Poetry by Lora Frikken
Thank you for your comments!
Bring me your bouquet of Hope
That will never banish thought;
No despair, nor inability to cope,
Only these petals of Forget-Me-Not.
Lora Frikken ~ 8-16-04
Politics are not for the weary,
Nor are they for the weak;
The trouble is, my deary,
These are the only people who seek
To speak for the troubled masses,
To attempt to govern and rule;
To hope that their platform surpasses
The platform of the other fool.
I think we should make our stand,
Right now, before it gets too late;
Tell these politicians to stop f - - - ing us,
And learn how to masturbate!
Lora Frikken ~ 8-14-04
My strongest instincts have begun to fade
As time escapes through a distant keyhole
As my ideas succumb to another's control
As I finally sense the mortality of my soul
No matter how I struggle I am still afraid
That I am losing my ability to comprehend
That my life's path is leading to a dead end
That my mind is rigid and unable to bend
No one knows why I sing my serenade
I no longer know why I bother to reminisce
I no longer recall the joy of my first kiss
I wonder why we must end up alone like this
With every instinct now completely betrayed
With my spirit
With my mind
With my life
This ransom will never be paid
Lora Frikken ~ 5-26-03
Flowers on the water
Flowing out to sea
Following the tide
Drifting endlessly
Petals set adrift
Swirling colors fade
Memories are cast
Into the liquid jade
One blossom of red
For passion’s lost light
One indigo flower
To recall the night
One golden bloom
For happiness denied
A multitude of white petals
For the tears I cried
A garden ever floating
Out in the salty brine
Buoyed by broken dreams
Until the end of time
Lora Frikken ~ 8-9-04
We were still on the highway
at the rising of the sun;
My favorite time of day
found our journey nearly done.
In the humid morning sky
all distance seemed to disappear;
With the road now rising high
the horizon shimmered near.
We watched the golden rose
of this Louisiana dawn,
turn into hazy rainbows
which the new sun danced upon.
As a small town came into view
we felt the sleepy world replaced
with a scent as heavy as the dew,
sweet and ripe and ready to taste.
The aroma grew stronger still
as we came upon the sight
of a wagon at the bottom of a hill,
tipped over in the morning light.
The street was awash with hues
of pink and red and green;
Slippery, as we drove through,
looking like a kaleidoscope stream.
Now our morning was complete
as we regretfully drove away;
No dawn has ever been as sweet
since that Watermelon Sunrise day.
Lora Frikken ~ 8-3-04
