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why a man trys
by Charlie Morgandecisions are a devil's trident,
as each one begets the next;
life becomes a series,
a series of many things. a garden of spices.
is life, some alum. some rosemary.
i nestle into her neck and nape,
lay my head on her shoulder.
i can smell tomorrow, now, yesterday;
and want to fit her body like
a Kid's Awards green goo;
she sleeps unknowing my plans:
i plan on living, loving her forever;
i've decided, so more decisions await.
that's life; it used to be a magazine. 11/17/2010 Posted on 11/17/2010
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 11/17/10 at 03:00 PM Good write Charlie. Oh yes, it used to be early when all we did was turn the pages of 'life' and see all we wanted to be, the fridge, the washer & dryer, the car, the new stove and even love. Now we are paying for it all. |
| Posted by Steve Michaels on 11/17/10 at 11:58 PM Wow, you nailed it. Bittersweet and loyal. Good one. |
| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 11/18/10 at 10:32 AM You always sum things up in this very you, very unique verbage. As always, love love love it! |
| Posted by Jeffrey Parren on 11/18/10 at 06:02 PM I really love this! That's all I got haha ~JPP |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 11/18/10 at 09:17 PM Bittersweet is definitely the right word. Well done, sir. |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 11/27/10 at 07:29 PM No longer a mere magazine but the palate from which you dip your brush and make all those seemingly insignificant decisions to pain on the canvass or our eyes. "Smell tomorrows..." ah! so sweet. I love the hope and openness to life in this one, Chaz. |
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