Other Poems by:

Michael Laney

Dead Words

Dead people writing dead words

That the living can sometimes read

All they write is dead and gray

Gray like skin that is newly shed 

From a lizard or a snake

Gray like a corpse that is newly dead

All empty inside from the maggots

Drilling and boring under gray skin

Empty people writing empty words

That the complete can sometimes read

All they write is empty and sad

Sad like a shadow of death

That hovers over old men 

Sad like a regretful last breath

That hovers and finally floats in the air

And covers the sun from despair


M.C. Laney

The Joker and the Thief

The joker and the thief

Had made the man laugh at his teeth

And his eyes were on fire

From the fill of the meat

And the wine and desire


But under the table

The dog bit the bones

Of the carcass and the meat of the man

Who the thief and the joker

Did cook for his pleasure


The joker and the thief

Had made the man dinner

And gave him a Sinner served up on a platter

Of gold dripping grease

Just made him get fatter


And though the red fire

Was glowing and tired and badly in need of a log

The thief and the joker

Were ready to sleep

And so were the man and his dog


M.C. Laney

Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

I smell the teen skin and the goose bumps are stinging my eyes 

If only you were a little older than you are now

Or me a little younger


To be that young again when all is fresh and new

And the dew on the petals is honey for the soul of a caged animal

With hunger in his eyes


Who new that we would share all that I fantasized but it took eight years of growth

On both sides for the dream to come true

And the lust realized


My how you grew in eight years and your breasts were like tears

In the eyes of a Priest who goes to his death

Not knowing the taste


My how the little girl that I once new could do all the things

That a woman can do in a room lit by candlelight

Fire and glow 


Nineteen is a good year I think to myself as I smell the teen skin

That I always wanted to smell and caress the goose bumps

With leathery hand


And I don't feel guilty for thinking those thoughts in the past

For I waited and waited for your love at last

Instead of taking the bait those eight years ago


M.C. Laney 

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