Photo courtesy of Jeffrey on Flickr
By Kerri Liss
Pennies will rust
Papers combust
Tell me where exactly
we've placed our trust?
I look around
Eyes to the ground
Searching for things that I've
already found.
Treasures are left
Nothing is kept
For I have my two cents
in my pocket.
I'd rather write
Stay up all night
Count stars not money as
dark turns to light.
From my pen's ball
I will tell all
That we're more than just coin
Incidental.
For more poetry, visit our full archive.
Photo courtesy of Kerri Liss
Editor’s Note: I recently asked Kerri if she had any essays up her sleeves since it had been some time since her words graced the Writer’s Bone website. She told me she was on a poetry kick, and that she could craft a poem if I supplied her a word. I’m pretty sure I was listening to Bob Dylan at the time, so I sent her “harmonic.” Enjoy the first entry in our brand new poetry section!—Daniel Ford
By Kerri Liss
One Mississippi breathe in
Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy.
Sweaty melodies my lungs sing
so as not to destroy
the integrity of running.
My head,
the conductor,
timekeeper of my toes,
amid the orchestra of thoughts,
shows me where the path goes.
My soles hit the street,
where road and rubber meet.
Pitter patter on the pavement;
This harmonic gait curbs
The tectonic plates of my heart.
There’s no turning back now;
Purpose points up my chin
‘though I tremble from within.
I can’t refrain from the pain;
There’s nothing and everything left to give.
I rest for a moment, but not a note longer
to catch the chord of true joy’s canticle.
Like the song to its composer,
Or a bride being wed,
To where shall I run, if not but straight ahead.