A Love Lostburningthendoused with sorrowflames like fingerslicking at our heelsstraining, strugglingsputteringembers glow, fadesmokea last breath extinguished
A Love Anewslow rising heathigher, higherreaching up and outa crescendo, sparksflying, ignitingtenderly searing flames engulf
for unseeing eyesladen with skywe stumbledand painted mockingbirdson loveless branchesfolding in our slender limbsand ducking under our ownvoices, fidgety and frailagainst the wall of night.between the dipping bladesand drawn shoulderswe learned to craft our wordssteady-soft,a drumming rainthat carved canyonsin open hearts anddrew the sunshine toour supping lips.keen-eyed, we watchedremembering the weightof unseeing eyesand scalding remarksand we learned to slipthe noose-knots and slidethrough the soul-cracksand somehowbuild kingdoms underupturned noses.with lyrical uncertaintyand tender determinationwe built a pyre of peacein the shadowsof dissonanceand watched it blazethe truth across ourpliant hearts.as solemnas new leaves still curledand stretching handsunfurled in suppliancewe lifted our headsin broken laughter,for this light is our burden,and even a whispercan shatter silenceand bring the blindto sight.
You Can Say That Again*Flash fiction Island styleIJesus saves! I cast you out in the name of Jesus! So screams the preacher man slamming his palm against foreheads to drive out demons. Not more than a few feet away from the pulpit, an eighteen year-old member of his congregation claps her hands and shouts hallelujah! Jesus' name is again invoked a few days later as they lay sweating and groaning in the back seat of a rented car.-See me and come live with me is two different tingIIThe girl is pretty in an unrefined way, brash and loud and totally unselfconscious.Baby powder coats her neck, chest and back, visible in her low cut top. Her rival, five years her senior, cuts her eye in contempt. 'Country booboo,' she thinks. 'She look like fish ready to fry. Plus she skin ashy and she look like she doan know how to use hot-comb.' Despite her belief in her superiority, her man doesn't come back.-Puss and dog no have d
Decree AbsoluteWe married.Exchanged rings.Fools' gold.
.adrift..the oceanhehailsyou.the skyinhalesyou© naikki.deviantart.com - 2013
Boulevard of Lost HopeNothing in these pocketsBut a five dollar billFour dimesAnd a pint of whiskeyIn a crumpled upPaper sackWife beater onCarpenter style DickiesAnd a ball capTurned backSitting on a road side benchWatching cars on the fast trackDoing eighty fiveTo anywhereBut hereThe boulevard of lost hopePaved in broken glassAnd ill reputeI grew upNot far from hereI came to celebrate life changersAnd wake up callsSold my dreamsFor freedomNowEven in the worst of placesThe world seems brighterTo me
AcheA chink of gold held her tooth together. If she applied pressure she felt the sharp blades dig into her tender gums. If she probed it with her tongue, curious or absent minded it elicited the same bark of pain but she continued to do it nonetheless, convinced that the right amount of pressure could stop the pain.The tooth fell out.
SenselessI've lost the power of speech,become the dumbest of beasts.I've been robbed of my senses,stripped of all my defences.Your exercise of bewitching touchleaves me incapable even of remembering my name.Your witchcraft has undone so much,still you refuse to shoulder the blame.There's so much for me to learn anew,can I hope to learn it all from you?
Bitlets 229The man in the mirror was framed and hung.
The Day You Drowned- to Oswaldo, my first friendI could hear the ocean that morning, somethirty miles from the coast, in that waythe waves always break down without anyonearound to see the waves break downand it made no sense that I would waketo the sound of the waves breaking down thatmorning, but there I was, awake, oceanin my ears, and alone. I learned what happenedmuch later, bike tire treading water at ourpark, a sign hung in the rain. You werealone, skirting, dancing with the shorethe way you always would, the way you always diduntil then, when the ocean danced with youand led you onward, your favorite music withyour favorite partner leading you on, foamstepping forward, you stepping back. Whenthe false step happened, the ocean cradled youbecause you were its favorite partnerand it never wanted to lose you, to be leftalone. You, being gracious, went along.The ocean was in my ears this morning. I hopeyou're still dancing in the ocean's arms.
Hearing Half of a Conversation Forgive me for helping you understand you’re not made of words alone. —Roque Dalton; Clandestine PoemsI first learned how to build a house of playing cards in an adolescent psychiatric unit in suburban Chicago. A roommate taught me a trick, a mindset really, to have while placing the cards themselves— that a house of cards is always stacked against itself to stand. My trial-and-error attempts led to a lengthy row of playing cards
*Jitters*Jitters in air tonightFear surrounds, like a blightCannot see, mist came downLaughter echoes, ghostly sound.Following footsteps just aheadMuted light from street lamp shedFear grips tight, walk aloneChattering teeth, soon be home.Firelight's glow, it will greetComfortable couch take a seatWelcomed by my faithful houndWagging tail, thumping sound.Safe from elements fear all goneListening to favourite songCurtains closed against mistDoorbell rings, I do resist.2013 Delice19417th March2013
I Need to Clean My RoomMy mother tells me to clean up my room.She says it's a jungle in there.Well, that might sound a little harsh,Except for that one private marsh,And that tiger perched on my chair.My father tells me to clean up my room.He claims it looks like a pigpen.Well, that's a rather painful dig.He should know, I don't own a pigOnly a couple of chickens.My sister tells me to clean up my room.She thinks a tornado's just struck.I'd get mad at her for her gall,If the mess wasn't stacked so tallIt can cover up my tank truck.My brother tells me to clean up my room.He swears he doesn't know the place.I would jab him between the eyes,If I didn't look and realizeI'm lucky to have elbow space.My dog tells me I need to clean my room,Much as you may not believe it.He hid his bone there yesterday,But when he came for it today,He never could quite retrieve it.
FrustrationA growling of the soul,A warning to the weary,The final straw in precarious balance,Frustration abounds.
September Whispers InAutumn's blowing in;it cuts through the warm-butter sunwith winter on its breath.Were my mind a siren,it'd be screaming,warning me of colder days to come.
InsomniaTell me the name is for a goddess,capricious and deadly, who mocks the afflicted in their dreams.I might endure more graciouslyif only this were a dream. It isshe who tosses fireballs of lightpulsating, flashing brightand going dim in the blacknessbehind these herniated eyes,to devour while I hear the sustainedpitch of a sonic scream throughthe static frequency of night air--the peel and cry of her harpiessmelling of singed hair and brains--the fever and sound rips through veinscauterizing shut the window for sleep,leaving the frantic staccatoof a heart in flight, as I whisperGoddess, why spare me the night.