Uncategorized

Suspended (One Shot Wednesday) & (carry on tuesday)

Sarah Joncas (my fav)
My heart may be pounding fast
but I won’t scream for help;
falling head first
from unknown heights,
to unknown depths.
I am in a poem,
created by a writer who relives dark themes,
but he doesn’t create them.
I don’t think he wants me to suffer or die,
he’s seen too much of that.
Maybe he is just trying to create that last thought of a dying woman plunging to her death for no apparent reason?
This fine piece of art offers no detail of back story or conclusion.
Just a woman in a red dress calmly falling.
He won’t create beyond what he sees.
He interprets.
I feel safe in his mind,
suspended in thought.
Don’t fret over me,
I am in safe hands.
He’s allowing me to do all the talking,
I will live,
and you will see me again,
I promise.
If I stop talking
He will die,
Or move on.
Until then,
Here I am.
I have done so little,
But have so much to do.
He needs my help.
I’m sure I will be a study of peril again, soon,
but he won’t let me die.
He’s seen too much of that.
No tragedy here.
Just a thought he can’t let go.
I’m merely a tear
he refuses to cry.
A suspended tear with no splash.
A poetic time out.
Advertisements
Standard
Uncategorized

No Fear (potluck)

Stalking darkness
Billowing freight
Angry carpet rolls ‘cross light
Blow and huff
Rant and rage
Flash and roar
Give your best performance
On my field-like stage
I’ll spin and swirl and dance in waves
Of thankful expectation
There is no fear of you in me
I love your demonstration.
Just make sure before you quit and fade away to mist
You share your rain upon my hair and leave me with a kiss
I love the way my golden soul
Contrasts your blackened heart.
And how your evil face of scars
Enables me to grow.
Standard
Uncategorized

My Pacemaker (poetry pantry 51)

Evening horizon appears bruised.
Sunlight slithers off, silently.
Darkness creeps, cougar-like,
Crisp shadows chill skin.
And then,
Eyes erupt, silence shatters, tear’s heave.
Sheet of paper, official, type written,
Trembles in hand,
Rattling, snake-like, after a strike,
Fangs moist, blood stained.
Frightful words, venomous,
Surge though veins,
Numb arms, throat,
Breath paralyzed,
Death stalks heart.
Collapsed to dust,
Curl in ball,
Frail, tumbleweed-like,
Wind rushes by.
Pray to roll away, roll away
Swoosh along prairie flat
To wherever tumbleweeds go.
But I lay like a stone;
A headstone,
Marking the end of my life.
My Johnny
Won’t be marching
Home again.
And then,
A little heart renewed life.
I imagined it no bigger than Johnny’s,
When his mother,
Probably dancing with him now,
First told me he was coming.
Being a father was a good thing,
Back then.
The medal dangled from a ribbon,
Wide purple with thin white stripes,
Heart shaped, bordered with Heaven’s gold.
On the front,
George Washington’s profile in a sea of purple,
On the back,
“For Military Merit.”
It felt cool in my fist.
I clenched it,
Trying to find life,
A reason,
A power.
A hope.
The beginning of a prayer.
Anything.
And then,
I squeezed the medal so hard
My palm bled.
I looked.
I gasped.
I gazed.
I knew.
I sensed a breeze, warm.
A voice, I didn’t notice on the prairie.
With each wisp of wind, I heard,
“I Know,”
Reminding me, “I know.”
Every time the wind blew, a whisper,
“I know.”
I saw, I listened, I survived.
Johnny’s body stopped a bullet streaking for an Afghan girl;
A county’s future.
I wear the Purple Heart with pride,
Pinned over my own;
My pacemaker.
And now,
I leave the prairies to the tumbleweeds.
I spend a lot of time in the mountains,
Me and wind,
Standing on a great granite rock,
Taking turns
Saying,
“I know.”
Standard
Uncategorized

Palpable Park (Single Impression 170)



Luiza Vizoli



Hands touched,
skin and skin,
mine and hers,
eternal spark.
Palpable Park breathed life,
kaleidoscopic spectrums exploded,
fresh light filtered prism; set free.
Heart’s eyes perceived
rainbow leaves,
stained glass grass,
burying doubt beneath expressed reflections
of blue skies
above.
Unmistakable;
the colorful chorus of truth.
We faded in the manifest presence
of love.
Standard
Uncategorized

I Hear Her Now (Sunday Photography)

Photo by Scott Wyden
I remember now.
Her voice
Feminine
Frail
Echoed weakly
Floated like a loose feather
On crisp currents
Of steep concrete canyon walls.
Her song
Pathetic
Pale
Floundered
Skipping like a scratched record
Between a sliver of blue
Of steep concrete canyon walls.
Her words
Pained pleadings
Wailed
Fluttered faintly
Flying like a blind falcon
Through swirling winds
Of steep concrete canyon walls.
The leap
Ill-minded
Ire
Flailing
Falling like lone confetti
Amid silent parades
Of steep concrete canyon walls.
The echo
A haunting
Choir
Lingered lastly
“Doesn’t anybody care?”
Staining red the street
Of steep concrete canyon walls.
I hear her now.
Though
Just an echo.
Her death
Fortissimo
Thundering kettle drums
Accented
With
Crashing cymbals
Vibrating
To silence.
The symphony
Singes
My soul.
In the cavernous
Steep
Concrete canyon walls
I ignored
An echo.
“Doesn’t…
Anybody…
Care?…”
God forgive me.
I hear her now.
Standard
Uncategorized

Below the Haze (Wordle 6)

Leaves of green mourn in black
Cry alone in fire’s rash
Striding fast are foxes red
Tails burning flee their bed
Fire hungry monster glut
Fallen firs choke in soot
Twilight glows ember ash
Wind whispers evil laugh
Against the sky’s smoky craze
Planets pray above the haze
Against the spread of blazing dead
Afraid of cancer’s cinder spread
Standard