MAGDALENE by Jeffrey Littrell

 

underneath the marquee she was waiting

smoking her last Viceroy in the rain

beautiful, both angelic and demonic

Magdalene tried hard to mask her pain

 

she lived next to a pawn shop on South Harding Street

her fridge was stocked with nothing but Blue Nun

her smile concealed a thousand broken promises

she wanted to leave, but had nowhere to run

 

she faded fast, like smoke rings drifting free upon the wind

so curse your sympathy and damn your pious pity

Magdalene, I’m walking through this fire all alone

I’ll drive a stake through the heart of this devil city

 

the fog creeps like a cat tonight, across the Monan Trail

the moon is being swallowed by the night

on a dead end street, I am a shadow walking in the dark

while Magdalene is bathed in holy light

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

WHEN THE COLORS CHANGE by Jeffrey Littrell

 

this poem is for she who stood beside me,

and while fighting off her demons

gently wrapped me in her love

this is written for my gypsy angel

who led me like a beacon

shining  brightly from above

 

in times of sadness, she would render comfort

in times of celebration, we would raise our glasses high

this is for the one who lay beside me

while the earth beneath us trembled

and the stars fell from the sky

 

when the colors change, it makes me think of you, dear

another year is ending,

like the closing of a door

I’ll live my life in tribute to your kindness

and in honor of your memory, mi amour

 


DEMETRIA by Jeffrey Littrell

 

I’m an expendable product of the Prozac Nation

fighting depression through self-medication

you might look at me with utter disdain

but you’ve not walked my path, you can’t feel my pain

 

she is a beauty of Greek descent

with dark eyes that are heaven sent

she walks into rooms with a sexy swagger

and a come-hither stare that cuts like a dagger

 

I can’t alter the past and not sure I’d want to

she is long gone and my friends left are few

alone in a storm, tears masked by the rain

southbound to Hell on this runaway train

 


NO CLOSURE by Jeffrey Littrell

 

like a man without a country

or a vessel lost at sea

I’m an outcast who is exiled,

a forgotten memory

 

I’m a musician with no instrument

a sun without a sky

I’m an unachieving, bi-polar, trainwreck of a guy

 

I’m a wild Appaloosa,

crazed and chomping at the bit

I’m a junkie with no drug of choice

who lacks the will to quit

 

I’m a pulpit that displays no cross

I’m a bullet with no gun

I have no sense of closure,

as my journey’s just begun

 

I’m a cosmic astral traveller

on a course from star to star

I’m the introverted loser

left alone at the end of the bar

 

 


BROKEN HOURGLASS by Jeffrey Littrell

 

I watch Diane take the hand of her drugstore cowboy

she flushes with contented bliss

her black lipstick ignites him

from their first stolen kiss

 

I can almost feel the Colorado sunshine

hear “Althea” on the Red Rocks stage

the sands of time are falling faster

it’s the epilogue, the final page

 

I can listen to the symphony /  I can try to play the melody

hoping that the Gods will be appeased

searching for my Sylvia Plath / shards of glass litter the path

I’m waiting for one final, last reprise

 

 

 


SUMMER SOLSTICE BLUES by Jeffrey Littrell

 

one more sunrise you won’t see

one more poem you’ll never read

another wasted night alone

where you won’t call me on the phone

 

it’s strange to even say your name

it somehow doesn’t sound the same

no mirror reflects your image now

I wish you could return somehow

 

no one rides shotgun in my car

I sit alone now at the bar

when times are hard, when days turn black

I call out, but no one answers back

 

 

 


CHASING SCREAM QUEENS by Jeffrey Littrell

 

go ahead and run

run screaming like Linnea Quigley

from me, the disfigured monster

 

instead, you’ll crawl away

slithering into the brush, to hide

until I’m gone

 

{ The barista at Starbucks asked my name

with resigned apathy. Then, she had the nerve

to draw a smiley face in the froth

of my cappucino. Later that evening,

splashing through the pissing rain,

I rush into a bar off of Mass Ave. 

 

The Starbucks girl is the hostess.

 

“How many ?”, she asks me,

with the same resigned apathy as before.

She has no recollection of me,

or of the damned smiley face that she drew earlier. }

 

go ahead and run

run screaming like Jamie Lee Curtis

from me, the hideous leper

 

instead, you’ll lurk in shadows

listening with rapt attention

until I draw my final breath

 

 

 


%d bloggers like this: