Poem -
Last Night's Matchbook
The world is a table
Unstable
Smothered by candles and blood
A table steadied
By matchbooks
With last nights phone numbers
And hopes smeared
With dreams
Of the mornings bright-eyed
Memories
Of last nights possibilities...
Can we, as a people
Hold onto all the good intentions
Of good times
And invest the dime
In calling the smeared number
From last night's
Matchbook
Of inventive dreaming
Peculiar design
And modernistic thinking
Found through the fog
Of last night's
Drinking....
Tony Taylor
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Comments
Everything these days has a time and a place if it's scheduled in lol.. What about random meetings and the moment when eyes meet...we've become a chicken society. Smeared numbers don't fill that empty space but for just a moment.. Great write Tony as always...xo
Hey YAY!! Thanx TRACEY!..... so cool to hear from you...... like your new pic sweetheart...... as for the poem you're right...... but I was also trying to refer to all the great things that have come from ideas scribbled on the back of match books that the next day become poetry or even novels....... nut mostly the getting laid thing(smiles)......you nailed it..... and made me smile........ talk to you soon.......thanx again and welcome home.......LOVE and ROCKETS!!.....T xo ?☀✴✳
Very cool TT.....very cool, especially the first 5 or 6 lines that really thrusted me into this read. Oh how we wonder in the what ifs........I try not to wander too long. Enjoyed the scene and the idea and mostly your style. Peace!
Hey thanx bro!!.... this write wasn't for everybody ~ I know....... but when we talk about it .....I'lll bet I make you smile.......ttly man...... peace.......T xo. ?☀✴✳
Excellent read, lost, call or not, visions of what could be, but lost upon the drink. Deep. Thank you.
~Mark~
Hey MARK!!...I had a feeling you'd be able t relate to this write.......thanx so much for the positive feedback brother poet!!!.......ttyl......high fives!?......T xo. ?☀✴✳
The thanks goes to you for your beauty. Emptiness, and feeling alone with many people around, that is most of my life. Too afraid to take that step, to just wait to dream, to hate you dream, for it hurts to dream. You are welcome, but thank you for not holding back.
Hi Tony The scenario here portrays I think
of a night in a bar,you meet someone
you have a few drinks,at the end of the night
you exchange numbers, and write them on a matchbox.
Only to wake the next morning with a fuzzy head, sometimes not even
remembering the person who s number it is,
or the feeling do I ,or don t I ring
but you don t call because you wonder will they remember you
Then you think of the what ifs (just my thoughts as i read):-)
Great write! in your own inimitable style my friend
Love n hugs Debs xo
Yay cool DEBS!!...... you got it my friend..... but then...... you ALWAYS do....... so good to hear from you...... hope all is well....... hugs-n-smiles .......T xo ?☀✴✳
Hi Tony!
Been there... Nothing seems nearly as magical in the morning as it did the night before. But I guess that's the challenge. To find the same magic during daytime...
Anyway, I loved it :)
Dario
Hey Thanx DARIO!!..... you got that right brother......." To find the same magic in the day time"....... most excellent......... appreciate it my friend........ttyl.......T xō. ?☀✴✳
good write linda
good write linda
Thanx LINDA!!......I know I owe you a PM.... just been under the weather the last few das...... get to it soon...... hugs-n-smiles ........T xo. ?☀✴✳
This read so smooth
like drinking Irish creme
it tasted good
because it is about connectedness
that's what I found here;
a connection
I was at a bar last night
with friends
your poem is well written
and very meaningful
well done Tony!!!!!!
Best from Jai:)
Thanx brother JAI MASTERS!!....... had a feeling you and I would have a meeting of minds here ..........glad you got out last night....... glad you liked the write my friend......ttyl.....peace........hugs-n-smiles......T xo
My Dear Brother Poet Tony,
In my single days I never used matchbooks, for I detested smoking or anything to do with it. So I used napkins in their place. I can't tell you how many times I forgot one would be in my pocket, washing my pants and losing the number forever. Then, the only thing the crumpled napkin would be good for, was to dry my tears. Great poem that brought back great memories.
Peace, Love and Rockets,
Larry xxx