As the events of the day change and
Soup needs to be made to counter the
Drop in temperature, waiting is the
Action of record.

Suggestions are taken like the ballots
In a box of anotherís devising and
Shirley Jacksonís The Lottery is
Difficult to find, more difficult even
Than story plots whispered into your
Ear from between the tongues of cats.

Accusations find rest on noses secure
Behind grand columns and leather bound
Volumes stacked like soldiers, organized
By rank, held accountable to a chosen few.

We weep in rooms dulled by somber
Carpeting and portraits of famous men.

We celebrate with scaffolding that
Stretches beyond logistical comprehension,
Racing against the weatherman to get the
Job done, a triumph of the human spirit,
A neck and neck debate worth watching
From afar.

If only the drop of the axe came swift and
True to the target at hand and you would
Know exactly what I mean.

Consider this

I am standing firm beneath
Hands holding eggs, talking
Gibberish between bouts of

You are on Westminster Ave.
Refusing to explain the deficiencies
Of the camera crew and a flashback
To your always running imagination.

A hint of spring dances through
The smell of pizza cooking
Somewhere along the way,
A pleasant reminder of simple
Things on the rise.
she came in through

Sean Lambert:
I am a 27 year-old writer living in New Haven, CT.
I guess these poems, under your guidlines, can be
considered a collective "purge" of inspiration,
written in cafes, restaurants, my bed, etc. I
write mostly album / music reviews, but find poetry
a necessary outlet when the mood strikes.

© 2005 Underground Voices