Short Poems #6

Bob, , , , 
Intoxicating 

The wind
Fills the room with
The smell of rain.

The taxi cabs are now fairytales,
Washed ashore by UFOs.


The Music Hall

Everything is as it seems.
Flat tires, balloons, fireflies, gambling, 
Fallen leaves. The horn section on LSD.


Philosophy 

Every object is as unreal
As it is real.


Bon Voyage 

Over large stretches my luggage
Is a sky-grin ascending.

Impounded is improbable.


Shadow Work

Your shadow has no interest in being your mirror. 
Your shadow has poems to write
And tall afternoons to stand by.

Pages and pages of poems about afternoons.
Meandering all of them. 
Railroad lines for shoelaces.

10 thoughts on “Short Poems #6”

  2. Hard to pick a favorite so I won’t. I enjoyed reading them all, the titles so excellently chosen and the first line – “The wind Fills the room with The smell of rain” is so tangible and relatable, that smell and at the end of these short poems #6, it’s inspiring to think of our shadows having “no interest in being your mirror,” inspiring because it has me thinking that there is so much more of myself to discover…. “Railroad lines for shoelaces,” a forever feeling. Amazing work Bob.

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    1. Thanks, Steve. I do think there is more to us then we know. And shadows are creative in that way at hinting at that possibility. The smell of rain…I was thinking about spring, so far away now. Something to look forward to. I thought you might like the line about railroad lines for shoelaces. And I really like the idea of a forever feeling. Thanks!

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