Welcome to Week 2 of our Poetry in Durango, Colorado series! In this release, we're thrilled to showcase four captivating poems by Larry Bourland. We wholeheartedly invite you to engage with our vibrant community by visiting our website's forum, specifically the "Post Your Work" tab. There, you have the opportunity to share your own work or engage in lively discussions with fellow poetry enthusiasts.
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Week 2:
THE INVISIBILITY OF THE KISS -L. Bourland-
JACKLEG HEART THIEF -L. Bourland-
THE IMPORTANCE OF PUPPY LOVE -L. Bourland-
MESSAGE FROM THE GRAVES -L. Bourland-
THE INVISIBILITY OF THE KISS
No one paid attention when we kissed
aboard the city bus,
in the school cafeteria
or on the park bench
that we’d claimed as ours.
No one paid attention when we kissed
at the rodeo,
outside Dolphin Market
or when we walked our kids to school
in the mornings.
No one paid attention when we kissed
aboard the red eye flight
to anywhere or
in the sweet smell of the bakery.
No one paid attention when we kissed
on our 50th
or when lingering a little longer
as we shared a boardwalk stroll.
Well, there was that one time
when 14-year-old gum smackers stared
and said, “Eewww” under their breath.
No one paid attention when we kissed
at the Post Office
retrieving our mail.
After all
it was our PO Box.
No one paid attention when we kissed
in line at the theater box office
or at the ball game
you thinking everyone was cheering for us,
causing you to blush.
No one paid attention when we kissed
during hospital visits
when cadres of doctors
scrambled to save
our broken bodies.
They always prescribed
more kissing.
No one paid attention when we kissed
and we kissed a lot.
It was who we were,
who we are.
We never cared
who cared.
We have been invisible
all of our lives
whenever we kiss.
JACKLEG HEART THIEF
Riverboat gamblers
have come and gone,
Mostly gone.
His All-In poker face
telling all comers,
“C’mon, boys, lay it
on the line or go home!”
He might be bluffing
behind that mustache twirling
sneer of supreme ego.
Maybe not…
Deciding to play her hand,
arming herself with a coquettish smile
she goes all-in…
a collective sneer fills the saloon
the bloodthirsty poker slicks
look on in disbelief at the fortunes
they’ve just staked to the table.
Feigning sad eyes of despair
she lays down a full house,
aces over kings
and steals the pot
including the deeds
to their losing hearts.
THE IMPORTANCE OF PUPPY LOVE
No one prepares you
for the impending anguish
of the depth
of a broken heart
when puppy love
suddenly skids off the road
on a lonely highway.
It is your first love,
there’s no expectation
of agony
when you’ve never
been there before.
The only lesson learned
about the end of love,
then and ever after
is that it hurts.
Not the good kind either.
The First Aid Instruction Manual
dictates the only cure
for pain associated
with Broken Heart Syndrome
(Formerly known as
Puppy Love Broken Heart Syndrome)
is time.
A bitter cure, to be sure.
Time and some nonsense
about going fishing in the ocean.
I thought
I was too young for a broken heart.
My folks laughed
about how cute I was
having been stricken with
Puppy Love Broken Heart.
I hated my parents
for the first time
as they relished
in my pain
and confusion.
It wouldn’t be
the last time
I would hate them.
Puppy Love
fortunately
happens only once,
like First Loves,
the pre-orgasmic first loves,
just not as serious.
Falling out of love
took planning.
Falling in love
was as easy as catching the flu.
The immortality
of love
is a given
when falling in love.
It is constant,
indelible,
as intimate
as Puppy Love.
Time did teach me
when falling
out of love
it is imperative
to maintain
my integrity.
Integrity
would be the only asset
I could ever salvage.
That and my clothes
or at least
some of my clothes.
MESSAGE FROM THE GRAVES
The dead
do not lay
silent
in their graves
quietly in repose
for the dust
of centuries
to claim
their bodies physical.
Every veteran
every fallen soldier’s family
hears the screams of battles courage,
last breath drawn,
last sob wept,
last cheer of
battles victorious,
last click of a mine,
last piece of flesh
torn from stalwart bodies,
last draw of the cigarette,
last cheers
of the little league
home run,
last splash in the pool,
last parting of stolen kisses,
last father’s handshake,
last medal pinned
to overburdened uniforms,
last hand held
of comrade as life ebbs
from enemy wounds,
last glance a dying
soldier’s eye acknowledging the promise
to tell his mother
of her sons last breath.
So, the dead
do not lay in quiet repose
for they fought
for the honor to be in formation
with their comrades
defending hallowed ground
of this brave country
for the ages
ever to be honored.
They scream from
their graves
to fight on.
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