The Pick Up

He’s a cracker jack sly kinda guy
Mr. Super Pimp
hat turned back
jeans low on the hip
so I reel him in
‘fore he strolls on by
buy me a drink
before that crazy cock crows
there are secrets to uncover
lies to be told
let’s dance this dance
and get the show on the road.

© Michele (Guard) Markley 1998

Bic

The green paint
that once bore a logo
long since forgotten
has been chipped away and worn
down to the white plastic.
A funny little guy
in a space helmet waves
to me as I pick him up and I’m surprised
he doesn’t get motion sickness,
and also wonder why he has a tail.
I think it’s a tail.
I’m not quite sure.
I scribble invisible swirls
on the paper for a while.
Then say goodbye to Mr. Bic.
His vains have finally run dry.
He raises his final solute
as I cast his life away
and reach for his brother.

© Michele (Guard) Markley 1998

The Color of my Insomnia

The picture of the blue tarantula
haunts my memory as I pace
the room, sand beneath my feet.
The beach is everywhere.
Even here, it seems to have followed
us. I look at you,
your fiery hair on soft white linen.
The sounds of your sleep battle
against the sounds of the surf crashing
to meet the shore and I wonder,
how can you lie there,
still,
when you know that I can’t sleep?

© Michele (Guard) Markley 1998

The Namer

To each one I give a name;
these beasts and birds
brought before me.
Out of the ground
they rise and come to me, asking
what name they shall be called.
I alone create words,
designate each one.
I am the first poet,
the first, from me all others will come.
And many more namers
will follow after me.
The namers
as well as the words
will live on
only to return to the ground
from which they came.
But I
was the first.

© Michele (Guard) Markley 1998

Dilapidated

From here it can barely be seen.
Rustic old boards badly needing
a coat of paint. Tilting
slightly to the left
almost as if it’s tired, wanting to lie down.
Hiding behind the growth of trees.
Surrounding it. Protecting it.
It’s lonely.
No cold late night visits, hot summer days
surrounded by buzzing.
Something,
has changed all that.
Indoor Plumbing.

© Michele (Guard) Markley 1998

Oranges

Scattered peelings in the grass
by the chalk sidelines, like leaves,
wilting in the sun.
The spicy sweet aroma filled the air
around us and a dozen giggling faces and hands
were sticky from the juices.
The sun always beat down on us,
but that didn’t matter.
We were tired and now was the time,
to rest. The oranges helped.
They made it better somehow.
Sometimes they were cut into fourths,
but usually they were smaller.
They were warm because they too
had been out in the sun for a while.
We usually lost the game, but that too didn’t matter.
We enjoyed playing soccer and
we all loved the oranges.

© Michele (Guard) Markley 1998

Silence

Bubble gum shoe laces
scrape the paper sidewalk.
The green sky shimmers.
I walk amidst the crumbling trees,
they are holding hands.
Rain drops of gold
build mountains that tarnish,
amber waves crash
against the grass blades of purple.
The color slowly washes away
slipping into the void of my mind.
Insanity steals the sounds of life.

© Michele (Guard) Markley 1998

Outside My Window

The sky is the gray
of a newspaper lying on the floor,
it might be cold,
but from here
it is hard to tell.

Outside my window,
a tree has leaves of metal,
polished to shine,
even in the gray light of day.

I wonder if it feels
smooth and cool
to touch.

An old man slowly hobbles by.
He doesn’t even notice my tree.

Maybe I am the only one
who has seen it shine.

Is there someone
polishing my tree,
when I blink?

© Michele (Guard) Markley 1998

Funeral

Death,
so hollow and empty
relief hides its head.
Like a small frightened child
cowering under a bed.
Grief falls over me like a blanket
heavy, dark and grasping.
Realization comes to me.
Life is a pale breath,
such as a new born babe
gasping for the first time.

Spring rain begins, with
glistening brilliance
gray slowly fades to green.
The blanket falls
the ghosts slip away.
Life will continue
as a child will play.

© Michele (Guard) Markley 1998

Unbalanced

I know this feeling of hatred I have
is unnatural.
It has no aim, no subject for placement.
It simply exists in my soul.
Violent reactions just barely leashed
towards strangers,
innocent bystanders.
Something unbalanced
lurks inside my mind.
A madman constantly grabbing for the reins.
He hasn’t succeeded,
yet.

© Michele (Guard) Markley 1998

I wait

I wait
in the old swing
close my eyes and lean back
hoping for a breeze.

It brings no relief
against the swelling heat
melting ice in my glass.

Sheets crack in the wind
pulling me from my thoughts.

I rise
causing the rusted chains
to groan at my movement
dry as the dust
growing on the horizon
reaching for the ominous clouds
you thunder down the road
and I wait for the storm.

© Michele (Guard) Markley 1998

The Leaves Above

The leaves above whisper to each other,
telling secrets we can never understand.
One leaf falls
slowly
to its death
shunned by the rest.
I watch it tumble
slowly
jostled by the wind
I break its fall,
but cannot save it’s life.
It is an old man.
whose time has come.
I look at the leaf as I would an old friend.
It’s face covered with lines,
the wrinkles of time gone by.
Grasping the leaf in my hand
I lay back and stare up at the remaining leaves.
Mourning the ones that have passes on.

© Michele (Guard) Markley 1998

Smudges

Pen in hand I stare at the wall
and the dark smudges. Mind blank
as I shift in the wooden chair.

The blinding whiteness of the fluorescents
only agitate me more.

I throw my pen across the dull gray table cursing it.
Frustration growing in me
like a tumor. Occupying my thoughts
with smudges.
Locking out my creativity.
Like a greedy child with a piece of candy,
it grips my mind.

The people down the hall won’t help me
Slamming doors, always slamming, and laughing
Jeering me.

Anger seeps in to mingle with my frustration.
I stare at the dark smudges and wonder
how they got there.
My eyes pinning them to the wall,
yet somehow they escape.
To my dismay they slowly disappear.

In confusion I look down
only to discover
the smudges have somehow made it to my paper.
Relieved, I close my notebook and walk away.

© Michele (Guard) Markley 1998

Mistakes

The leaves withering
Along my daily passage
Reflect my mistakes.

© Michele (Guard) Markley 1998

Love of Summer

Lavender fragrance
filling the air,
mingling with the scents of clover
and sunshine.
Warming my soul.
Dew drops moistening my feet,
wind pulling at my hair,
as I’m running
through open fields.
Running,
faster, until my heart bursts,
full of emotions I can almost grasp,
more precious than angels wings.
I embrace it
gently.

© Michele (Guard) Markley 1998