OPEN MIC SHORT STORY POEMS
|
Air Med
Having exchanged the desk of nine-to-five In the triage trade each day now holds excitement unknown as dispatchers relay terror turned work and play Doused daily by uncontrolled bodily fluids in states of trauma, this, the life, of EMS drama Once he made money Now he makes a difference. Branch Isole © 2009 |
|
|
Accidentally
Blinded by oncoming lights Their intermittent appearance on an isolated rural roadway the solitary events which kept him awake Interrupting the late night monotony a vehicle swerving erratically Coming up fast from out of sight Speeding toward him it rode his tail he slowed, pulling right as car and driver around him sailed Three hundred yards up ahead tires screeched and wailed followed by smashing, breaking sounds as metal and glass both failed It started to rain Not bothering to look passing, a sardonic sneer affixed Turning the radio louder he started to sing, ‘It was late and dark on unfamiliar terrain’ Now those excuses never fade His reasons for not stopping and rendering aid. Branch Isole © 2009 |
|
Characterless
With each lie told one’s credibility erodes and that’s how it goes for the liar The liar wants us to think he’s been right to the brink, to the edge to the rim through all thick and thin Surviving calamity of biblical scale fended off malaise by tooth and nail Liars hope we’ll share the vision of their beleaguered state of affairs Through our eyes with them we’ll agree conspiratorially Believing they escape skepticism Enmeshed in a myriad of excuses Listening ears quickly learn their proffered false words soon are discerned Full of hot air their toxicity runneth over exuding a stench from which we take cover The truth is, as with Peter and his Wolf after a while we simply don’t care |
Then wishes for that limerick
of childhood days come true to see that ‘liar liar with pants on fire’ Immolation is terrible and no one enjoys the burning stake’s flaming pyre except, when it happens to the pathological liar got a match? Branch Isole © 2005 |
|
Domestic Diva
While ironing clothes she prevaricates a certain undulation accompanies each stroke Her hips a balanced metronome of to and fro, conjoined in sync an ebb and flow Swaying to the harmonies of some far off collection of musical notes heard solely by her deafened ears Looking up from the Van Heusen Oxford a smile creeps across her lips as if in slow motion like a glacial fissure before it becomes a racing gap of separation in Antarctic’s unintended abyss A million miles from her domestic duty at the corner of her eye she catches my staring glimpse admiring her nakedness For that is how she does her household chores, au naturel Truly, maid to order. Branch Isole © 2007 |
|
|
Price Point, Baby
The only way to survive today’s price point driven retail experience is with a cynical snide wit as shoppers make one delirious, Baby Not caring about value, quality or gifting presentations It can be made under any conditions and come from any location as long as it’s cheap, “the cheaper the better,” Baby That way it can be purchased again more and more Impressing upon all consumers over and over “You always get exactly, what you pay for” Baby. Branch Isole © 2010 |
|
Differentials
there are His poems and there are my poems the difference plain to see His are about truth and love mine are about mine and me. Branch Isole © 2008 |
|
|
Miracle The miracle of life is this; against all odds save one in a redacted moment betwixt frolic and fun, did the sparks of energy and matter combine producing your chance to eternally exist. Branch Isole © 2006 |
|
Conundrum
Superior Mothers The meek and the faint Offender, and faithful saint He who borrowed, he who lent She who was broken They whom were bent The graft soaked politician The murderous Mafia Don The conniving thieving securities broker The lying cheating heinous stalker The serial killer along for the ride The dictator promulgating genocide Each and every free will sins Together in line all wait to be forgiven. Branch Isole © 2007 |
|