The requiem played So softly in the background. Our words stuttered to a halt, And we listened to this-- The breath between words Not said in the silence Between us. All the while the strains of the requiem Filled the ever widening space Between the words of lies and truths In the deafening silence. To relieve the pressure in our ears We talked of all the daily banalities Of work, of dinner, of lunches, Of the silly things the dogs have done That made us laugh. We talked over each other Stumbling in a strange vocal dance Until finally tripping into silence Before a final goodbye is said With your lies and my truth unclaimed. But the requiem played still-- And then silence.
Month: September 2019
Featured Post: Ash – M.A. Morris
Gather and pile
the wood neatly.
Stuff the paper
Torn from notebooks.
Pile the ribbon tied cards
High and wide.
Take a torch,
Or a lighter,
Or a match,
And light this pyre.
Let it warm the night.
Stand near enough
To let its heat
Make the body sweat
Away what remains
Of promises made
Promises kept
Promises broken
Promises turned lies.
Let the dead words
Burn in the flames
Of the pyre
Curling and turning black
Within the orange and yellow.
Mourn the death
Of words diseased
By lack of meaning
If you must.
And when it is done,
Cover your head
With their ashes.
Then let the rains
Wash you clean.
I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement. I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.
You can read more of my writing…
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Shadows
In the shadows of the mountains
Where beasts have fled,
Leaving behind cloven hoof prints
In the inky muck of the forest floor
Beside the pristine waters of a rushing stream
Near the fading timberline here,
The scent of decaying pine bark and musk
On a faint icy breeze
Weaves all into the forest primordial.
Nothing human can be found
In a fear filled chest.
A Dream of the Wolf
A whipped dog, Head down, Eyes, lowered, Ears back, Haunches drawn Dreams the wolf-- Sharp weapons of tooth and claw, Armor of hide and fur, Heart of a free, wild warrior. A dream of the lone wolf, Who may find comfort Here or there For a season. Then moves onward alone Before what will come As the whipped dog knows, Always, always does.
Featured Post: Curious Wine – M.A. Morris
Originally published on Braveandreckless.com
I drink this curious wine
Amidst this dying battle
In the early morning hours
When sleep is a dream
Chased no longer.
A bruised oppressive rawness
Settles over all.
No joy to find
Amidst such wreckage.
I am siege wearied
By a bombardment of words.
Thus, I lay down the sword,
Offer up my neck to you.
And though I should win
The gold and gems,
It is bitter truth to swallow
In this curious wine
You’ve given me to drink.
I begin a day with no respite.
Stones piled
One upon the other,
Weighing on the chest.
I feel the crunch now of bones
Pressed by the tonnage.
Death by stones of grief.
I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement. I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.
You can read more of my…
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Featured Post: The Color Purple – M.A. Morris
Originally published on Braveandrclessblog.com
I dug and planted,
Watered and tended,
Replanted and pruned.
I planted what should be.
I checked the labels
At the nursery.
Yet,
Nothing here blooms
That is the color purple.
I have other colors in abundance,
But not the lilacs or the lavender
Will bloom that shade of purple sky
Seen in the sunrise.
Nothing I do
Can make that
Mythic color true.
I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement. I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.
You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing
Featured Post: Orlando – M.A. Morris
Originally published on Braveandrecklessblog.com
All is melded together in a tide of fluidity
In the giving and receiving.
Effortless is the trading off of places
And ways of touch.
From the warmth within skin to skin,
There is no question.
Lacking need for definitive definitions,
The passion found in the changing of tides
Is such a joy filled revelation.
In roles not static.
The fluidity found
Wields ecstasy profound.
Image Courtesy of Pinterest
I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement. I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.
You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing
Featured Post: The Gravity Between Us – M.A. Morris
originally published on braveandrecklessblog.com
In my final days,
I will soar into the sun
And wait for you.
Or should it be
Find you there
Waiting for me.
Then we will fly beyond,
Mingling and joining
With the elements
Of air
Of earth
Of water
Of fire,
Merging and separating,
And merging again.
For an eternity,
Playing in the gravity
Between us.
Then should we
Fall to earth once again,
No matter where,
No matter the time,
We will find
Each other
Again.
I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement. I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.
You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing
Featured Post: Stone Butch Blues – M.A. Morris
Originally published on braveandwrecklessblog.com
(paying for your butch ego)
The fragility of the butch ego
To which we are slave,
Must be soothed by us,
Whispered to and petted,
In private,
As well as public,
So they can strut,
Cock of the walk.
Should their ego be slightly scratched,
A minor scratch that should be paid for by
Lips and tongue and sweet words,
Yet such currency is deemed unacceptable, rejected.
And so we must pay the price.
Have our own selves bound and lashed
By that stone butch cruelty,
Containing not a thing we crave.
Our every flaw memorized, learned by rote,
Recited daily,
As if a lamentation and a prayer
Were needed
To remind us of the
Imperfections of hip and thigh,
Of eye, nose, lips, and face,
Of breast and belly.
And before long, even of mind and soul.
Soon we become,
Not enough.
Our totality,
Added up
And blessed
Within…
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Broken Bits
Pain, A squeezing down Into nothingness, Into blackness, Into broken bits In the chest. Pain, A soreness remains after The squeezing fist Grinds down These shards of glass, The broken bits, This blackness Into nothingness That began long ago. A damage Left of childhood Whimpers. Pain, The squeezing down Of a nightmare And The leaking valve Of this hole In my chest.
Hearing The Mermaids Sing 