We end up regretting the things we don't do.
Saturday, 07 November 2009
-
bullets (21 of 90)
it's in the air above our heads, ghost
images of what shall come to pass
neon signs brutally pointing
toward the inevitable
decline
it's in his crystal, cerulean eyes
blinking slow to the sounds
of our cats tapping
against cold
linoleum
it's in his touch, his smell,
my ribs breaking
in order to release
capsized
feelings
but today, at two a.m
drifting off in pain
it's in his voice, the questions
do you believe some people are born to die?
you have to go on,
he says,
promise me
(i'm dead. i'm dead.)
no matter what.
Friday, 06 November 2009
-
waste (20 of 90)
some of us die slowly:
the last of october's leaves still clinging
to november mornings
with hope
and pain,
and misery
he is like that now, warm in our bed
bowels ripping apart, the fading colors of wine-- God, the blood--
escaping the battlefield of his body
with only morphine to take the edge
away,
take him away.
leaving me with simple wonders, anger, agony,
my heart clawing its way up my throat
tearing every part of me with it
save bitterness
and cold. cold. cold
november days.
some say He works in mysterious ways
but i see the way we fall apart
piece by brittle piece,
with no relief--
and even though He never answers,
i scream out to Him, parting clouds with cracked pleas,
what good can possibly come of this?
Tuesday, 03 November 2009
-
corrosive (19 of 90 second poetry)
october ends with our lush moon
piercing through september's silence
it hangs heavy in my rear view mirror
next to
serengeti trees blanketing
green, grassy ireland hills,
as i drive
alone
cold
straight
through america's
heart
land.
and i wonder how one can ignore the whispers of the colors
of the sky
shedding blood for blood, tooth for tooth, pain for pain
until we shoot
d
o
w
n
our innocent, fat moon
and cover ourselves
with darkness and unresolved reasoning
wondering why the stars fall
when we know it's only to keep us away.
Monday, 02 November 2009
-
repetition (18 of 90 second poetry)
the sun rises east of here,
it watches while his heavy steps fall
on loose floorboards, as he creeps
into her bedroom
and readies
himself
for breakfast.
he has daggers for teeth, and iron fingers
that wrap around her tiny frame,
twist into her
and pull, killing her, slow
and cruel
again and again.
six long years, and still she clings
to the idea of salvation, yet hope
wrings her dry
with the realization
it will continue, over and over and over and over and over and over and over
until fate strikes him dead.
little girls cold in ditches have it better than this...
at least he's done with them.
Friday, 30 October 2009
-
iamshesheisme (17 of 90 second poetry)
she walks in staggering strides, sideways
down the littered boulevard,
smiling with red lipstick smeared
across her face
on these cold days i try to remember
the sixth grade passion we shared, she spilled
so generously from her once soft heart
but memories are biased, sly, and not always sweet
like the taste of September rolling by,
or the phrases
we used to keep as secret sugar to help us sleep
when the bad man came
knocking
to keep ourselves from forgetting
this world is full of big bad wolves
and little girls are simply shells made of meat.
Wednesday, 28 October 2009
-
(16 of 90 second poetry)
fall arrives with its arms up, guns blazing
and when i tread through the muddy gutters
lining dangerous highways
i wish faith came the same way.
because, i see him suffer
and wonder
why God would make a vessel
broken beyond repair
yet still fill it.
Monday, 26 October 2009
-
kelpie (14 of 90 second poetry)
her lifeless body melts through floors
while our lamps hiss
and the rain nails October
to the murky ground
moving as proof
we all become ghosts, dead things
rotting holes in carpets,
trespassing into minds
and breaking open old,
forever salted wounds
when we're meant to let go.
go.
------x------
i saw her die today
(15 of 90 second poetry)
death does not come quickly for most,
but when it does, asphalt spinning beneath
once clear minds,
it captures its victims
and eats their souls alive.
(today's events warrant two of these... )
Sunday, 25 October 2009
-
ebb and flow (13 of 90 second poetry)
on days like today
when the rain hits our metal roof
in precisely the wrong spots, i can see
the ugly, selfish side of him.
maybe realization comes when we stop spinning
on earth's axis, and find
we revolve around entirely separate things
some closer and some farther
than our orange star, the sun.
it wouldn't take much to name it--the disease--
tearing through the vibrations, vocal chords stretching,
his patience withering, bitterness stealing
what true beauty we once had.
love is a generous gift
but when left to the treacherous circumstances
of fate and closed mindedness, of the joining of two worlds
only to tear them apart again,
it becomes a tragic reminder
of how often we must learn to mend.
-
pain's mantra (12 of 90 second poetry)
at ten p.m
my skin slides off my bones, exposing
inner layers of inflammatory hope.
you can count the rings around my limbs,
like the trunks of ancient trees,
they hold the deepest Cimmerian secrets.
at ten ten, when
i pop medication, to ease
the suffering of melting, boiling
down to nothing,
my mind races, tongue wagging--
you can hear all of my wishes
spill from my mouth, mixing with my shell
on our cerulean carpet.
and you will find yourself fearful
of this daily routine, my naked body
folding in on itself.
but at nine a.m,
like a pheonix reborn from flames,
you will see me standing before you
once dying, but clearly,
beneath the ash,
beautiful again.
Saturday, 24 October 2009
-
baku (11 of 90 second poetry)
there are things in the shadows
while we sleep, they move around our beds,
yellow fingernails sinking
past comfort
they float on fear, coating
dreams with their favorite recipes
eating up every inch of our minds,
until we cry out
for what makes us feel the most safe
instead, finding nothing but empty, outstretched hands
while they hover above our terrified little heads.
waiting to devour.
True
PremiumAbout Me
-
Mystery. Learning. We all have our trials and tribulations; it's how we deal with them that helps define the person we are. When it all comes crashing down, it's either laugh or cry... and, personally, I'd rather laugh. Because life goes on...
Pulse
-
there are no words or thoughts left to fill the space where hope once slept. only the last, the last of breaths.
-
i have not felt this down in a long, long time. years, perhaps. and there are reasons. many of them. but only one matters.
-
i fear my time will have been wasted working toward nothing other than another paycheck.
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