Place Value
by Leslie Noyes
Numbers on a line:
Finite representation of infinity with
No omega and a debatable alpha.
One truly is the loneliest number.
If whole numbers claim the left side of the decimal, do broken ones occupy the right?
Why are there no oneths?
The asymmetry is worrisome, yet the pleasantly sibilant sound of thousandths compensates.
What’s your favorite number?
Mine is five and three hundred sixty-eight thousandths; although, I’ve never had it printed on a sports jersey.
Burn, Baby, Burn
by Leslie Noyes
There’s a fire out in the pasture, so sound the great alarm, it’s crackling down the corn rows, now threatening the barn.
We’d fight the fire with water, but the well dried long ago, now it’s too late to save the farm, and we’ve no place to go.
So hurry, save the chickens, the horses, and the rest, so they can perish another day when we fail the next big test.
Dire warnings were extended by experts in the know, but the idiots ignored them and allowed the fires to grow.
For profits’ sake we’ll pay the price, the ultimate tragic loss, while politicians fiddle a tune for their new greedy boss.
Note: I thought I had this scheduled to post on Earth Day.
The Pull of Time
by Leslie Noyes
Nothing matters now,
With the exception of love
And the pull of time.
A hushed, unrushed love,
Long minutes, long limbs entwined;
Sweet slippery hours.
Time always intrudes,
Pleasures turn to promises
Measured in drab days.
For this day I’ve decided to be a secret agent. I will be unobtrusive, nondescript, a silhouette of my usual self.
My cavalier demeanor will bely my purpose: to spy, observe, and report on my fellow citizens.
So far, I have noted one woman pushing a baby stroller. What nefarious plan might she be hatching?
I will hide in plain sight in hopes that her motives are revealed. Oh! Look! Starbucks on the right. Maybe another day.
Lost in Time
by Leslie Noyes
We scarcely notice the low-flying pterodactyls skimming inches above the trees nowadays.
Likewise, the roar of Tyrannosaurus Rex barely registers in our collective consciousness.
But we’ve begun to feel a change in the climate, colder winters, hotter summers, raging storms year ’round,
And the drums of war are heard pounding across oceans, and from our own great shores destruction rains down.
What have we lost in time? Our connections were severed when we fell through this warp in the universe.
Survival first, right? Despite the despot in the tree fort, we will carry on, only later to discover what we’ve lost.
Beach Combers
by Leslie Noyes
We were the Beach Combers, baby
Barefoot and easy on the eyes
Ripped jeans and plain white tees
Making music; earning sighs
We covered the Beach Boys
Crooned all the smooth tunes
Scattered all the seagulls
Drove the turtles from their dunes.
Lately I’ve been thinking,
Life came easier back then,
But the music now’s much deeper,
And we’re rocking once again.
(Photo courtesy of Robin Garrett, a.k.a. Effron White, one of the original Beach Combers.)
First Impressions
by Leslie Noyes
He’d cultivated a gravelly voice, thinking it was sexy and maybe a bit authoritative.
She’d perfected a killer walk, seductive and full of promise.
Watching her closely he decided she was out of his league and never spoke a word within her hearing.
Thinking him aloof, she refused to take a single step, and simply ignored him.
The end.
What’s in Your Well
Where do you go, storyteller?
The days are bright in your world.
Or dark.
Take us there.
Down endless flights of stairs with monsters lurking in the shadows underneath.
Or up to soaring heights filled with cumulonimbus clouds and rainbows around every corner.
Make us laugh.
Or cry.
Give us hopes.
Or dash them.
Throw stones against the barriers that separate man from God.
Hold a blanket close over our shared memories.
Don’t let us hide from the starkness of truth exposed by harsh sunlight.
Or from the shadowy world of imagination.
Illumination.
You draw from your well.
I can’t even find mine.
I Have Love
I have love, ill-defined and tenuous,
Hollowed out and scurrilous.
Jealous to a fault,
Impervious.
Brittle love, strained and anxious,
Stretched too thin, dangerous.
Pushed past the limit,
Hazardous.
Save me from love, rude and ridiculous,
Martyred and meticulous.
Grasping for straws,
Ludicrous.
Everyone knows the dark places, those that linger on the edge of consciousness like a Neil Young song.
Down by the River, why’d you shoot your baby? Did you go into that dark place and become so
Disoriented that there was no return? I watched myself in a mirror once. Got lost in my own eyes,
And almost drowned in a river of madness before clawing my way back to the other side.
But no one even knew I’d ventured over. I washed my hands and splashed water on my face
Before going to prepare a simple beef casserole for dinner. The onions made my eyes water.
Praying for Eyebrowz 