Walking in fractured twilight
Is the smoothest time of light and mind–
A wish made–
To braid reality, this curve of light, with sweetest memory
Thus, so entwined
One begins to hope,
Believing in miracles once again
To spite all fractures made of years.
I completed this some months age for a challenge and did not get around to posting it. Now, I can’t remember which challenge or when it was made.
Nestled in the leaves
She awaits me.
Some nymph or maiden fair
I know not which she may be.
Time and touch shall reveal
the truth of her nature to me,
Yet I dream her sleeping,
Dreaming of me.
In the long ago
Youth’s armor
Stripping down fates
In acknowledgements
Of ruined selves
Where someplace we lost
The spare threads
To stitch everything back together
And could never touch another
As we once touched the other,
Letting go dreams
Sprinkled with desires
That only served to choke
The future we swallowed
In gulped decades
While watching dreams
Drift and float like the blown off
Heads of dandelions
Until settling into the
Drudgery of what must be done
In the day to day—
No answers exist when
The only answer is
There be no magic here,
No fairytales, no giants,
No forever’s or an eternity
Yet there be no lies,
No castles built on air,
No innocent beings with wings to rip away
In devilish delight,
No trust found broken
In garbage cans.
And so it goes.
And so it goes,
In essence,
Neither was what
The other really wanted
Resentments the wooden
Puzzle pieces of a child’s game
Tumbled down over us
In crushing weight
Until only the dust
Of us was left
To be swept away.
Its flow
From the tip of my fountain pen—
Not smooth enough–
Fails capturing anything
Within this labyrinth of senses
Now alive
My house is a quiet house,
Always various shades of silent—
Though Etta blows silky smoke throughout the rooms,
Though Nina tells me that I know how she feels,
Though Storm Large with Pink Martini might ask me to come sway with her,
And, at times, Freddy proclaims we are, indeed, champions,
While the evening news drones mundane atrocities of the world each day
And the dogs may bark, trying scare the workers across the street away—
My house is silent through it all, echoing noise in its quiet way,
An orderly, meandering contented existence does it hold.
Like some ancient voodoo priestess,
Fears sits and smiles from her rocking chair.
Tilting her gray head to her work at hand,
Fear embroiders in red thread
The narratives of my old scars.
She stitches in orange and green thread
The flowers of my poorly made cobwebbed choices.
She stitches in black thread
The vanquished vines of all my loss and pain.
She stitches in yellow thread
Her flowers of caution at the edges,
All the while chanting an ancient spell,
Giving her stitched yellow flowers
Magic to steal any power in the air,
Paralyzing– daring the pulse.
Fear stitches away in red thread
On the last cloth of daring I’ve left,
And I, I am paralyzed by the stitching made.
Have I seen Heaven in her eyes? You ask.
Can anyone see heaven in the eyes of another
Is what I must ask.
I have seen love, the soft one,
Take a seat and
Settle comfortably
In the eyes of others.
I have seen hatred, the snake,
Uncoil and dance,
Spitting venom at everything and everyone,
From the eyes of others.
Too often, I have seen death, the thief,
Steal all the treasures from the eyes
Of those I loved,
Leaving them hollow and emptied out.
I have seen other things
In the eyes of others
Along these long years
But heaven—
I don’t really think so.
I may be too old to see such a wonder
Or too young yet to know it
When I see it.
So, to answer,
I would have to say, no.
No, I have not seen
Heaven in her eyes.
I had an argument with all my words today.
For they would not stay
in their delightfully organized spots.
Seems, if you will,
they wanted to jump around and play,
ignoring the sense of my color coded dots.
I must admit I lost my patience, yelling,
“We will never accomplish
anything useful if you play
In this most rambunctious way.”
To this, they in unison whined,
“Why must we be serious all the damn time?”
And to that, I could not provide argument.
Thus, we decided to play
And took a vacation today.
When trying to respond to Eugenia’s prompt this week, this poem, which I posted a couple of years ago kept coming into my head, and no matter how I tried, it would not go away. In this reposting, it is my hope that it serves some purpose. Perhaps, someone will gather something from it.
A rabbit stilled,
Motionless, as if frozen
In the summer grass
Only her nose twitched, flared
The scent of wrongness–
A touch upon the air,
And she knew
Only flight carried safety
Flight, the right choice to make—
If she could only still move.
But she could stand only statue still
And standing so, the trap sprung
Steel teeth clamping down,
Slicing through skin,
Chewing through chunks of muscle
As she struggled,
Daring not to scream
As screams would bring the predators.
This she knew too well.
The trap now biting into bone,
Her struggles stopped.
Her panting calmed.
Her head rested upon the grass.
One eye looked to a cloudless sky.
She prayed for strength to chew
Through bone.
Sing softly to me
Among the verdant trees
Of youthful revelry,
Where memory learns
With fire’s touches,
Lightning to a soul’s dark soil,
Giving life to fire within
As your song soothes
Such a sweet resounding ache.
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