poem poetry – Walk Where You Want

Womb Would’ve Known

A door opens inward.

Womb Would’ve Known

By Tyler Lucas Mobley

Shot from cannon with a cry, hands of anticipation

cradle and rejoice another plummet. Form of impressions

soft to the touch, a bundle of things to come.

Portrait of the whole falls to pieces, boundaries undefined.

Steps taken, shape sought in hammer and chisel world.

Lucky enough to fall into place, still an emptiness fills a space.

Mid puzzle crisis, what is a piece to do?

With the rug gone, clouds appear full of answers.

Wet from the rain one happens a pond,

met with a reflection, mirror of crystal sky.

Peace for piece with a look in the eye,

a portrait framed inside the whole.

Strolling Pie Fields

The pictures of her mind. I got it, the princess and the…

Strolling Pie Fields

By Tyler Lucas Mobley

If you ordered a dream, I know how you’d take it.

Strolling pie fields, punctuated by ponds of boiling ramen.

Well well well what do we have here?

To phrase a feeling, the greatest gift is knowing you.

From light we come, then become all it entails.

Becoming a granular notion, existence a swimming pool.

The world loves it’s making, and deserves to be told it’s beautiful.

The universe brought us together, and together we discovered a universe.

If all the sights found your eyes, would you still let them fall on me?

How lovely for all this to lead to the many tomorrows with you.

Notes to Generation Fortunate Son

Spawned from a memory of Eli’s 4runner.

Notes to Generation Fortunate Son

By Tyler Lucas Mobley

Fuzzy flags carried off planes

no one needs to ask about.

Spare my eyes the sight

society says to itself.

Protest read aloud the writing on the wall,

a cousin, a brother, a father ties a nation

in a knot no one is sure they should be in.

Growing pains diagnosed from the comfort

of their sacrifice, 40 years later teenagers

returning from a high school lunch at Chipotle

hang out car windows, hands managing the recoil

of machine guns mounted to the chopper they’re

clipped to, because Creedence is playing on max,

Lieutenant Dan taught us to walk again.

Covered by the freedom those died providing

colors fade with the fog of endless war.

Not that anyone notice when times grew slack,

media removed vulnerable to reality’s attack.

All things looking of You

By Tyler Mobley

Ripples trail a seaward vessel

spreading curves, a rhythm we

rolled once or twice.

Dewy garden mornings find web woven

portraits by Picasso legged spiders,

“a fly for the effort.”

Birds gather in honor,

Roman starlings perform under twilight,

fluttering human forms sing songs

of dedication, they knew

you always listened.

A name glimpsed in bubble

breathes held on a tub floor,

before bursting nevermore.

A lasting adieu when

all things looking of you.