“Of Froth and Foam”

The barfly sits in silence
A smile tells the observer
They are observed
Scribbled notes and a wordless exit
They each have what they came for
Until tomorrow, until another day
Another escape
Another story

© M. Black, 2017 All rights reserved.


“Good Medicine”

There’s a truth that betrays me, or rather,
A truth that I deny, and thus betray myself
In this, I am no different from anyone
Not even those I admire
Each truth is different
That thing that we refuse to accept
Because it’s more unpleasant

If we, or I, or you
Accepted our own truths
Took the harshness of reality
Instead of running from it, or
Trying to cover it like a bad smell
We would be more understanding

Life isn’t supposed to be constantly pleasing
But reality is supposed to be real

A bitter little truth
Is good for the soul

Whereas denial
Brings only self-deception

I, for one, will not stagnate in a pool of my shortcomings

© M. Black, 2017 All rights reserved.


I’m tired
Of watching them try too hard
Attempting to wrap strands of gossamer around the mundane
As if that makes something poetic
I’m tired
Of watching the little talent I see
Spent attempting to be pretentious
I’m tired
Of watching fools pretend brilliance
And the brilliant escape responsibility by feining ignorance
I’m tired
Of cleaning up after children
whose parents failed at teaching
I’m tired
Of being responsible for those
Who have too little self-love
To tend themselves
I’m tired
Of smiling
At the man who waits for opportunity
Who undresses me while I pour his drink
I’m tired
Of cheery Good Mornings
Thinly masking bitter grudges
I’m tired
Of self-medicating
To do it again tomorrow
I’m tired
Of being strapped into the corporate machine
For another day, another dollar
Another night
Another ache
Another disappointment
Another lowering of expectation

I think
My spoiled, pink meat,
My weakened, flaccid brain
Needs a vacation
That my identity can’t afford

© M. Black, 2017 All rights reserved.

“Seasonal Shift in an Old Country Home”

The mice and I are feuding again
It seems I’ve been remiss
In leaving them food
And so
They now chew loudly
At something in the walls
Like tiny prolific puppies in want of attention
Leaving little poops on my floor
As if to mock my efforts at extermination
The joke’s on them
For they may be many
But I am quite mad
Whatever sanity or dignity I once possessed
Was sacrificed long ago
For far less than this contest of wills
I will be triumphant
If I have to burn this old house to the ground

© M. Black, 2017 All rights reserved.

“A Place Called Home”

Deep down we all yearn for a place that feels like home

A bed with the imprint of our bodies
A blanket that smells of someone who loves you
That picture you bought at a flea market because it made you smile
Where cabinets are organized to your specification
The cat that yowls until you give it the attention it no longer wants
A place that you never want to leave
A place that you’ll always come back to
A place where you belong
Without pretense,
Without posturing
A place of true freedom and peace
A chaotic flash of children bursting through the screen door
The sound of the city you know
Or the call of the owl you never see
The smell of her cooking
The smell of his socks
The laughter of friends
Or the quiet of isolation
“Home” can be anywhere
As long as there is love

© M. Black, 2017 All rights reserved.

“Wasted Space”

Life’s little dramas display with every blink, every breath
Like scenes unfolding in a cabaret
So many people, so many self-important parasites
Each continuing the same charade
Bantering back and forth
A congratulatory smile, a disapproving frown
The expected responses fall on cue
From so many socialites, giving until it is again their turn to take
Little worlds within their eyes
Little worlds within their minds
A seemingly infinite number of ideas, yet
None of them original
On days like this I feel alone
In a little world of my making
Where I sit and watch them blundering along
Waiting for something interesting to happen
Waiting for someone to look back at me
And say
Have you ever noticed how small we all are?
How insignificant?
How unimportant?
And I would say yes, yes I have
For I, like you, am small
With my tiny thoughts
In such a grand space
With such endless possibly
When I should be creating worlds
Building cathedrals to fill my mind
I sit, and wonder at the lot of you

© M. Black, 2017 All rights reserved.