Posted: March 7, 2015 in Poems
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by Norton Nearly
from the book, Stained White Shirt, contact nortonnearly@hotmail.com for info on purchasing a copy

hate boils
like broth in a covered pot
spills over
messes the stove
burns the cook



Posted: February 28, 2015 in Poems
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by Norton Nearly
from the book Stained White Shirt
contact at nortonnearly@hotmail.com for info on purchasing a copy

She grew from a
fine Burgundy vine
He poured from a
cheap cask of Port

meets Robusta

Fine Teuscher chocolate
paired with a foil wrapped kiss

She was rare and wanted
like a French forest truffle
He was common and accepted
like a back yard spore

oak barrel whiskey
plastic jug hootch

a hand-rolled Cuban
a machine made cig

She matured like a
cave-aged Roquefort
he grew old like a
plastic wrapped slice

and clams

Russian Imperial stout
with domestic lager

Together they consumed all
fine and fair
couldn’t see labels
as for classes didn’t care
They simply enjoyed the bounty
of life
lived and loved
as man and wife

It’s love that decides
who compliments who
and finding truth in love
is the best you can do

or so he dreamed
looking at her a mansion on the hill
as he drove on past
in his imaginary Coupe de Ville

A Single Bookend

Posted: February 20, 2015 in Poems
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A Single Bookend
From the book, Stained White Shirt. E-mail nortonnearly@hotmail.com for information on purchasing a copy of this book.

The thinker falls off the rock to his knees
cursed for seeking solutions
to problems others cannot see

Thinking alone seldom solves anything
but the thinker cannot stop
he thinks
and thinks
and thinks
and thinks

Rodin’s naked man
with chin in hand
ponders all things heaven and hell

A single statuesque reproduction of that man
rests on my shelf
gotten from father’s shelf
after his last thought
now my statue
now my curse

One thinker assures nothing
but that the books will fall

Rodin originally named his man, The Poet
thinker and poet
as are poet and sufferer

The Thinker was cast in bronze
as are all who seek the rhyme


Posted: February 22, 2014 in Poems
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I’m tired of my neighbor
six-foot-four of know it all obnoxiousness

it’s hard to be sensitive when you are six-foot-four
but could he try a little harder

he yells at the grandkids
he yells at the wife
he yells just so everyone can hear him

living near someone
doesn’t mean you are like them
I am beginning to understand
parallel fences

the Sherriff came by
that neighbor is gonna lose his house
to foreclosure
I feel real bad and will miss him when he’s gone
but for now, this neighbor needs a fence
soundproof if they make one

he screams at everybody
knows it all
or so he thinks

he’s not a bad guy
he means well
but he pushes everyone around him
deep down into his well

maybe foreclosure stress
is behind
his nastiness
what then
was his previous excuse

habits form
we drown in them
and become them

maybe in his new place
he’ll calm down, relax
stop yelling
know less
lose a few inches

I’ll never know
he’s one of those neighbors who once gone,
you never see them again

with new neighbors
maybe I won’t want a fence
maybe they will

when neighbors
pull out of their driveways
they go in different directions

Landing Gear Down

Posted: February 1, 2014 in Poems
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Landing Gear Down

the flight attendant
burned a passenger with hot coffee
and the large woman behind me
sneezed disease onto the back of my head
and the fragile man across the aisle
snore-drooled a puddle onto his serving tray
and the cranky baby
howled in a language unrecognized by the adults
and the starchy suit
shrugged off the troubling headlines
and the rasta wanna-be
dreamed of fields of ganja
and the fat lady sang her song
and the plane crashed
and everyone died
and I woke up
on a flight to somewhere else
to the screaming sound of a burned passenger


Posted: January 11, 2014 in Poems
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there’s tons of insanity
in after hours bars
drinking, smoking
getting and givin scars

over in that building Mam
I crashed my car
she’s worrying about injuries
you’re thinking about the next bar

waking up with dark spots
all over last night
not knowing if you tripped and fell
or got into another fight

what the hell’s her name
roll over and peak
you barbecued the sausage
and didn’t really speak

hallucinating at the Jersey shore
in the middle of March
a fall off the jetty
sure takes out the starch

it became a tap dance
along the sharp side of the blade
life is nothing more
than what the hell you made

you can only march on
you can’t undo the done
you must scrape up the remainder
and tally another sum

you can’t ever forget
who you used to be
conviction can fall into trouble
so you must be prepared to flee

your life was saved
by two pair of blue eyes
but the demon still tempts
as surely as it lies

there’s tons of insanity
in after hours bars
drinking and smoking
getting and givin scars

Raining Down

Posted: December 14, 2013 in Poems
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Raining Down

Have you ever simply sat
and watched the drops fall
watched them bounce
or slide down the pane
What did you dream of
as they fell
and when the down poor stopped
did you chase that desire
or use those drops
as just another excuse to wait