5 Comedies A machine that rakes sand traps. A prayer offered to god. A letter out of place. Under estimating an atheist’s spirituality. A machine that paint’s the greens green. © SB Joy, 2022
Graceofthesun Grace… …of the sun gracious & gracias. All your words find partners in rhyme while mine lay like a dead man decaying three days in a deep dark cave awaiting a broken promise… …for the stone to roll away to have another breath or two of the sun’s gracious sunlight. © SB Joy, 2022
things i steal from other men some people, i won’t name names, like their poetry like this: hop on pop with a red mop while reciting the good doctor seuss and mr. zop, i prefer poetry that goes like this: i was walking down the road until if forked one tine to the left and …
under the toadstools under the gills a wilt chamberlain sized toadstool, rained cherry blossoms and fire flies ignited the sticky summer air to the rhythm of johnny cash singing: ring of fire and my grass staged a verdant riot trying to uproot themselves, tired of being tied down the restless blades craved the greener grass …
passin’ thru i pulled up on a cloud ordered saffron tea, from a waitress with turbulent high wind for hair she apologized, said “we are in a drought, we haven’t had rain in six years, i’d be happy to bring you a dust bowl instead.” i thanked her, told her: “i was just passin’ thru …
Inky Love, an inky spidery blob With sticky spidery fingers Weaving it’s sticky intent To bundle me up With it’s sticky arachnid threads To have me for lunch. © SB Joy, 2022
Rearview Mirror If I had my way, this would all take place in the rearview mirror of a fast little gun metal gray Porsche, with those wide skinny tires. The past seems so perfectly reflected in a rearview mirror. Not like those trudged up memories of childhood you get on a therapist’s faux leather couch. …
Circling Home The invisible made visible on the lithographic stone a concrete center median. The wing of an Angel, lost in a crash of tire and scraping metal all printed in black, white and red. The ambulance lumbered in traffic, as the driver circled home in the arms of the one winged angel. © SB …
Typist This morning’s wood pecker taps out his soliloquy composing his poems with thwacks and dull thuds as I fumble with my thumbs to compose my illiterate tropes. © SB Joy, 2022
Cannibals We poets paint our faces and put on headdresses To feed off the stained fingers of poets Who’ve put on headdresses and painted their faces To feed off the stained fingers of poets… © SB Joy, 2022
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