Day 5. Persona Poem - Coffee Cafe Guy

31 Poems in 31 days

Coffee Café Guy

He looks over his mug –coffee

steaming as she hitches herself

up on the chair and sits Indian

style – long hair swinging onto

her cheek as she stares at her

lap-top screen and he watches

a flash of lace panties – peek

unconsciously lascivious

as he sips throbbing

vital signs

vital signs

she lies within tight white sheets

her sense of self strewn in strips

of paper connected to her name

printed on a wristband,  broken

sharded-self smashed as crystal

goblets sparkling in the sun - life

recorded in blind-blipping-beeps

silent speech melting into

a poem moving toward  this

uncertain-unclear-unwritten

end

The Sunday Whirl

31 Poems in 31 Days - Day 4. Place - Tiny stones on granite

31 Poems in 31 days

Tiny stones on granite

Atop the ebon granite

sit small stones

fresh picked from

paths through the

fresh mowed grass

small stones as tiny

sentinels stand atop

the incomprehensibility

of your name - your name

in black granite - cut in large block letters

~

dedicated to my father on this Yom Kippur eve 

31 Poems in 31 Days - Day 3. Trending

31 Poems in 31 days

Trending – Exit Stage Left

There is that vague sense of
of unease with trending –
stinking as it does with the
scent of past “trendiness” from
time gone by – She ran across
fields away from trendiness and
now finds them repackaged as
as verb –
part of speech irrelevant
she still wants no part of the mass
embrace
and runs
opposite

~
prompts found at http://www.poewar.com

31 Poems in 31 Days - Day 2. Change of Opinion - A Nice Guy

31 Poems in 31 days

A Nice Guy

He had hair that hung over his

forehead and large hands that

made her feel small and delicate

and then one day drinking coffee

his easy smile vanished and his

crinkled eyes cooled and those

hands smashed the mug into

her lip and into slivers on the tiled

floor and those hands grabbed her

hair and he whispered not words

of love and poetry but

“clean it up” and no matter

what sad stories he had told of

childhood injustice – nice dissolved

in his hot breath on her neck

forever

~
prompts found at http://www.poewar.com

31 Poems in 31 Days - Something Given Away in Childhood - Poem 1. What Sister Did

31 Poems in 31 days

What Sister Did 

They called him 
to her classroom
big sister blaming
kid brother, salving
her embarrassment 
salvaging favor with
her favorite teacher 
who wore chopsticks 
black and red enamel
chopsticks in her hair
So "bohemian" cool -
Who knew?  Not she
that they would call him
to her classroom and 
he, bright eyed dimpled
second grader, hair 
parted neatly as a knife 
cut, or a sister's lie, would
stand and accept her
shame as his, smiling 
in front of all those fifth -
graders and that frowning 
teacher with Chinese forks
forgotten in her hair hissing
something about a dirty comb
he left in Sister's book bag 
They called him to her
classroom by mistake -
his comb was in his pocket,
but his sister stared in silent 
imploration - tears standing
on her lashes - ready to fall - 
he did not tell - repeated as
directed, that he was a "dirty 
little boy" though he wasn't  - 
and before he left smiled at
his sister - sure she would 
explain it all later - cause that's 
what Sister did 


~
comments at site .....31 Poems in 31 days

• http://www.poewar.com/

Sad Little Girl

A_Silhouette_of_Sadness.jpg

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 
still
hoping  

~

The Sunday Whirl

Great-Grandmother

Great-Grandmother

"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

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

talcuum-sand

of time

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 :)

The Sunday Whirl