Tip of the Tongue

How can so many things
Pile up here
So precariously perched
Dangling by the thread
Of what’s left unsaid
The clutter and jumble
Of phrases swallowed
And fumbled

Too many Cyrano verses
Manicured and well-rehearsed
Lined up as a steady processional
Behind the hearse

How many prayers,
Words of wisdom
Like caged birds
Barred from singing
Doomed to silent oblivion

At least we can write poetry
When we can’t say
What’s right here
All twisted up
On the tips of our tongues

Copyright 2014 LitGlob

Analog

We dumb down our sound
Turn crystal-clear symphonies
The tangible spiral of vinyl
Into clankety-clack
MP3 caucophonies

Hourlong marathon
phone conversations
Into a phoney 3 ltr txt
omg lol brb l8r … Not
WTF

We have lost our voice
Since the rotary-dial days
When true friends
Were a phone call away

Handwritten, from-the-heart
letters and cards
Give way to self-indulgent,
overplayed status updates
And hieroglyphic symbol spates

In this digital world
We’re just a bump on a log
Zeroes in a string of binary code
And there is no longer an analog
For two people talking
And getting along

Copyright 2014 LitGlob

Fluttering and flapping
The crimson fabric
Snapping in the dark
This banner whips and rustles
Begs for attention
But lost in the blind eyes
Of the lovestruck

The sun will rise in time
And still no penance
For this weathered pennant
Long ignored
It surely does not, cannot
Fly for you

One day
Too late
You may see it
Tattered and frayed
You may realize
How it had
Waved to you
In warning

Red Flag
—LitGlob, copyright 2014

Licorice
Not so candylike, this bitter root
For that you will find no dispute
But neither poison pill
It is medicinal, magical
A panacea
At least when it was introduced
And still among us rare devotees
The 7 percenters
We believe
It has cure-all qualities
And stranger still we savor the taste
This share of us who love, not hate
We find that licorice
Is quite delicious
I know to you
This sounds like gibberish
As revolting as it may seem
We find its vines
So succulent
So divine
And bittersweet

For licorice
We lick our lips

Copyright 2014 LitGlob

(Image credit: http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liquorice_(confectionery)

Licorice
Not so candylike, this bitter root
For that you will find no dispute
But neither poison pill
It is medicinal, magical
A panacea
At least when it was introduced
And still among us rare devotees
The 7 percenters
We believe
It has cure-all qualities
And stranger still we savor the taste
This share of us who love, not hate
We find that licorice
Is quite delicious
I know to you
This sounds like gibberish
As revolting as it may seem
We find its vines
So succulent
So divine
And bittersweet

For licorice
We lick our lips

Copyright 2014 LitGlob

(Image credit: http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liquorice_(confectionery)

The 500

Here it is oceans of emotion
Tumult and pummel
Gale-force
Yet unbroken
This forest before us
Deep-rooted within us
In poignancy and passion
In poetry unrationed
Spiritual healing
Unfiltered feelings
500 strong
So we all can be stronger
500 stand
So we all can stand taller

Copyright 2014 LitGlob

This one is dedicated to you. All of you. A milestone today with 500 “followers” but you all lead me daily with the willingness in your wisdom, your inspiring words and shared path. I wasn’t sure what LitGlob would become but you all give me reason to write and hope for humanity. You make the world a better place. In so many words. -LG

Who killed the coffee klatch?
A hitching post
Gathering place
For coffee and conversation
For old-timers and townsfolk
Where unofficial mayors
Debated the fate
Of this charming outpost
Meted out blame
For why things
Would never be the same

And you know what?
They were right. 

We killed the coffee klatch
Slowly, painfully
With Starbucks and smartphones
Turned them back
To their homes
Alone

As much as they complained
It was all because they cared
About what would become
Of us
And this place

Copyright 2014 LitGlob

(Image credit: http://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Arrow_Hotel_interior_coffee_shop_1.JPG)

Who killed the coffee klatch?
A hitching post
Gathering place
For coffee and conversation
For old-timers and townsfolk
Where unofficial mayors
Debated the fate
Of this charming outpost
Meted out blame
For why things
Would never be the same

And you know what?
They were right.

We killed the coffee klatch
Slowly, painfully
With Starbucks and smartphones
Turned them back
To their homes
Alone

As much as they complained
It was all because they cared
About what would become
Of us
And this place

Copyright 2014 LitGlob

(Image credit: http://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Arrow_Hotel_interior_coffee_shop_1.JPG)