Poem Shards

from Unipoems
 She asked 
 " If you get across
  can you take this
       to the King of Nowhere
 and tell him,
   plead to him
  to think of her
  and the way that she needs him?
       but he won't come home
     so she goes out looking for him
 went down to The Flatiron Building
         asking anyone
    wrote a card
        mailed it home.

  I imagine her
       collapsed on a bench
        people shuffle through
     she feels the lonely loss
          why won't he come home?
     I imagine her.
 She wrote it like that
      on her card.

  But it was all for sympathy,
       just an expression of her drama
 and she felt lost because of it
       and didn't know how to proceed
         the tricks didn't work with him
      he'd gotten willful,
     run off with a different girl
   who doesn't go to church.

     Hear the steam whistle
  of an approaching ferry turning to make a smooth connect.
      Moving back
 from the railing and the ropes
       she notes the impatience of the people at the dock
     and how the other women really like to talk.
  the crowd rushes forward
  have your nickel ready
        she gets swept along
     now she is way out there
       in the ferry
 out past the jetty.

 Ferry to Red Bank 1906





🚦 🚧 🚨 🚩 🚪 🚫 🚬 🚭 🚮 🚯 🚰 🚱 🚲
🌛         



🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌙 🌚 🌛 🌜 🌝. 🚤 🚥

sometimes there is beauty within the fragments . . .
🌜🌜🌜🌝🌛🌛🌛 

Sprongg . . . onng . . . ongg ga

Her tired morning
seems more like poetry
than anything you can
find on a blog.


Bark Bark. Bark Bark. Tree
Bark Bark. Bark Bark. Dog

🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌙 🌚 🌛 🌜 🌝. 🚤 🚥

Woof and woe🌝 
🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌙 🌚 🌛 🌜 🌝. 🚤 🚥



who da thought?
thought is sequential
the end of it is never
flood on, river of wise neglect
let the bough break
let the wind blow
removed the baby
from that cradle
long ago
and took him somewhere safe.

Thought is over rated
when it's thought for being mean
to be mean
being mean
what you mean
when you are mean
when you 'mean what you say'.

Memory is overrated
there is joy in the person even
when they don't know
who you are
anymore they still
love you they
usually don't forget that they love you
usually.

It was cold that day he'd
driven all the way there and
plodded through the snow to face
the sorrow of his loved-one
who didn't remember him
but thought him to be someone else
as thwarted.

Memory is overrated
when it's hard hurt of past tragedy
as if it happened yesterday
from the long ago.


  Bill Perilli, 
 writer of all
 of the things 
 on this blog.
🌜🌜🌜🌝🌛🌛🌛