Outstanding Poet of National Poetry Month Award

Thank you Jingle and all who voted for me. This is great!

White trash

Photo courtesy of Morguefile

White trash sitting on the patio, flicking cigarettes into tall grass.
Junk strewn about the yard
A camper rests on cinder blocks, sending roots into the ground
slowly rotting into the littered landscape.

White trash collecting cans, every penny helps.
Old man throws back a beer as kids scour the roadside for aluminum.
Old man looking like a fool, trying to be cool
with a cowboy hat wrapped in snakeskin, skin dirty, clothes dirty.

White trash dumpster diving looking for a score.
Amazing what folks will throw away. Just wipe it off and eat it.
Dinners made from government cheese and church hand outs.
Those rich folks don’t know what they’re missing.

White trash I was born to but never was.
Reaching for the stars, brushing off the dirt, the grime.
Staying one step ahead of myself.
Spent a lifetime trashing that.

©2010 frayedges and http://www.frayedges.wordpress.com

Samson a.k.a Hitchhiker, Aug 2010 – April 6, 2011

Celebrating Mardi Gras

Last night Samson didn’t come home when I called him. I was busy making a pie, so I hadn’t paid much attention to his whereabouts, and didn’t look for him until almost 11 p.m. When he didn’t respond, I slipped on a pair of sneakers and headed out the door. I walked out the driveway to the street, and saw him, his mangled body lying in the road. He had been hit by a car.
No more purrs.
No more cuddling.
He will never again hit the other cats with surprise attacks as they come around the corner.
He will never crawl into the washer.

Or eat my salad
Or knock over plants


Today I buried him in the back yard.

All I have to show for my troubles are blistered hands and a broken heart.

I miss him.

The Celebrate Poet of Spring in 2011 Awards

Woo hoo! Another Poetry Rally award! Thanks Jingle and all who nominated me. See you all at the next rally!

A Day

At 12 a.m. the silence screams,
deafening my senses, calming my agitation.
My meditation culminates in slumber.

At 6 a.m. the roar of traffic breaks through
my sleepy reverie, calling me to rise from the
warm depths of my bed. I greet the world with blurry vision.

At 10 am the buzz of computers and coworkers
vibrates through my being. My internal engine revs,
my body hums with activity.

At 1:00 p.m. my stomach growls its frustration,
demanding nourishment and attention.
Food and a hot drink convert the growls to a purr.

At 3:00 p.m. my muscles sing with anticipation.
I reward the symphony with bikes, and hikes, and weights.
I challenge the smallest muscle to hit the highest notes of activity.

At 5:00 p.m. thoughts and ideas clatter across my brain,
the sound of neurons firing compete with the voices of friends and strangers
as I sit in a pub and sip a brew.

At 8:00 p.m. my mind and body chirp in harmony,
excited about the day and planning the next.
Adrenaline sloshes through my system.

At 10:00 p.m. the chorus of activity has yet to leave me.
My thoughts shout across my fingers as they clip clop across the keyboard.
I type to still the agitation that jangles my nerves.

At 12 a.m. the silence screams,
deafening my senses, calming my agitation.
My meditation culminates in slumber.

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