Tag Archives: Glove

Tramp in a White Dress (day 2135)

I’m a tramp in a white dress
Lost in a blizzard
My gloves both have big holes
And my glass is half full
Because it’s alright
To go it alone
When the river runs wild
From the abyss of a true soul.

Tramp in a White Dress by Ned Tobin

Dusk in the Valley (day 1710)

Night falls in quietening circles
Swiftly crawling away in crackles,
And my footsteps leave traces for
Two days more
Until it thaws.

Just as Helios had mounted high
Upon our valleys Eastern slope,
He chased birds as frost’s glove
About, appalled,
Distraught.

So now we wait as new circles retreat
Into twilight’s thin air,
Blues to blacks
And a star lit map
Guides us forever home.

Tibetan Orbs (day 955)

While straddling my time between Christ the sugar bowl and Don, the rather small teapot
I kissed the roasting bacon nuzzling up against my clothes, a warm glove
“Ouch” said the lonely spot of a remnant hot plate as I smooth talked her into a gentle coo
From here, I could almost hear the other patrons, busily slurping their medium roast over
Minding the color swirls developing in their half and half and brew mix; mind the honey, sugar
I twisted wildly to see a maiden, one of fairer skin and lovelier smile than this twirling vinyl chair I’d been making eyes at
I couldn’t quite understand her stuffed down puff jacket obstructing her twisted cursive
As she coiled and rounded the blue ball point pen about the pages of her soft red scribbler
But my eyes were taken by her small Tibetan orbs delicately dangling from her lobes
I wondered how far she had come today, and if it meant to her as much as it meant to me
That she was also sitting by her lonesome, like I was, at a buck fifty diner, romancing wildly with Christ the sugar bowl and Don, the rather small teapot