(a Golden Shovel)
by Frank Coffman

i have many shut doors
each locked with a key
many skeletons in my closet
ones you'll never see

secrets i have many
hid in away in my keep
some secrets i'll tell you
if they stay between you and me

if i let you into my life
shut the door behind you
whatever secrets i share with you
are only for you

and if you unveil my secrets
if the whisper tempts my soul
and your mouth forms the
forbidden words
return
your
key

I am like a pinball machine
My brain, my heart
The ball

All life’s different facets,
Like bumpers
On the wall

The flippers are my will
The way it rebounds,
Chance

The soundtrack and
The sound effects,
The universal dance

And when I hit my target
I add more to
My points!

But when I get distracted
Or stiffness
In my joints

The ball goes tumbling
Down the drain
And I must start again

But I don’t have to
Treat myself
With critical disdain

L...ove is a lovely Luscious exotic word

O...nly lovers using it can really be Heard

V...ery often many Follow the lover true

E...choes are Heard all over the sea azure- blue

D...istance is no Limitation all this by now knew

L...overs of poetry on the Earth sadly are Minuscule

Y...ou all know it often Smile don't you

GOOD BYES ARE GOOD BYES
only @ TIMES
as I keep coming

Looking through the window
doesn't always guarantee
a beautiful view nor
would necessarily show
a pastoral landscape;

there could be no dreamy plains,
nor creeks, nor placid streams,
or sleepy lakes,

but it'll often offer
a view onto the life
of the indolent,
of the cantankerous,
of the coquette,
the gauche and the bold.

More than once
you'd feel the pain
and touch the softness
of the lenient, forgiving air.
You'd smell the fragrance
of innocence.

There is a long way
still to go

I, like Walt Whitman,
have found power
in contemplating
a blade of grass
dew in the flower
a moth in lamplight

but the grass can only
grow so high
the dew only lasts
the morning
and a moth cannot
see the starlight

I must keep filling
my tank
with poetry

and reaching for
the most sublime

for there is a long way
still to go

The sun beats down without mercy
here in the depths of the old south
drawing salty sweat from out of me
leading to a dry and yearning mouth.

Yet one more drop of sweat pats down
on dusty ground from my big nose.
The salt in my eyes makes me frown.
There's no dry spot on my work clothes.

I pause to wipe my soaked bald head,
look at the sky, replace my hat,
hoe a few more weeds from garden's bed
and curse myself for getting fat.

On the sidewalk
she laid there,
a delicate island
surrounded by stone.

How long had she lain
In fear of being trampled
by important, impatient
people, I do not know.

But when she saw me
it seemed, I could be wrong,
but colors seemed to brighten
and her sweet scent exuded.

She came into my hands
thankful -her bruised
and tender head.

But such sweet scent,
her lovely face,
were more thanks
then ever I could repay.

The delivery ticket
Said “please ring i“

And I made a mental note
To ring the buzzer
At the right apartment

But my brain didn’t stop there

I thought of how it could mean:

To get things in my life
That would revolve around myself
Like the rings on Saturn
Rely on me and make
My life more meaningful
And beautiful
And full

Or: