till dead.
It
flies through my mind still,
time after time.
Afraid.
What I've lost.
Not quite the same.
Does it matter?
Don't think.
poem by Rick Stokes
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To which
the defendant responded,
'The raisin that flew through the
clouds said the reason the mountain
fell down was the moonlight tried climbing
a desk with no coffee to...'
Answer the question,
please.
State yes or no.
'The tulip that flew through the
soup said the reason the dog house
fell down...'
poem by Rick Stokes
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With Love
You fly to me, moth on silver wing,
to light on my mind and stare within.
You slip off your veil of glacial ice,
and gather me unto your fiery breasts.
Your electric tongue, like a snake out of hell,
enters my eyes and licks my brain.
Sulfuric acid drips from your smile
as you swallow me deep within.
poem by Rick Stokes
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Alison
Broken rain clouds,
pink like her lips
full wet, and
blue sky with
tunes out the back of her pickup
in the wind and the rain clouds
are moving cross reasons to leave.
Turning ‘round, lookin' back
as the wind scares the birds
through the air like shed tears,
her foot on the throttle
leaves a long muddy trail.
poem by Rick Stokes
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He
sits alone in the diner
next to the wall near the kitchen.
Stares at his table that's worn to the
grain from quick random fingers
that offered support.
Hardwired
Our brain, like a hard drive is wired
with lies, and with logic, and fantasies too.
See the girl
who's a girl who turns into a waitress
who says with a soft voice,
Hello?
poem by Rick Stokes
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I Need A Blog
and a Twinkie,
and a place to sell my poems.
My reflection in the mirror
tells me that I'm flat.
Get a life.
Kick up some dust.
Move out into the street.
State your case against the
king, or president, or boss.
And when it's all been said and done,
take a look now at your world.
Then sit down, admit to self,
..was a hollow waste of time.
poem by Rick Stokes
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My House
holds spirits of the past like the
kerosene lamp in my dark
basement crawl,
and the names and the dates at the
top of the wall that I stand
on a box top to read.
A Mr. and Mrs. live in our rafters,
staring through ceiling at
we who don't leave;
critical of carpet and curtains and cooking,
and wondering what all that
darn cat can see.
poem by Rick Stokes
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