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Mathew Auman, Orwigsburg, PA (2026)

04/16/2026

Please, read 🥺

04/14/2026

Here it is!

Almond Joy Animosity
————————————

What is this combination of shredded coconut and palm oil
In the palm of my hand?
And why is it so gritty
As if I found it lying in the sand?

Covered in not so delicious milk chocolate
And a nut added to the center
To solidify its title of the true turd of a treat.
You’d have to be nuts if this is what you desire to eat.

I have tried many times to see it’s appeal
But as I peel back the wrapper each time,
My sweet tooth is met with such disgust
That even my taste buds retreat.

Even if I were on a Hawaiian retreat
And the coconut was truly fresh
I still don’t think this candy bar I could digest.

In fact, as I digress,
I’d rather take a Pina Colada
AND get caught in the rain
As I yell “Sayonara” at the edge of a volcano
And hurl in this King Sized s**t stain
Don’t look at me in disdain
You can’t seriously tell me that of all the counter side concoctions
That you would even consider this in your top three options
If so, then perhaps they also contain neurotoxins?

As a suggestion and friendly gesture,
May I suggest Toblerone?
It is clearly better!
A real go-getter!

For one, its shaped like a triangle!
On the other hand, this almond snack isn’t so joyous
In fact, it can go get lost in the Bermuda Triangle

Perhaps it’s an acquired taste?
And perhaps so am I
But Almond Joy truly is the worst candy bar
And on that hill I will die

04/07/2026

More about my love for vintage and antiques:

Shiny Things
——————

This evening,
My dinner partner is a Taylor Farms salad box,
Filled with crumbled up newspapers
That tell stories alongside those of the ceramic masterpieces
That sit on the other half of my kitchen table.

Maybe Macklemore was on to something?
Except instead of fur coats,
I keep my eye out for small scale wooden model boats,
Ornate dishes tucked away in plastic totes,
And glasses that would hold even the largest of root beer floats.

Unfortunately, these items don’t appear on a silver platter
In fact, they usually lay in brass or leather
Or sometimes wood,
But what stories would they verbally share if they possibly could?
If only the handlers could speak to us from beyond the grave.

But perhaps they can?
Each scratch, each ring, each brass cash register ding,
Written notes, receipts, and recipes tucked in between pages of novels
Were all novel ideas at the time.

But they’re no longer lost in time,
Now raconteurs of another time,
Whether they’re worn strings of a racket
Or lithographs of raccoons near a plaid jacket.

The dust on the book jackets only needs to be blown away
To reveal a title that will blow you away,
An antique far beyond yesterday,
But with a little care
And a little love
Allow it to see tomorrow, you may.

04/06/2026

Collector’s Bazaar
—————————

A red dragon
Guards a collector’s bazaar
Filled with unique and bizarre treasures.

Upon entrance, the large alcoves open wider,
Revealing a massive azure temple door
And stained-glass windows.
Wooden masks, alligator claws, tarot cards galore
And severed doll heads of former widows.

In further, still on display, wrestling posters from the Attitude Era
And a signed picture of Michael Cera.
An intricate lithograph of a chimera
And an old postcard addressed to a woman named Sara.

In the town of Quakers,
You’ll find plenty of salt and pepper shakers,
A vintage vinyl about shaking your moneymakers,
And ironically, boxing gloves that threw plenty of haymakers.

On some shelves sit creamer cups in the shape of corn stalks
As the wooden floorboards creak under human flocks.
Meanwhile, in the corner, sit three little piggy banks
Accompanied by a porcelain Goldilocks.

A map featuring Loch Ness
With a statue of the monster
Rests on the wall under a paper mache hornet’s nest
Along with racks of what were once considered Sunday Best.

Signed oil paintings
And vintage paint company signs
Hang near decorative bamboo blinds
As built-ins of antique books stir thoughts in young minds.

Glass geese and felt-tipped felines,
Detailed wooden carvings of fairies making beelines,
Puffy clouds over hand drawn tree lines,
And several historical copies of the New York Times,

Flat top beer cans and old match books
Line the wall under taxidermy squirrels that give funny looks.
Hanging from the shelves are railroad lanterns and aged industrial hooks
As ornate brass and silver sconces shine from the nooks.

And as you circle back around to the door
The curiosity and oddities seem never ending.
Each corner you peer into holds more and more,
And despite your already fascinating mind-bending…

You notice there is still a second floor

04/04/2026

This one is for a Spring prompt from Andrea R Freeman by the same name as the title. Enjoy!

Pressed Flowers & Folded Hearts
——————❤️——————

(This is a true story)

Every other month or so,
I’d get you some flowers,
To remind you that my love was true -
Whatever was in season that’d grow,
Usually in your favorite color, blue.

Not just on special occasions,
Like Valentine’s or your Birthday,
But random just ‘cuz ones too.
I didn’t need any persuasions,
And I greatly appreciated the love you’d send back my way.

You’d nurture and hydrate them,
Just like you did the kids at daycare,
And you’d keep them alive for as long as you could,
Until, finally, the petals would fall from the stem,
And you’d press them while they still carried some flair.

Then, you did the same with us;
Closed the book as if we were finished blooming,
Folded your cards on the table,
All hearts and not a fuss,
Just a quick phone call that was unassuming.

Every other month or so,
You’d press your flowers,
But now you’ve made me blue
In the season where things are supposed to grow.

My heart is folded between the sleeves of the journal
In which I used to lovingly write about you,
But I guess now you’ll never know.

04/03/2026

I often write about places I visit, including regular poetry scenes. I had the pleasure of seeing the Jersey scene for the first time a few weeks back and this is the poem I wrote for the Poetry in the Port crew. Enjoy and feel free to tag yourselves/others since I don’t have most of you on here yet 😅

In the Port
–—–—–—–

In the borough of Matawan
Sits a guy named John,
A silly little bean,
In between roasted beans and the poetry scene

Behind him, a towering comedian leans
One arm against the table,
His laugh is even funnier than his jokes,
Loud and unintentionally boisterous like something out of a beanstalk fable

They’re in the center of the crowd at night
Surrounded by others of an odd fairy tale sight,
The twisted Brothers Grimm version, let me add if I might

Blue haired Kawaii mermaids
With no chests but plenty of depth
Observing the thick wolf guys
And Jersey devils
Who search for the hidden treasure chest
Under the ocean depths,
While the others remain under the influence
Of their self medication and carefully placed breaths

Toward the front is a guy named Tom with the sideways part
And Ron Burgundy mustache,
Sitting next to him, both in retro match and more modern contrast,
Is his leather jacket wearing counterpart from Pennsylvania,
But you’d have to look closely to figure out which of those pale boys might really be a vampire from Transylvania

But surprise!
The one without a reflection
Is really the punk rocker one with unique vocal inflection –

Just watch how he dies on stage after his performance about his new found direction
And the dimly lit crossroads of life’s newest intersection
Against the single light above him that joins in on the outside neon’s interjection

Fortunately, there’s a frizzle haired medic leading the show
Just in case his dive wasn’t just for show,
Her Ms. Frizzle energy guides this crazy bus
Filled with short kings
And a blushed do******ix who likes to ball bust

Tom has a front row seat to the submission of attention,
And he ensures to capture each moment in his lens,
Between each silly cross room glance
And each celebrity name mention
As the creatures slowly feel more comfortable outside of their dens

Following the guy in all black,
Up next steps Shrimpy Jack
With the humor of Jack Black
And a subtle Captain Jack swagger
But with a little more gypsy like grace,
Careful though, her wit is as quick as a dagger
And under her jacket is probably some mace

Now, I might be a little out of place
But these characters are definitely to my peppery-loving taste,
So pour me another coffee of some odd flavor sort,
For this is just a regular night in the Port

04/02/2026

This one is for the crazy Jersey guys that come over to the PA side every now and then:

Jersey Boys
•——•———•

They fit in, yet they stood out

As they seduced the gathering with their deft tones

And with their accentuated, accented words through the flicking of their tongues

Bringing people just to the edge…

Of their seats

One wore a bright Hawaiian shirt

As if he had just come from the shore

And another looked like he came from Atlantic City,

The good or bad part though, I’m not so sure.

The third, however, looked a little more gentrified

Like the part of Patterson from which he had begun his drive.

They glanced at each other and joked around

While I was still stuck on the bright shirt pattern that was out of place in this town

And their leathery skins that had seen quite a bit of sun

Shortly though, I was quickly taken back by the greased haired son of a gun

Who stepped forward with Springsteen swagger to remind us that we were all born to run

As they each slayed their performances one by one,

They proved to us that they weren’t just average Joes

But good ‘ol chaps

Booking gigs and sharing their passions

Even though they were a little ways from their Garden State

Those wild men from somewhere near Wildwood,

Speaking with passion about love, pain, and irregular fashion

Like no local resident could

For their voices were raspy

And their stories were bold and raw

Like freshly cut wood from the saw

And I can’t imagine what the slutty Jesus looking guy saw

As he told his story

About being bad at love and then living on a prayer

Instead of jumping out of the fifth story

I looked around and the dames were impressed,

Especially by the guy named Damien,

You know, the one who was interestingly dressed?

And oh what a night it was

To watch those spoken word Sinatras

Use their soprano voices

To entrance us with sonatas of their questionable choices

For all I know, they could have been hobos

Or from somewhere near Hoboken

But what’s for certain –

Their spirits couldn’t be broken

In other words,

These guys were different

They were Jersey boys,

They stood out

And they didn’t care about fitting in

03/31/2026

It Has Been a Long While
—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–

It has been a long Winter
But I finally heard the birds chirping again this morning

It has been a long month
Working every weekend for overtime
To counter the cost of everything that increased again for the sixteenth time

It has been a long week
Especially for you
With another death
And your heart torn out of your already torn open chest

I watch as you snuggle closer on my chest
There’s finally a calm to your breath
And you begin to rest

It has been a long year
Sometimes the future isn’t so clear
And time only moves faster, My Dear

It has been a long day
But we’re both finally content
Even though we’re both definitely spent

But maybe we’re in the clear?
The birds were chirping this morning as better weather grows near
So, just rest, Darling and let me face the fear

03/30/2026

Anyone else tired of this Winter? This one’s for you:

Winter Tantrums
••••••••••••••••

Starting the day,
It’s dark
Ending the day,
It’s dark

The contrast of the limited light against the snow,
It’s stark
The contrast of the dark gloves against the snow,
It’s stark

Need to get out of the house,
A lark
Need to break this boredom and restless stirring,
A lark

The winds howl louder,
Winter’s bark
Louder, a child’s tantrum!
Winter’s bark

I retreat indoors
With a spark
I start the fire
With a spark

I pour the hot chocolate,
It’s still dark
But I relit my fire
With a spark

Mathew Auman

04/16/2026

04/14/2026

04/07/2026

04/06/2026

04/04/2026

04/03/2026

04/02/2026

03/31/2026

03/30/2026

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