Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Hiatus? I Think Not...

He said with sad eyes dripping with sincerity
just a little hiatus while we gather our serenity
She knew those eyes lied as they spoke
Read his text messages knew they were beyond 'broke'
One from Sally who said with exclamation points three
"Waiting with held breath for you to return again here to me"
Another from Susie - he seemed to like esses
Or she had missed the A through the R
That's just how very long and how very far
They'd obviously traveled unknown to her, falling apart
And now a suggested "hiatus" and then a supposed fresh start?
No, she she said to his sad eyes dripping disingenuous sincerity
Your things are all packed, you'll have no need to ever return to me

Saturday, October 26, 2013

a pebble in the toe of my shoe

view-image.php by George Hodan  

view-image.php - by Sali Stone

a pebble in the toe of my shoe
though waking my, feet slide bare on my cool satin sheet
Still - flames roar and burn in relentless, immeasurable singing, heat
Here I, sprawl - still, not safe
from the inky bend of your eyes slipping in my soul
as my parchment skin aches back through the ages since you left
this searing pain to erode, to devolve, as crumbled dried clay,
reduced to this -  
a pebble in the toe of my shoe


Thursday, October 24, 2013

October Memoir-And-Backstory-Blog-Challenge - Secret Love

October Memoir-And-Backstory-Blog-Challenge
created and hosted by Jane Ann McLachlan


Secret Love

They sang
From old song sheets-
Yellowed with age
Sacred as parchment
The two of them
They sang
Into each others eyes
of a “Secret Love”
of the faceless frowning “they”
who said “they were too young to love”
And I, that tiny girl in the
liquid starlight of their romance
unknowing by-product,
whirling in their cresting wake as  
they sang
the song of their love-my blood
Oh did they sing

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Not Quite Toothless

Not Quite Toothless 

His amalgam fillings 
gone to crumble
Now gritty as gravel
In the pit of his mouth
Sunken, littered with leaning vacant spaces 

Oh worn picket fence face
of decimation - clinging 
unwilling, though ready, 
to travel to trash 
He speaks of self and sundry far flung-adventures
With echoes of the lion's roar rumbling through 
The young crowd - well-smiled and schooled in nothing 

Watch with vague interest as tentacles fall over the toothlesss man - gasp as somehow he slips through Death eludes Discovery and vaults Disdain to land with an uncertain gummy smile on his feet
In the blurry Balance between eccentricity and individualism 
At them 
And all

Sunday, October 13, 2013

HIgh on Life

High on Life

The running children think him a drunkard
as he sits feet swinging over the edge of the world
Sewing - a silver needle sparkles as he mends his troubles
Binds his free floating worries into flower blossoms
The running children think him a drunkard
Purple circles like grape thumbprints under his sleepy eyes
He does not startle when the sky cracks with sudden thunder
The running children, born into a different age, think him a drunkard
As the smiling Prophet sits in his silver ever-so-slightly- thread-bare robe, rocking ever so gently - his sleepy lullaby peace – eyes drinking in it all  
swinging his well traveled rested-to-velvet-feet
Over the edge of the world
As the others rush about in random rancor – still
Waiting for the smiling Prophet
They play to pass time- slap their cards of life recklessly
As he modestly trumps, again and again in loose-limbed
Complete acceptance
The running children think him a drunkard
Yet, his eyes on the horizon and all between are clear
It is the sweet wine of life he swallows, licking each drop of errant nectar from his lips between frequent sips
His cup brims
The Prophet laughs  soft breezes 
Over seas, shore, plain, bush, white capped mountains
All -  Rippling - Moving - Lush
The Prophet smiles  
High on Life 
The littlest toddling child and the oldest among them 
and wave 

20131012-181115.jpg _ The Sunday Whirl 

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

October Memoir-And-Backstory-Blog-Challenge - He was a beautiful 'man'

October Memoir-And-Backstory-Blog-Challenge
created and hosted by Jane Ann McLachlan


He was a beautiful 'man' 

He was a beautiful man
he bought his own gas
for his own car
that wouldn’t go in reverse
unless you got out and pushed
which he asked me to do
on our first ride
and I did
I should have known
long before that vein
started throbbing in his
temple and his beautiful
long strong fingers
back handed my lip
sending the mug I held - flying
ceramic pieces and black coffee
spattering my new-for-college-skirt
Then he cried for the first time into my lap
on his knees, talking crazy talk
as I patted his back, and calmed him down
Later I cleaned up the mess
Put ice wrapped in a white dish towel
on his knuckles where my teeth had scraped flesh
I should have known
He was a boy and I a girl of seventeen
On Independent Study