dirt on the welcome mat

Tag Archives: words

Fine words, not print,

Snatch the most from you.

Take your chances

And skip straight to

The x and dotted line,

But each letter you sign

Will be in ink invisible,

A language unknown.

Speed and silence

Are our middle names,

But our solid, round

Figures lend us our fame.

Of polite grammar

We proudly claim the peak,

And to the inquisitive mind

Never fail to speak.

We’re ordinary individuals so

For pizazz we’re grouped  in threes.

The printed page would be dull

Without us, the ellipses…


Word water balloons

At an art gallery,

You force passions

To mix and wrestle

Their liquid wills.

Your bullets burst,

Stain, and slide down

Glorified fruit,

Landscapes, and skin.

They are

Your tears

As you fend

For yourself.

The advice

You splatter paint

In my direction

Sits like graffiti

On a gravestone,

A testament to

A misplaced





words like marbles

multiply, fill up his cheeks

until red-faced,

he swallows one

and realizes

his mistake.

           Just a tilt in tone

   At the denouement,

        Like your whimper

              A second before

        The soup bowl

              Began to spill.

           Ask away,

     But don’t wonder

             Why I wince.


Through words and stone immortalized,
These privileged lovers
And stubborn sons,
Surely thousands strong by now,
Puncture the earth
Like birthday candles on a cake,
Sticks of wax waiting to be melted
Just slightly by controversial heat
Then removed
From their sticky sweet platform
By eager,
Growing fingers
That fill their spaces
With newer,
Fresher faces
Plus one every year.

Sticky post-it notes

In thick wads

Down my throat,

Flashcards and bold print,

Just skim texts

Two percent,

Busy schedule

Kills the appetite.

Word count too full,

Word Watchers diet.

Happy, healthy people

Don’t try it.

Bike tire spokes

Hover like a halo

Above your head.

They rotate as you

Contemplate, yes,

We all see your

Imagined jabs and

Inside jokes,

They poke us as you walk by.

No words required,

The gentle whirr is enough-

How silly of you to think

No one would notice

That your mental gears

Have melted into

Little external

Metal sticks

That only move

When blown by winds

Of condescension.

Between complaints
And strong opinions
You tell me


Freedom of speech
Means we all can play
Dictionary roulette.

No one
A single

So use them all,
The brain’s a scrabble board,
And no one’s keeping score.

You are
So sure
But still
You speak.

If language is so meaningless,
I wish you would not
Use it at all.