Tuesday, December 1, 2015

story of the week 33 by Rob Brown From Quiet Thoughts

Hello, I hope that you all have enjoyed a festival thanksgiving weekend,

here is a poet or story teller you shall pay attention to, thanks for reading

  From Quiet Thoughts




mind your place

herman grant saw       what he thought was a buffet
only to be ousted    for what    again   he thought was just a couple of shrimp
no one would miss them      but that wasn't the thing that got him ousted
what got him on the floor    heels in the air     boot toes squeak like  everything else squeaks
when hands clench shoulders wielding their own contention
            was     the fact that he was not invited      
no one else was
                       mind you       however he was especially not invited
     like pickles in dessert

     he pined the air  familiar as most     smiles lent   to himself
as he enjoyed the plenty  

    the spread
          was vast    
 unwittingly    like severance pay in playpens
        all the others saw him      he was not to be talked to
and to the others      locking eyes with him was  at first thought
  a hair pinned clothe       in thy        loose  to the wind yet no one asks why its there
             for they do not dare
tread beneath its shade  
   nor could they
     prepared a chance         to dance Two feet out    
a bubble popped its' last regret

  and  they could not die       not now     the light Within is to good
    they sang
                  and the waves will lay me when I'm done

         and the others saw him as a rock that stays
but not in the good way

they  took him there and lent him neither

pass nor preference   until gate
  the only thing he saw                 they proclaimed self sustaining invitations and they
relaxed each others tones with calm
                  sounds             as  street lamp coils   fending off the first darkness of france
without poetry
                And to herman grant  the hole                                 thing seemed the same indifference was no difference
 when day became night again
he sought to grow his hair and tend to the stars    noting changes when he saw them
    and spent his days minding places most of all


Anonymous said...

lovely poetry and story.

Unknown said...

amazing one.

Anonymous said...


Unknown said...