Poetry of the Now !
THIS is Poetry of the Now. Two new never before read poems by macray.
Untitled Poem #300
107 vinyl records but
no record player.
No recorder either.
4 electric guitars,
white, black, red, and yella,
no strings to string 'em.
13 bottles of warm light
lager and no corkscrew.
A pen with no ink.
A 56 gram bottle of
Norwegian hand cream.
No hands.
It looks like
a million tangled-up iPhone
chargers all causing
those bad headaches
cured by pinching
the inside of the hand,
between the pollex and
index lies just the word you're
looking for.
Everyone has dry hands
all of a sudden.Winter Goldfish Pond
Goldfish Pond, goldfish pond.
What have I done! That
good ol' goldfish pond behind
my folk's mossy white adirondacks.
Disarray! Dead, or hibernating;
those chilly willy cattails and
brown pickerels? The fish are
still there. Maybe. I see one or
two.
Thank you, they might say
if they could. You're welcome,
and I'm sorry, I would reply.
It's okay, I hope they'd say
back.
Bubbles and bubbles. A second
fish returns.
Some shrimp-flavored mush
pellets should do it. I smile
and leave.