This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at dear mortal.

My saliva swirling is a celestial blue.

My favorite color is dark green.

But you my friend will always remain a swift, sweet, majestic combiation of the black and white beat of good and bad, you are everything, you are my grey and I love you.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Grey.

Nothing seemed special, all was the same,
I looked a bit closer and saw something strange,
A black and white envelope there in the rack,
I scooped up the letter and then headed back.

The writing was neat, but my name was spelled wrong,
I write it quite short, but they spelled it quite long.
I opened the letter to see what it said,
And started to chuckle, for here’s what I read.

“My Own Dearest Dave, or whatever you’re called,
Homeowner, Tenant,” (I was really appalled),
“I have something special, so don’t go away,
I’m glad that I reached you, you’re lucky today.”

“I’ll give you some money, I’ll give you some fame,
You’ve nothing to lose, and all things to gain,
Just send twenty copies to all of your friends,
There’s nothing to buy and nothing to spend.”

“But if you don’t do this, you’ve no one to blame,
For bad luck will follow and drive you insane,
Your car will not start and you’ll have a flat tire,
Your house will get robbed and your cat will expire.”

I thought it was crazy, another big scam,
A gullible person is not what I am,
I’m nobody’s fool, nor easily swayed,
I ripped up the letter and threw it away.

My life is on track and I’m right on the mark,
I’d paint the town red if my car would just start,
I’m ready to party; (that guy was a liar),
Now what is the matter, I have a flat tire.

I flagged down a taxi and went on the town,
I found a great party and really got down,
I met a young lady and we did some kissing,
But when I got home, my TV was missing.

Now where is that cat, she was here when I left,
She’s hiding again, she is such a big pest,
Oh, that’s where she is, over there by the fire,
I think she is dead, my cat has expired.

I got into bed and thought of my day,
I had a great evening, doing it my way,
I thought of that letter with all of its rules,
I’m glad that my Mama did not raise a fool.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at The Chain Letter.

it’s been more than a year now,, since father left us,, mother, and i alone.. things have not been easy,, but we are making our way,, in this strange world,, into which we’ve both been thrown…

with father gone, and little in the coffer,, after his illness and burial and such,, our one saving grace,, has always been, the ivory keys on fathers old piano,, under mothers gentle touch..

every eve, after we’ve sup’ed,, in the dim light before we go off to bed,,, mother sits down, and speaks thru those keys.. they are her words… words left unsaid….

she speaks sometimes of her love for him,, and the music is soft and sweet,, it is playful and ticklish and smiling,, sometimes i have noticed her blush,, with a thought,, perhaps indiscreet….

and others she will wail,, and bang down hard,, on the surface of black and white keys.. reliving her days of frustration,, whilst fighting that horrible disease..

the wasting sickness that swept up father,, like a pile of old spent leaves,, and carried him away to the dustbin of life,, like a swift cold unforgiving breeze…

sometimes she will play,, and i am sure that it is,, hope i hear springing to glorious life,, and as she continues i pray that it wont spiral down yet again,, filling her heart with strife…

it has been for us both,, a blessing and a curse,, our nights spent around that piano,,, catharsis, and hope,, anger and joy,, she’s accompanied us,,, mother and i,, where ever we go..

and tomorrow when they come,, and haul her away,, to her new home in a place far from here,,, we will look on with sadness,, as if we are losing a friend, one we have both held most dear..

i cant help but wonder how we will fill our nights,, with both her and father reposed,, just mother and i in the still of the eve,, after supper,, when the drapes are all closed..

will we sit every night in the darkness,, speechless, thinking solely,, never saying a word?? or will it draw us closer,, on this road full of losses, which together she and i,, have incurred..

it is my solemn prayer,, that one night very soon,, mother will draw me to her bosom and say,, “tho’ it hasn’t been easy i’m richer by far,, having you,, daughter,, here with me each day…

by: paisley

photo:
At the Piano by James Whistler

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at at the piano.

by: paisley

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at celluloid.