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Abandon

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maybe I’m only a small stone in your hand
that you hold
while you walk
through the rustle of trees and the streets in the summer
pick me up
put me down
that’s what I”m for.

Im for throwing ‘cross smooth lakes and during storms
cause thats the times you can’t hear your own self screaming
Im for tossing down balcony windows
cause thats the times you can tell yourself you’re only dreaming
she’s waiting by the door
that lonely woman
you can tell she’s been waiting
so long.

You left me,
pebble
on an asphalt road.

how do you expect me
to get myself home?

Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry

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Office Workday (written in mid-2011)

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post 1

Mr. Richardson stood from his chair, put the note on the door, strode down the hallway, and descended the old rickety staircase that led to the main offices. Once on the ground floor, he walked to the meeting room where he held gatherings with the staff members once or twice a week, depending on the amount of issues there were to discuss.

He opened the door, and stepped in.

Chapter One

Slowly, Mr. Richardson walked to his chair. Once he was settled, he stared at the cushy chair in front of him, and glanced at his watch. He was 10 minutes early. Noticing his awkward emotions in that still, silent room, he was glad to find all the staff members shuffle in. He nodded and smiled. People finding their seats, a soft murmur. When everyone was in their places, he cleared his throat and spoke. The discussion was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The strange, monotonous day seemed to have doubled it’s length. The hot, un-air conditioned cubicles and desks were in a foul mood, and everyone was sticking to their seats. Even though  fans were brought in from the basement floor, nothing changed. The faint clacking of typewriters could plainly be heard. Everyone was quiet.

Chapter Three

Though most of the staff was quite tired, some decided to bring in cold drinks to the parched mouths of their brethren workers. The offer was greatly appreciated, and soon, everyone was back to chattering about, doing business on the telephone, and typing up important information. In short, the office had been brought back to life. Mr. Richardson kept an eye on everyone from his perch at the top of the banister. Putting on his spectacles, Mr. Richardson heaved a sigh and went back into his office.

x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x

Not moments later, a cry broke out from the first floor. Mr. Richardson stepped out and called “Hey! What’s going on?!” Immediately he could see what had happened. Betty, one of the best workers in the office, had spilled a cup of scouring hot coffee on her leg. The burn was huge. It was bleeding on the marble floor, and her friend Anna was caring for the wound with a damp cloth . All eyes turned to Mr. Richardson. He looked embarrassed  Suddenly, he blurted “out! Everybody out! ” Then to Anna he said “I’l call the paramedics, no need to worry-  you’re excused.” “and you, Mrs. Adams,” said Mr. Richardson, looking at Betty harshly “be more careful next time”. The damp cloth was abandoned, and Betty’s blood was seeping through. Mr. Richardson picked up the telephone. Looking away from Betty, he dialed Zero, said a few hushed words, and hung up. Betty was kneeling on the floor, weeping.

They both heard the sirens.

Copyright  2013 Golden Star Poetry