Things and Stuff

I was wandering through the halls of my dirty little harddrive and found that I have written some poems about stuff.  I like stuff as much as the next person but a couple of these are kind of odd for stuff.  This is going to be kind of a long post because I found a few I wanted to share.  See what you think if I caught perspective.

Choo Choo

The decibles crash through ears like thunder
Cold steel and rattling iron
Ever onward North South East and West
Traveling to and fro across the countryside
Doors bang and reefers hum
Boxes slam into their mates
The whistle blows and the screaching starts
Old men in stiped blue and white
Firemen worn by timeless runs
The brakes squeal and the bahemoth slows
Wheelhouses home to countless caterpillars.

M. Pinnell

Coffee

Dark and comforting like an old friend you know
Hot to stinging but warming your bones
Awaken to the aroma so fresh and robust
Fill a cup and consume it fulfilling your morning
Daily it helps to bring reason and clear thought
Bitter as tar or creamy and rich throughout
Sweetened to flavor a mild brush on the tongue
Harsh to the untried and novice asleep
Grown on a mountain so hearty and bold
Ground to a powder and suffused with life
Drink it down and wash away your cares.

M. Pinnell

Flowers

Bright and sunny they bloom alighted
Fragrant to fill the scent with gaiety
Colors of morning or dark and forboding
Splendor so grand to brighten a day
Filled with a promise of spring so fresh
Die in winter to return anew each year
Spreading like wildfire awakened by dawn
They face the sun to feed on brilliance
Fill the cracks in our lives of despair
Push through in odd places so small
Grow oh flowers and cleanse my pallet
Greet mine eyes and bring joy and peace
Raise in me new hopes for the morrows
Show me strength in times of need.

M. Pinnell

The Woods

A walk in the woods so dark to fright
Bright with sun or closing in to scare
Animals fill the halls of the brush
Trees line the paths made to wander
Leaves strewn on dirt floors awash
Streams and clearings do give respite
All along the water's edge seen deadfalls fish do hide
Ripples of waves and trickles do babble
Rocks and boulders hide neath the surface
Walk alone or accompanied by friends
Picnics in hollows trailed by wolves
Joy or sorrow we'll end in the edge.

M. Pinnell

Little Black Spot

Little black spot you hide in my lung
Awaiting a chance to entreat me with fear
Growing wild and fed by anxiety
Smoke builds your boundries anew
Time will tell if you live or you kill
Bring me no grief if you must exist
Show me no lies if you must be there
Find a home in another breast
Leave me in peace to live my life
Grow no more to hide in me
Dark and scary you live to tell
The tale of stupidity thirty years long.

M. Pinnell

Stones

Stones hide in the crevasses
Waiting their turn to cause grief
Larger and larger they grow
Till no one knows their end
Building and crashing around in the bean
Gigantic, too big for the exit to leave
Calcium rich or exotic substances
BANG! They're hit by sounds so sweet
Pain in the back like boards swung away
Broken and crushed till dust is but left
Pieces in thousands break the air in a flow
Green and red, yellow their path
Come no more till time and tides
Help me! They're back my stones of despair.

M. Pinnell

Trash

Compiled to waste away
Filtered by time in the ground
Extras of happy times
Piles grow till we see no end
Oders of filth in landfills
High upon the barges dragged through the river
Dumped in the ocean to feed the reefs
Complain that it has to go out in the night
Picked up in the mornings before the sun
Scavengers drag it around the world
Pickers draw cash from its bowels
Treasures untold to be found in the heaps
Decaying over time till naught is left.

M. Pinnell

The Moon

Rising in the night to bring light and wonder
Mysteries surround its chosen path through the sky
Full of cheese or rocks and crevasses
Built to carry our tides high and so low
East to west it never varies an inch
Bringing solice to those of blue heart
Fill us with wonder and joy so bright
Phases come to our world every eve
The man watches our movements so small
He reads our thoughts and peace indwells us
Blue red or bright orange we see him
Black on the new our heavens await him
His coming is certain but he's gone with the dawn.

M. Pinnell

Told you it was going to be long.  Just ignore the strange stuff in life because if you really look, there's WAAAAY more strange out there than "normal".  Don't that make the strange normal??? hmmmmmm