The Storyteller - the wit and wisdom of Frank Coughlin

All poems here are the work of Frank Coughlin, unless noted.
(copyright by the author).

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It must be nice
to have all the answers
to see everything
in black and white.
I am glad you think you know me
and what I need to do.
The proper thing to do
except that I am not who
you think I am - when you cut me
I bleed profusely all over. I know it is not the polite or even contrite
Emotion spills out of me as does fervor and elan. Sometimes it makes a mess
(much to your distress). Try as I might (and I might try) I could not live my life
the other way (your way) - not today, not yesterday and I am not willing to try tomorrow.
So lift up your brow, I will bow but not to anyone but myself. If I was as smart as you, I would do better.  Thank you for your advice - good day ladies. 

A Moment in Time

This is a poem about nothing
And still later there was meaning
but it was not mine. It could have
been yours, are you missing some.
Blah, drab, dull, tepid, and tired
could be used to describe, yet
my nothing resists all attempts
to shape and mold with words,
It does not sit or stand, neither at the table or in the corner
It does not have a nose for news or trouble, even if it could be found useful. The odor it gives off cannot be cleaned or detected, reflected, or abducted. I suppose we could blame someone for it, and I suppose someone would take credit, yet I find or possibly I might find it impossible to find but that does not seem to stop me. Nothing has come over me and don't worry for it means nothing - as in nothing good can come out of this. Yet you ask what is it all about and I tell you everything because I can't keep it in - not anymore at least, It is in the long run: nothing.  Now you are angry and I say what about and you say - nothing. So now it is all yours and you are welcome to it.

What You Said

The Look, your eyes, and the silence in between
West wind blows cold - change is in the air
What was once warmth now chills
This is the magic of March weather
Days are filled with promises, teases
Of fair futures, of fuller fortunes, and of love
This day was better, a day to shed shells
a day to feel fine, a day for us
I was forward - I admit and then the word, the wave and Tomorrow
is what I heard.

The Wizard

With a grip held tight, more towards
what is than what is not,
yet twisted windward by unseen gales
He holds my attention despite
vain attempts of mine of course
to turn the spoken direction to the inane
The world plays with him, its wind caresses his cheek
playfully as a lover, a tease, coquettishly shying away
from his attention - when he points out its behavior
"See the wind" he both command and asks me
"See the mystery of nothing - for what is wind but our
perception of atmosphere - in this moment, that is all.
We cannot bring it back for others to partake in
This spectacle is for only you and me. So it is with the world.
Now he releases me and is gone. Only his words remain.