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The Poetry of Rick LaPlante

[ website | Poems by a Man in a Box (Non-Serious Poetry) ]
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Two Lips [Mar. 7th, 2011|12:05 am]
The Poetry of Rick LaPlante

lefthooktohead
Preface:
This is a poem about flowers.

                       *

Evolution sowed the seed
of beauty that our eyes need.
One by one, the flora grew
into beauty we all knew.

                       *

But this poem takes place in Alaska,
where the winters are long,
and the night obfuscates forever.

Flowers die in the winter
unless they are cut and brought
inside.

Many are sleeping,
and you are in a lucid dream,
eluding the maw of your Venus Flytrap.

You could turn your light on,
but artificial light can’t wake you up.

Step into the sun and grow.
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Ignore the Cumbersome? [Jan. 7th, 2011|12:53 am]
The Poetry of Rick LaPlante

lefthooktohead
Toward and away,

what should
be a meeting place/

          (lost in translation, but
          still kept for old times' sentiment).

Off and on.

All under one moon, but realizing nothing.

Blasphemous thoughts corrupt
those who are all too willing to roam the interstate;
many are on the interstate,
walking backwards to "maximize efficiency",
but no one can maximize the moon.

"Tonight's forecast is a drizzle of rain,
but will remain sunny tomorrow
and the next day
    and the next day
       and the next day
          and the next day
             and the next day (sic)."

What the moon wants to say is:

you are nearsighted.

Enter from the right.
Exit from the left.
Close the interstate for one day
and travel by the light of the moon
in the middle of the night.
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Behind Bars [Apr. 5th, 2010|10:01 pm]
The Poetry of Rick LaPlante

lefthooktohead
What is the allure
of people who throw stones
at windows?

The people I see
know how to perform
many types of limbo
                   under
               people's noses.

There is a password
for every word,
and a code
for every password.

Might is right
and wrong?
Get into a group
and be contradictory.
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The Lair [Apr. 5th, 2010|09:57 pm]
The Poetry of Rick LaPlante

lefthooktohead
Does a bear
live in the woods?

Usually, but one
lived upstairs
in my grandparents' house
many years ago.

He hunted for children
who wandered all
alone at night
and swallowed them whole!

God have mercy on your soul
if you forgot something
in my bedroom back then!

The only defenses were
grown-ups or light switches.
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Thursday [Apr. 5th, 2010|09:54 pm]
The Poetry of Rick LaPlante

lefthooktohead
Cover the sky, then
go to sleep.

Whether or not
the moon stares at us
is irrelevant.

I have no time
for sightseeing;

my time is
reserved for symbolism.
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Janus [Mar. 30th, 2010|01:29 am]
The Poetry of Rick LaPlante

lefthooktohead
Janus appears in front of me
time and time
again and again
                            and again.

He is an
apparition.
He smiles & frowns
simultaneously.
He dons the guises
of familiar faces.
He is my personal voyeur.
His words twist & combine
into incomprehensibility.

I am afraid of him,
because when he turns around,
his ghastly gaze is
like a sledgehammer shattering my spine.
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Toll Booth [Mar. 30th, 2010|01:25 am]
The Poetry of Rick LaPlante

lefthooktohead
As I walked across the bridge,
    some gold
    fell out of my
                       pocket
                         and
                   into the water.

And then I fell
through the bridge
and into the water too.

The day before,
I assumed.
The week before,
I waited.

The moment I recieved
the message of silence,
I became intangible
(You can't break the
bridges that allow
cars of all types).

I knew of the magic toll collector,
but he never spoke of the toll.
I assumed it was more than before.

So I have to sit
while eight people cross,
laughing in their cars,
having already paid the toll,
but who told them
what the toll was?

A paper sign,
carried by the wind,
latched onto my face.

It said
"Exact Change Only."
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Strength in Numbers [Mar. 30th, 2010|01:19 am]
The Poetry of Rick LaPlante

lefthooktohead
The white bunny
has a large mouth.

Meat is on the menu
for dinner tonight.

All your friends are here;
it invited them over.

All the clocks
tick toward the

                       end.
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December 29, 2009 [Mar. 30th, 2010|01:17 am]
The Poetry of Rick LaPlante

lefthooktohead
Tonight,
this goose egg
       has fallen
             down
             the bottomless pit.

I have many layers,
but even
an infinite
amonut
shall not shield
me from
involuntary,
       wild dancing.

The limbless red man
became transparent
to warn me of the white
that blew
in from somewhere.

He wasn't a stop sign,
so I had to keep going
until I arrived at
this house of books
to tell my tale.
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Poem to William Carlos Williams [Mar. 28th, 2010|03:50 pm]
The Poetry of Rick LaPlante

lefthooktohead
-1-
finish your coffee!

I'm sure it tastes delicious,

why leave it?
look up the country it's from.

Stop.

-2-
Kinda creepy,
all I'm staring at is the back
of your neck,

where are my ideas?

hair follicles are waving.

It's Tuesday and this is not
something I'd write.

-3-
For the love of God,
flush the damn toilet.

Or make sure it's fully flushed.

Stop moving my salad mix
so it spoils faster.

-4-
AAARGH!!

No, I don't feel like that.
I just want to sit here
and play with my Wii.

-5-
Flushing pink cryptograms.
Syncronize my face pilot and
wallow in sour milk pseudonyms.

Hip-hop spit on my mother
and rolled in the grass.

NOT NAKED?!

Pick a stem of moose brain.
Hypocritical.

-6-
I want a poem.
I want to finish my next
poetry book, but I'm too
damn busy or lazy.
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