Monthly Archives: July 2012

Shadows

It becomes difficult
to feel
living
in the shade
of bad decisions.

Regrets, scars,
memories,
what-ifs
and
could-have-beens
latch on,

a tangle of shadows —
clinging, half-life ghosts —
a trap, held tight
in the knots,
unable to move ahead.

Shadows in the late afternoon.

Written for Three Word Wednesday.

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Making It Work

Over the years
the perfect
relationship
evolved.

He always
believed
her whimsical
wisdom.

She always
ignored
the noise
of his nonsense.

There was always
some doubt
as to whether
he was listening,
or she could hear.

Old Couple

Old Couple (Photo credit: Jan Tik)

For the Vice/Versa prompt at Poets United.

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Bones

The Old Man had sent word,
he was ready for the awaited reveal.
The army of excitable diggers turned out,
properly attired in pith helmets and scarves.

Each with their tools, should they be required,
picks and shovels and brushes large and small.
Escaping their tents and braving the sand,
anxious ants streaming from their mound,

doubting the reports of what had been found.
Traipsing through the uncovered ruins,
instinctually bunching in twos and threes,
conversing in hushed tones, whispering rumors.

Blown sand dancing and swirling around them
like ignored ghosts frolicking around new found friends,
sweat constantly flowing, heat being omnipresent.
Ignoring the crumbling walls and preserved frescos,

indifferent to the wondrous statuary lining the path.
These uncovered discoveries no longer of interest
in this city recently released from desert sands.
The academic troop all uniformed in browns and tans,

(an occasional rebellious flash of a colored kerchief)
merge in sudden silence where the Old Man waits.
Somber…squatting in a modest doorway,
squinting into the sun, hat covering his knee,

alternating his gaze between
the anxious arrivals and the sand he scooped,
slowly pouring it from hand to hand…
letting it blow away, and starting again.

No words being said, all wait instructions;
he stands, sighs, moves aside,
giving way to those so eager to see… to discover.
Surging ahead they crowd through the door,

coming up short when they see what the old man
has uncovered beneath the sand.
Huddled in the corner are bones,
the first found in this abandoned town.

There are two sets, skeletons still whole,
softly glowing, preserved by dry heat.
One large, seven feet if it were to stand,
large boned, it would have been strong, imposing.

Human in appearance apart from the size…
and the enormous, delicate, bones extending
from his back, forming the wings folded around them.
The other was smaller but formed the same,

cradled childlike against the chest of the larger Angel,
two small hands clinging to one of its guardian’s.
The stunned diggers barely breathed,
many crying, falling to their knees;

others ran to escape their new knowledge.
The Old Man was drifting out into the desert,
hat in hand, forsaking protection,
tears forming and drying before they could fall.

No destination, no intention of stopping or surviving,
knowing only that he must leave,
for there was nothing left to find.
Now that he had found the ruins of Paradise

and the bones of the last Angels…
there was nothing left to find.

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Her Names

name her absurd,
……………..erratic,
…………………evasive.

call her obscure,
…………….scornful,
………………..spiteful.

christen her Poison,
a lesion to cripple,
a taint to love.

solicit her services
at your peril,

expect tidings of
mischief,
pain,
loss.

Naming of Names

Naming of Names (Photo credit: Ex-InTransit)

For the Flipside Records word prompt.

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Images in Glass

Chain the door, begin the work.
claim the moment, exclude the world.

Every effort made to capture
the reality of faded memories,
to refrain from embellishing
upon scenes he relishes.

Swells and spray of ocean fury,
plant on a window sill.
Powerful trigger of emotions,
situations of gravity.

Glass was his medium —
broken, cracked, crushed —
flakes of color in the flicks
and brittle grittle of the grind,

placed by hand, selected
and spread with care. No gloves,
shards and pieces picked from
fingers serving to preserve humility.

Broken.

Broken. (Photo credit: justanbaca)

For the Sunday Whirl Wordle. These words did not flow. I tried desperately to force them into submission.

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Ready

It had been a while,
she was not sure
she was ready
for him,
for them,
that place,
the pleasantries,
multiple faced frauds,
egos with highballs,
highbrows, low morals.

She snubbed out her cigarette,
turned from the window,
strode purposefully to the door.
She might not be ready for them,
but she was quite certain they
were in no way prepared for her.

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Rain

Rain,
go away,
your presence no longer
comforts me,
filled with memories
best left dry.

Rain
we ran through when
caught in the park,
ending up drenched
and walking,
unconcerned.

Rain
soaked hair falling in ringlets
across laughing eyes,
drops cling from tips
reluctant to be separated
from her touch.

Rain,
a deluge of noise
through open windows
as we made love to flash
and thunderclap, passion
poured out like rain.

Rain,
go away.
Better the desert,
parched and dry,
than the flood of feeling
your descent would bring.

rain drop

rain drop (Photo credit: kicksave2930)

For the Carry On Tuesday prompt of “rain, rain, go away.”

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Ars Poetica – Consider It Rather Personal

Anticipate agony/ecstasy–

as needle presses vein,
razor caresses flesh,
flame consumes rock,
liquid fills glass,
powder forms lines —

inhale inspirational incense,
pull it deep within,
relish the anguish
as pain-need-joy-desire
coalesce with bits
of heart-soul-being —

taking, giving,
changing, creating —

until a cohesion of thought,
wrenching of gut,
clearness of mind,

forms a word, an idea, a line.

Exhale —
slowly, frantically, precisely —
release the pent up poison,
freeing it onto the page,
into the world

where it may wreak havoc,
heal, horrify, humor,
patronize, please or piss off.

And…maybe…once in a while,
touch a spot deep within
one who finds it, wandering
lost and free.

Redpill - Bluepill dilemma

Redpill – Bluepill dilemma (Photo credit: CanadianAEh)

Written for dVerse.

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This is what Horror looks like

She is nineteen
and from Illinois.
Her mother drove
her to Tennessee,
took her to a bar,
directed her to the
restroom…and left.

She is nineteen,
cannot communicate,
does not see well
and has cerebral palsy,
among other disabilities.
For ten days
no one knew who she was.

When her mother was
found,
she thought it was a
bunch of ‘hoopla’
and told the police
she just did not want
her daughter anymore.

No charges were filed,
no law was broken.

She is nineteen,
now a ward of the state.

For Poetic Asides. And True.

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Realism

John said ‘Imagine’…
and the world thought
it was a great idea.

Ideas, sadly, differ wildly
from reality. Utopian plans
never the purview of Man.

Heaven and hell exist here
on earth, whether or not
there is belief in afterlife.

Religion rules rites of conflict,
Muslim, Christian, Jew….. Who
shall halt following their God?

Possessions, and lack thereof,
determine dividing lines of societies;
the sides desiring to keep or take.

Imagine, enjoy your daydream,
but progress requires action, someone
to relinquish a portion of their beliefs,

possibly admit to being wrong.
Will you go first?
Or insist it be me?

Imagine There's No Hunger    -  Strawberry Fie...

Imagine There’s No Hunger – Strawberry Fields – Central Park, NYC (Photo credit: asterix611)

Written for Three Word Wednesday and the Imaginary Garden ‘inconformity’ prompt.

Also shared for the Poetry Jam ‘Daydream Believer’ Prompt.

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