saint b.






saint b. has gone missing

lots of reasons

why that might be, all good reasons

but i keep reaching

for her, like a lost saint christopher medal

from my neck, it is habitual

it is also a need, maybe an addiction

no, a dependency, a tolerance


saint b. smooths

my ruffled feathers like no other

listens when no one else will

laughs at my jokes

forgives me for my wicked ways

sometimes scolds me

a taste of the lash

does me good, keeps me honest


god soothes saint b.'s feathers

not god on high

that does not work for her, rightly so

given the circs

and not a mortal god, rightly so . . . 

her god is an ideal

much like a plaster jesus

among the shrine atop the dresser


much like

but not like, give her more credit

than that

more like a musican 

paying homage to the chromatic scale

or a mathematician

to the, oh, i wouldn't know what

but something akin


she is a living saint, not as

appreciated as mother theresa, but as kind

and i've said kindness

goes a long way with me, missing her

is a weakness

it goes right back to the habitual reaching 

i can do without her

but i don't want to








Poetry by one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 676 times
Written on 2015-07-26 at 14:53

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Wow!! This is so wonderful although you made me laugh calling b. saint!#!!!. As you know now she came back running to find you as she had missed you just as much. True friends are hard to find. :) +

Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
Nicely expressed. It is so hard to find such a companion And I understand why you continue to involuntarily reach.

'Oops' :>o
We prepared a comment on your poem that starts with running, Lynn, but it has vanished (the poem, that is).
As you know, all at BirdBrains like to 'comment in return', so we'll be back here tomorrow to repay thy kindness in kind. 'It has been Methotrexate Day, so FT's brain isn't working very well,' Ms Bird confides :>)

You always reveal as much about you as the other, a depth that only one or the other would not have. There is a certain courage in that, of course, but I imagine too as you write the sense of discovery and self-awareness, a way to find out who you are, and perhaps at times surprised at that. It is probably the only thing I now envy about youth.

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Well done.