Sunday, September 28, 2014

Sad Little Girl

Sad Little Girl  

she sits, small shoulders huddled over her lot
single pink-bled posy held as a talisman
looking for the flames with reedy sticks poked,
swirling the ashes of today
she sits, tiny blades of shoulders jutting wings
as her identity flies back to the joy, the love, the blessed belonging 
before grown-up words of “discernment”and “polarize” 
settled as vampirous bats about her selfless, small being 
sucking the joy from her morning, stifling her laugh
with fear of this fetid new world where He is gone and
she sits 

Sunday, September 21, 2014



"was it the war that made you great?"
the small child asked, searching her
face for expression like a gold miner
searching for the telltale gilt glimmer
It was neither memories nor malice that
kept her face still,  as the past pulled her
tumbling back, as she crossed the old ocean that
returned her once again from the sea of the murdered
to give to this live tousled haired child a small smile as the
little one retraced with soft innocent fingertips faded blue numbers
forever pulsing with the fire of hell and hope across the cloistered chambers of her heart

Friday, September 19, 2014

5 Poems "The Hope" - "Hold on to your pride" "Baby on Hold" "Hold on to those dreams" "Heart Held" inspired by the prompt "Hold"

Irene Marie Dorey

Hold on to “The Hope”

The strains of the anthem play
across ashen faces of old walking
through gates of hell back into life
free footfalls aimed in the direction
of a desert place where milk and
honey and home awaited … now
that the trains had finally stopped
running and the crematoriums stopped
billowing clouds of satanic smoke
They sung with sunken cheeks and
smiles “The Hope” that they had held
soon to be an anthem of a dream
realized born of the ashes of others
written in numbers on their arms


Hold on to your pride

It is more important than my heart
that leaks in clumps of ripped pulse
around the sweet spot where you
used to play and throw your arms
around my neck with a kiss goodnight
I sprinkled the seeds of this pride
sewed them sowed them into your
being – never imagining that they
would grow with such enormous
power to reach in and rip
and yet you hold on to that pride
as I continue to hold on to you


Baby on Hold

you stay lingering
forever cherished
though you never
gulped a single breath
in that cold cold white
room of long ago


Hold on to those dreams

Hold on to those dreams
those visions, schemes
and all manner of such
until the day when they
hold you, embrace you
and in the darkness that
falls lightly tickle you touch


Heart Held

In the hold
of the heart
we live forever
young dancing
barefoot in the

of time

Sunday, September 14, 2014

After it all -sometimes you just have to smile aka -The Joy of Simple Synchronicity

lisa runnels

After it all - sometimes you just have to smile .....
aka ...The Joy of Simple Synchronicity ... *

I enjoy a world
of simple synchronicity 
where puzzle pieces 
fit even without the corners
bordered - here home fresh, 
from surreal sense fashioned
from tests-catapult one into a
fluff of sloughed anxiety - a
virtual world where
words float as one proned 
lies as the center of a series
of pester - slipping into the
skin of smiling sage,  immune
to the childish ouch, munching
on the sustenance of
the certain know - that beyond a
jello meal quivering - beeping 
beyond the crimson bags of
blood dripping empty four times
through three days - beyond this
altered created universe stand a dozen
words waiting with a wink to be gathered
I enjoy a world 
of such simple sensible synchronicity 
as I shut the door on that truly 
virtual world - leaving the forced 
pseudo-life rhythms of hospital behind - 
far, far, behind - until all that remains 
is a dollhouse memory of machines
and smiling-swishing-squishing nurses'
shoes running through a looking glass 
curiouser than any Alice as I tumble
home returned now with a shake, a shrug,  
a sigh of satisfaction back to the whir and whirl 
and wonder of it all 
as puzzle pieces form a
synchronistic smile 

* Note - 
Just returned from a few days and more than a few bags of transfused blood to 
find these Wordle words waiting for me with a seeming celestial winking welcome - 
the poem followed from this happy coincidence :)

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Wild Horses

Wild Horses 

you might have well have
loosed wild horses at your
imperious signal to thrust
bullets of hoof prints over
my heart 
you might have well 
as I stand at the edge of 
feet leaden - locks
of ball and chain 
frozen in a single 
paralytic spot 
wondering at the wind of
vitriol that rose to whirl
in vicious vacuous 
stoned laced stings 
where love once had 
and now cheeks cut, heart
bleeding under the cloven
hooves of your indifference
this heart under which
you once grew from a single
cell seeks to repair itself
alone as you plant your 
unfamiliar flag
on a hill of your own making 
with those of your own chosing 
never looking back 

There were horses

There were horses 

There were horses meandering
in an emerald field far the bullets
there were horses
their velvet muzzles dripping
with sweet dew 
they were there
over the edge far beyond Dismal
meandering, beyond the locks
of spirit, beyond incarceration of
soul soar - 
they were 
right there 
in that newly
sancrosanct spot 
where now 
a single rose
proud and perfumed 
bearing witness 
bearing witness
to that time when
there were horses meandering