The Web Poetry Corner

Melb

of

Gibbsboro, NJ, US

Home Authors Alphabetically Authors Date Submitted Authors Country Submission Rules Feedback

If you have comments or suggestions for Melb, you can contact him or her at:
msbritlit@aol.com (Melb)

Find a book store near you, no matter where you are located in the U.S.A.!

...the best independent ISP in the Twin Cities

One AM

by

Melb

It's still one AM
The least time it was one AM
And it will be the next time.

Sleep is a banned refugee,
Turned away in a leaky boat
Not cleared to enter -
No foot on shore.

Sleep carries little on its back
But dreams.
A bundle of nightmares, tied
In cold sweat.

Dreams suck sleepers along
like the leaf in the storm gutter
Until they fall through the grate
At the corner.

Into dark and wet questions.

It is still 1 AM.

To Nancy, on her 16th eve

by

Melb

Tonight I stood beside your bed
and laid my fingers on your head.
I brushed back that strand of hair
and watched you breathe, each hint

of air so delicate, like antique lace.
I reached out to touch your face,
A tiny smile remained to play,
One last souvenir of your day.

For sixteen years, I've watched you sleep
A nightly vigil that I keep
I have to know that you're all right
Before I can turn out the light,

And turn away, and say good night.

colo urs

by

Melb

I dream of blueback black - h e r e
While behind the wall
He dreams of pink red sugars.

Eyes slide past each other, heads turned, looking t h e r e not here.

He sees a world tainted by fears,
grounded in groundless fantastics.
He sees me as I am, nor never was, not.
He offers pain spiced with disgust and chased with bitterness.

Deciding that I run, I seek and I bury the bones, he closes the door.

I have buried the bones of this thinkpairshare -
It is a cup of coffee black.

Free of pink red sugars.

after sunday noon

by

Melb

I should be bleeding,
I should be spraying gouts and gobbets of blackred blood
Everywhere.

You opened the drawer.
You took out your sharpest words and

razored them with suspicion and jealousy.
Whetted on hate, your tongue should have shredded me.

Sliced, I dust.
A little.
Dried shrivels of memory leak out of my numb wounds,
The holes through which I see now

That if I had ever loved you,
I should be bleeding.