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Some of My Poems from FaceBook

Winter Wonderland
By Melvin Conley

I left the exercise bike out in the snow.
Did you leave it out there again?
I didn’t not, it’s not going to snow tonight, so it’s ok.
I hope.
And it snowed, so then it wasn’t me, then was it?
Can’t you make some space in the living room next to the Christmas tree?
How much space?
Just move a couple of chairs.
Should I put the chairs out in the snow?
Only if you want someone to kill you.
So now it’s dry and inside.
So how about a quick ride?
I can’t ride it because it’s outside in the snow.
No, it’s inside and dry.
Who did that stupid thing?
Somebody ought to use that exercise bike.
So then, if there was a chair outside in the snow, would that be about the same as an exercise bike?
I could wear a big coat or something.
It would be close to being the same.
It would be close!
Well that’s it then, the bike is in the house safe and dry.
The chair is outside.
Somebody ought to use that chair.
Outside.

 

In Front of Me
by Melvin Conley

I have fallen sad,
not a hip fracture,
not my very own cancer,
not blind in one eye.
I didn’t fall on my ice,
or trip on the stair.
But I have fallen sad.
A kind of poetry type of sad,
when I finally thought I knew what it meant to be sad,
but didn’t,
really.
And thought I could explain it all,
really,
but I couldn’t.
I couldn’t remember their name some how.
Looking right at them,
standing there in front of me.
I know that face, but what’s the name.
They’re thin now.
and have a small limp.
Thin in the face.
Thin in fleeing days.
Thin arms.
Thin fingers.
Thin voice.
I have fallen sad.
And my friend standing there in front of me saying,
“You’re loosing a little weight, aren’t you?”

 

Insomnia
By Melvin Conley

Other than being,
Awake,
I’m not sleeping,
Right now.

Sleeping, Sleeping.
Not now!

Am I awake now?

It can’t be 2 AM.
It can’t be 3 AM.
It can’t be, did I doze off?
I can hear a train miles away.
No I don’t need you to wake me at 6.

Good morning sunshine.
Welcome to a new day.

 

My Last Hit Song
by Melvin Conley

Heaven without a harp.
No hot coals in the music room.
Leave your shovels by the door.

No singing out of turn.
No more silent movies.
No room at the inn.
No passing on the right.
Don’t sleep until noon,
and be home before 10.

Where have you gone?
My first transistor radio.
AM only.

 

2014 Ball Drop
By Melvin Conley

Pappy Boo Year
Sappy Who Year
Mappy No Year
Happy New Beer
Wrappy Too Near
Crappy Poo Year
Next to Your Ear
No Fear
King Lear
Goo Year
Two Year
Yes Dear
Rudolph the red nosed reindeer
I’m so happy but I miss my pappy (year)
Nappy True Year
It is through year
Oh Dear
Another New Year

 

Posting Bond with Little Kate
by Melvin Conley

I am dancing in my slippers
Dance across the floor
Waiting for Jesse at the buzzing door

Mommy gave the lady
Twenty bucks or more
Watching for Jesse at the buzzing door

I got to stay up late
Just like before
Looking for Jesse at the buzzing door

Mommy got real quiet
Staring at the floor
Listening for Jesse at the buzzing door

I’ll do a dance for Jesse
Dance across the floor
Praying for Jesse at the buzzing door

 

Ship of Chips
By Melvin Conley

Was once there a ship of chips?
Without dips?

Floating toward my tongue,
Battling the bulwarks,
My teeth.

Crunching over the waves,
Crashing through the bean dip,
Past the billows of puffing cheeks,
Rushing skyward, fragile but bold.

I sail thee oh thou sea salted,
Thou wrinkled,
Thou of a might crunch.

Not slashed against the rocky shore,
Not discarded, a mere crumb falling to the earth.
But safe,
Safe once again,
In the gated harbor of my mouth.

The final refuge,
A cargo at last at a friendly port.

 

The night I Ate a Grinch
By Melvin Conley

The bells where half frozen when I ate the Grinch,
Christmas Eve, down and down inches by inch.
Down, down, down, curling my toes.
Down over the red rush of a reindeer nose.
Down the chimney, down that wood stair,
Where I wait as a child for Santa some where.

Both before and after the taste of a Grinch,
Like stale old Chinese food in you eat in a pinch.

Eaten both ends from the head to the foot.
From the grouch to the grump,
From the old humbug pie,
I ate him for lunch.
I ate him and cried.
I ate him half baked.
I ate him half fried.

I rhymed him,
And timed him to sound like a song.
And wrote him so hard in my head,
That my thinker by midnight was almost half dead.

So think now old wizards before you last dine,
Grinch humble pie, old Grinches half worn,
You eat them and wonder when you where once one,
If Christmas be over,
And Grinching be done.

 

Just One Away
a poem by Melvin Conley

Now the surplus is exhausting.
The curtain lifted.
Again
lifted
around the gale force winds.
Drifting off course,
again.
All is still
again.
How can nines ever be tens?
Just one away from tens.
Everything seems to crumble.
Just one away.
All is still.

 

Mrs. Wiggins Hair
A children’s poem by Melvin Conley

Mrs. Wiggins had 10 giant boxes
Full of ribbons, strings, and foxes.

So many items to short through.
She stored a dozen in her shoe.

With far too many for her purse
She gave some extras to her nurse.

With cats and candles, bricks and bows
She lined them up in endless rows.

Then finally in sad despair
She stashed some pencils in her hair.

Since other items seemed to fit
Her hair grew larger bit bit.

For want of cash for a storage shed
She tucked some flowers round her head.

Then day by day her hair-do grew
She stuffed in rings and elemer’s glue.

Then at the airport late one day
Her hair would cause a slight delay.

Security could not but wonder
If within was hid a bomb or plunder.

But when they loosed the bundles knot
The hardly found what they had sought.

For when her hair came whirling down
Ninety things upon fell on the ground.

A pair of gloves, a silver spoon, a porcelain figure of the moon.
Three movie tickets, a golden cricket, a hedge hog from the neighbors thicket.

And to the cops and crowds despair
Not one bomb was hidden there.

Not a gun or billy club
Not a dagger, not a thug
Not a knife or firecracker
Not brass knuckles from a bicker.

But at last it ended well
She put all back
No one could tell.

 

Both Sides of Yesterday
Poetry by Melvin Conley

Thee lost.
Old words children called poetry
Worn away by the wind.
Lost in epic computer crashes.
Lost in folders in dry boxes.
Lost in memories on both sides of yesterday

I touch the dry sand with my lips,
no scent of moisture,
no grains left,
slipping past my hands,
crooked, twisted,
blown away by the wind

Pop bottles in the grass,
left for dead.
But thee I redeem.
Thee I cherish for a day.
Laughing at the candy store.

Tell me then when will we walk again,
on the wet sand,
not caring,
when the tide,
will wash away our footprints from both sides of yesterday.