Tag: free verse

Turning the Other Cheek

I heard him before I saw him

Loud pipes announced his impending arrival

As I angled into the left turn lane

He came up on my right side

Big truck with bigger tires

A veritable fortune invested in chrome

Two flags waving proudly from the truck’s bed

Two expressions of his rights

One flag displayed the Stars and Stripes, a noble symbol.

The other, the Gadsden Flag: “Don’t Tread on Me!”

The flag hoisted by the alt right.

What an overcompensating loser, I thought.

Mouth breathing, Neanderthal, I added for good measure.

But even in that moment I acknowledged his right to express his feelings.

Was he offensive? To me, most definitely.

But did he have the right to offend?

Beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Protest should make us squirm.

Otherwise, it’s merely the status quo.

Musical Musings

Dissonance, we’re told, followed by harmonic resolution, heightens emotions, takes us beyond the ordinary.

One chord away from our comfort zones, straining our understanding, challenging our deepest beliefs.

Every piece worth keeping keels on an edge of unease, hiding a slip of protest between the lines, so we may join the refrain.

On Being Nana

I wasn’t always Nana. Once upon a time I was plain old Leslie, occasionally “honey” or whatever endearment

Came immediately to Studly’s tongue. But by far, Nana is the best name I’ve ever been given. Fifteen years ago this week,

Nana was born when a beautiful, round faced baby girl was placed in my arms. Her wide blue eyes connected with my own

Amazed brown ones, and I have been forever changed. I might have once been ordinary, but now I am Nana.

Happy 15th birthday to our eldest grandchild, Dominique Grace. I meant to post this on Wednesday, but never changed the post from “draft” to “scheduled.”

The Long Way

The Long Way
By Leslie Noyes

She likes to take the odd way home and longs for unpaved pathways. A crowding of trees on either side pleases her

More than she can explain. He, though, searches for direct routes, interstates and expressways. No time for

meandering hither and yon. No desire to stroll the byways; a clear cut destination with the horizon firmly in view.

Always ahead of schedule, critical of those who linger over the simple pleasure of traipsing off the beaten trail.

She loves him anyway.

Sugarcoat This

Sugarcoat This
By Leslie Noyes

I cannot sugarcoat this, the life you are destined for. It is not fair, but then life never is. Child, girls tend to get the short

End of the stick. What can I tell you? I am just an old widow, but maybe you should remember to do the bidding

Of your husband. Be sure to do your wifely duties, that might keep him faithful. Cook him three square meals a day,

And always look your best when he comes around. If you play your cards right there might be some sort of

Silver lining down the long road. The young woman listened respectfully to her old granny's words, nodded in all the right

Places, and patted the woman's gnarled hand. "I can't sugarcoat this Granny, and I mean no disrespect, but screw that."

Leaving

Leaving
by Leslie Noyes

She liked to think she could leave if the need arose, if the weighted words and angry posturing turned into closed fists,

But the time never seemed right; he always apologized for the stinging insults and delusional declarations.

In the end, she finally left. The ambulance arrived and carted her away, bloodied and bruised. Still, he said he was sorry.

Comparison

Why can’t you be like her?
Why can’t you look at me
Like she looks at him,
Like he’s a god and
Her his most ardent worshiper?
Of all the hurtful things he’s ever said, These words cut the deepest.

The Sounds of Making Plans

The Sounds of Making Plans

By Leslie Noyes

Percolating pensiveness, a dollop here, a shuffling of papers there. Tap typing a google search for some

Place warm, but not too hot. A clattering through a drawer of pens and pencils, finding one with ink or another with

Sharpened lead, or sighing in frustration and tossing the whole lot clutter bang in the garbage bin then wondering

If the recycling box is more appropriate for this detritus. A nose wrinkling search through mushy mulch reveals the remains of 

Coffee grounds and last night’s leftover pizza among discarded writing implements in the bowels of the trash. 

Dropped lid, startled cats. Swishing of soapy hands under running water, ripping strip of paper towel to dry. Sliding out 

Boxes of atlases and crinkled yellow maps. Exclaiming over destinations visited; sighing over those that might never be. 

Go Fourth!


Double down on democracy, speak your mind, and honestly. Support a free press, and denounce those who’d silence

The Fourth Estate. A patriot is neither left nor right, but one who upholds the Constitution. Refuse to succumb

To the treachery of bluster and lies. We know better! Some have had their eyes clouded, others feel dismay,

Yet we are Americans. We believe in liberty, in justice, for ALL, and we will not be led astray by this sham of a leader.

Slimy Lies

Like multi jointed worms, oozing from the earth after a thunderous summer storm, slimy lies wend their way from

Dark places of hiding, feeding on hate and prejudice until the traction they gain propels them through the conscienceless

Oral orifices of greedy politicians. Alternative facts, misrepresentations, broken promises, all squirm from their tongues.