IJIPOETRY.COM - POETRY BY LARRY INGRAM

Talking on then

2/24/2013

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Don't hear the conversation
since it's past bellowing and
we won't back down, or yield
to backbones so wise.
We - they would be hard-pressed
to scale and drink.
(Hard to say).
It's quite a din, disagreeing,
not heated though you are above
rice, pudding as it cools.

It's of no consequence to me -
but a root, trees beyond years,
bark -  see in context of course,
as the syllabus proves correct.
It was covered, but open as I sit,
we understand nomenclature as
defined by us - the sales hit the
ceiling.
Yet, the last have not spoken.

As words are, they spill.
Surely you see I was right -
as she playing back the tape -
digitally of course.
I frame this as that I can't lose for
passion, heat proves my case,
as it glides -
feathers touching.
But speed makes the day,
or at least the last of we,
tarry on the winning side.

© 2013 Larry Ingram
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Debate

2/24/2013

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It's guarded, my thoughts.
At least plural not a one
that laughs.
Shame it took so long -
hours between
the two, with boiling times two.
We know a lively, cowering soul
if we can only examine the
logic of those lines.
She talks plainly of much,
and suffrage, to vote, to squabble.

I on the back side, have
none of those quibbles -
at sound that is tense.
That's heated, known for
toe to toe slugs,
smash into me and the others,
gangs will follow,
get my back.
But for embracing the cunning few,
I would engage in backstabbing.

I took this and repeated
the error of standing so close -
she went and blasted the
ammunition.
And she was right to so plow
the paragraph -
so small on TV
Yet, past your bed, as
may happen, it's all we
will cover with this blanket,
before sleeping.

© 2013 Larry Ingram
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Book space

2/24/2013

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Sure another pen.
Eraser, then last night.
Browse for a Selectric clack.
A machine whines, let go -
but push harder next time.
And again.

A legitimate error.
I drove on and applied
white correction so to
speak -
you'll name her Sophie.
Look, see the red.

It's really, an allowance
I give you for your
head that rocks -
generosity.
And painters.
That I can't really make out -
you see.

Closely, this pen is not mine.
It's color, well,
a check of black.
Timing of this is,
stamping alone,
badly it hobbles back
with head in tow.

© 2013 Larry Ingram
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Dates

2/24/2013

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You dare to date this?
A fruit in the sand,
blows away my memory
of a book upon a table,
finely woven for dinner -
but we sort by mail.

Again, yet dark somber it
burns -
sienna, the pony eats them
and patiently but swallows,
chomping.
It's nervous.

Fry it and you'll see what
I mean about the color -
it fades, running, water
and more,
diminished and scarey,
winding vertigo.
Make me another one,
by colander.

© 2013 Larry Ingram
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It's a moment

2/3/2013

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I took a moment to say,
well, goodbye.
But truth is, it never happened,
jut like that it
was impossible to take
a yard of linen, cotton to
task, forming words.

It's not like I haven't hung
up the phone, closed any longing
without seeing a voice -
those people who sprint
through their mind -
video games they use -
red splashed across the
diamond of life.

And play ball uses at least
a few - take a trailer, a force
that controls minutes -
you wait for schedules,
darkness from the corridor
seats of clicking, time -
No, it's almost over.

© 2013 Larry Ingram
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It's Lonely

2/3/2013

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It's lonely as the day
drifts toward orchids in
the sky,
but leaves shade -
the mighty light
bulbs of color dumped
across it,
as I wait we skirmish
for a milder solstice.

More leaves, branches
decay in wonder.
My scowl makes it
complete, as though
the night were furrowed
with utility - girders,
timbers and all wanting
more of me to ponder.

As I take a step -
hollow, broad with no
indentation as such,
on the crowd,
hardly speaking -
a murmur to me of
my shadow,
it drapes across the chair.

It's easy to sit in silence,
a mockery to sound -
I laugh while chatter
erupts to force its will -
the dynamo fades as
the hawk flies off,
spanning mountains.
I fly to where?
To repose, only you
know that song.

© 2013 Larry Ingram
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What time?

2/3/2013

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What time does she work?
Some said, later the day were,
as melting snow, caps my drink -
not here, but leaves fallen to rise this year.

Customers hope to - see - for them its
only a day - as the curbs - solid for sitting,
she works.

As though singing,
smiles spread white cheer,
the snow plays harmony
as she weaves a thank you -
rinse and pipes newly minted hair.
 
© 2013 Larry Ingram
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    Welcome to the poetry web site of Larry Ingram. Larry is a poet, writer and observer of our culture.
    Check out his columns at ijiblog.net.

    Contact him at
    larriji at zoho.com



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