The wind and rain stopped by last night, Had a few minor temper tantrums outside As I stood watching from the door. They slapped the trees limbs around a bit And kicked at bits of loose trash in the street. Nothing more violent than that. No pushing down trees. No pummeling hail. Rather calm for a storm. Yet it killed the heat of summer, Murdering it without a hint of passion And ushering in a cold windy day To begin the fall to winter. At dawn, I stand here, Warming myself With this cup of coffee, Mourning a summer That passed without passion.
Heart and Soul
Tell me a truth of burning flames. Better yet, Chant me all the truth Of a holy rosary. Or would you whisper a truth Of a head on a silver platter. Perhaps, you’d like to Express the truth Of a dance through the city. Or act out the truth In the washing of your hands. Could you do all that, Plus destroy a temple or two, And it be the truth Of your heart? I know you say it would But no bushes burn, No seas part, No lepers heal, No dead rise When you know nothing Of your own heart and soul.
Modern Prometheus becomes The Little Stranger
Originally posted on Braveandrecklessblog.com
So now we know, You told me I wasn’t, But I was— Your creation. Said you loved me Just the way I was— But was it true? Yes, I was perfect Just the way I was— You said, But you didn’t care for: My curly hair, My dresses, My high heels, My red lipstick. So, I became a cut out, Of the rest of my parts With the parts you inserted, A sewn together woman. Then electrified and brought back To life by a love you claimed Was for the true me. Now the parts you inserted Die away, shriveling at the lack Of your electricity. I stumble, A stiff-legged walk to your door, Shuck this graying shit and warm myself By the fire I create to burn These rigor mortised parts. Thus, I become something more akin To myself once again— That little stranger With curly hair, Wearing dresses, High heels, And signature whore red— I become My little one.
Red Heart Cedar
This red heart cedar stump,
With its dark crevasses
And holes where bugs had homes,
Was sanded smooth.
A urethane finish added for shine
And protection.
The rings are visible still,
Rings that count the years
Until the tree fell in a storm,
Twisted from the earth
By tornadic winds.
Thus, I found it
In the yard.
Took the chain saw to the tree,
Cut it into chunks,
Along with the others that fell
That day while the dog and I
Sought shelter from the storm.
Now I sand and chisel away.
Routing out some hearts concave,
Bowls to be used for filling
At some future date,
Now standing empty.
Sanding some hearts level,
Tables to be used for holding things,
Yet these are empty too.
All this red heart cedar,
Once stood filled with life,
Now stands empty.
Monkey See Not
Truths we’d rather not see
Raked into the compost,
buried deep–
Used to feed vines,
growing twisted,
roping round,
A soul stilled
in one place.
Featured Post: If You Could Be Mine – M.A. Morris
Friends surprise with a birthday dinner.
Then out to the bar for a few drinks.
They laugh and wink
When a tiny little thing
With long, dark shining hair
That looks so velvety soft
That to touch it would be
To fall up into a rural night sky
Of inky black laced
With the light of
A thousand stars,
Smiles at me,
And with the encouragement of her friends,
Asks me for a dance.
But she is young,
Much too young for me.
But I like the way she moves as if just for me.
I think I could do this just like I used to in my youth.
Something stirs within as if of old muscle memory
Of how to divorce the physical from the spiritual.
Yes, just like in my youth.
I could take her home,
Whisper things like,
“If you could be mine….”
And really go to…
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Featured Post: The Truth That Never Hurts – M.A. Morris
Is there a truth that never hurts?
The truth of a garden?
Of the Texas sky?
Of a home?
Or an empty house?
Is there a truth that never hurts?
The truth of a love?
Of the human heart?
Of a parent?
Of a child?
Of a dog?
Or even God?
When did the truth
Contained in each
Contain no pain?
No hurt?
Not a scrap?
Not a speck?
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
13 Years
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.
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…
View original post 5 more words
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.
Hearing The Mermaids Sing 