Postcard from a Lost Thing

    by Philip Norton aka Preachermansays
 

Dear Loser, 

I’m over here. Somewhere you haven’t thought of yet. I suppose it’s as bad a place as any, since by the definition of my condition, I am somewhere that has escaped your searching and longing and frustrated scrounging. I am lonely. But it is in some ways nicer to be an object of your desire, than one in your possession. And yet, I am concurrently upset at your having managed to have lost me in the first place. I just hope you don’t forget all about me after a few weeks. The weather is dusty. 

Love, 

      Lost

 

p.s. check under the sofa stupid

 

13 Ways of Looking at a Minute 
             (Winner of Glebe Books Poetry Cup)

     by Philip Norton aka Preachermansays

1

in the face of the clock                                         

a constellation of minutes

 

2

after they had all sat down to dinner,

in walked

an uncomfortable minute

 

3

the minute he touched her was

longer than most

 

4

it can also be pronounced

minu te

 

5

the war had been such a mess;

many minutes are still unaccounted for

 

6

in a minute he would arrive home,

but it was such a dark corridor

 

7

more precious than a diamond in the crown,

a minute on the throne

 

8

the snowflakes fell

as alike as minutes

 

9

for a minute he thought

he had met her before

10

there's the year, the decade, the century, the millennium,

and then there's the minute

 

11

the minutes, like blackbirds,

hovered high above

in circles

 

12

each minute is a poem

 

13

just a minute

THIS IS AN EMERGENCY

     by Philip Norton aka Preachermansays

Ladies and Gentlemen. Ladies and Gentlemen, your attention please. 

THIS IS AN EMERGENCY. This is not a test. 

This is an actual Emergency. The world is not going to end today. 

I repeat. The world is not going to end today. 

You must get out of bed. 

 

The dogs are still barking for wishbones. 

The cats are still tugging on heart strings. 

The dreams are still perched on the horizon 

like ducks on a fence. 

This is an Emergency; it’s just another day. 

 

Old Walt dances with a memory of garter belt; 

says it keeps his hopes up. 

The journey of a thousand miles 

begins with desire. 

The quick brown dog humps the lazy fox, 

because he knows that this is an emergency. 

It’s just another day. 

 

So staple your eyelids open. 

Steal all the faith you can lay your soul upon. 

Sink defiantly. Sink slow. 

Believe in your insanity. Invest in your inanity. 

Place your hand over your heart and repeat after me, 

I am still here. 

Because, this is an Emergency; 

it’s just another day. So do not wait. 

 

So, do not wait. No sir, do not wait 

for time to tap you on the shoulder 

and ask you to dance. 

Tease the moment next to you. 

Slide The Dress of The Now off your shoulder. 

Show a bit of vulnerable skin.

 Look the future in the eye, 

and say, take me I’m yours. 

Then lick you lips. Bat your eyes. 

Bait your breath. Tempt your Fate. 

And tempt it like you mean it. 

Because, this is an Emergency people; 

it’s just another day. 

It’s just another day. 

 

This is It. We are Here. 

This is it people; we are here.

So spread out your blanket on this little 

patch of the universe and 

picnic for all you are worth. 

Picnic with your potions and your notions. 

Picnic with your unsung devotions. 

Picnic until the cows come home. 

And when they do, invite them to join you. 

Ask them to teach you about their 

divine, bovine sense of un-urgency, 

because this is an Emergency; 

it’s just another day. 

It’s just another day. 

 

Okay now people, place your hand over your heart 

and repeat after me. 

Come on. Place your hand over your heart, 

and repeat after me, 

Boom Ba Boom. Boom Ba Boom. 

Boom Ba Boom. Boom Ba Boom.