there yet
it is murky though I rub at my eyes it doesn’t help because I am submerged in fact which way is even up did I dive down here myself why is it so hard to move where am I why am I what happened I knew but I didn’t know there there it is sludgy muck but enough to touch my toes a quick squelch a bit of pressure almost effortless because there is no there there am I moving again the murk remains but yes it’s dissipating granules sifting away shapes take shape shadows ahead that loom like either whales or unknown beasts of the deep
Traveller
When I Left you alone You grew large, expanding Until you seeped through all my heart’s Chambers. When I Indulged the fantasy, dreaming Of leaving, you cajoled With verses from Afar. – – – This is my attempt at a mirror cinquain for yeah write’s March poetry slam. Join us next week with your own cinquain!
Similarities
As she stares out the window, enraptured by chirping teases, Her tail swishing against the sill with absent brushing flicks, So I gaze at the yellowing images; Places I have been and Places I long to be, A dream deferred Too long.
Sherlock Mom
Only a white lie. Colored in, embellished. Harmless, really. She doesn’t need to know the extent of it. She asks questions with a poker face. She’s a pro. Her expressionless look signals I change my teenaged tactics, quickly. She always finds out.
Sitting on the Curb
The possibilities stretch out before me in infinite patterns I count and rearrange them, twiddling Until they vanish, one by one Some wink out instantly Some slowly fade As I sit on the curb And wonder which to put in my pocket. Photo Courtesy of Maria Carrasco Rodriguez
Las Vegas, City with No Poetry
Las Vegas is a city with no poetry. When people suggest going there, I groan inside, usually followed by a lengthy protest. “Eh…I don’t know…,” I hem and haw, not wanting to hurt the person’s feelings but still wanting to make my dislike abundantly clear. When people ask me what I think of it, the first word that comes to mind is “fake.” The second is “flyers for hookers” (I know, more than one word). The third is “bad decisions,” “liquor,” and “staying up past my bedtime,” all in one fell swoop. The fourth is “I hate the desert.” Then there are the casinos brimming with smoke, gambling and drinking.…
A Box of Photos
There was a loud crash in the hallway After pulling out the Parcheesi And other dusty boxes that House fragments of faded memories Falling to the floor The photos Spill from the carton Fluttering To rest on the floor – – – We come from the land of hibiscus And plastic happiness Like so many Verdant kisses, it whispers a Foggy dream of the eternal Whatever you fancy If only Dreams were guarantees you could Redeem like coupons Exchanging Them one by one like so many Printed promises Yet we wither Under a foreign sun Languishing Against a backdrop of broken Dreams – – – This one particular snags my…
Nightmare
He only did one thing well, creeping in When the moon rose plump as a melon, ripe With terrors shrieking in riotous din, Visions provoking tears which none may wipe. Tinkering about while she dreams, he oh So slightly tweaks the tone of thoughtless sight `Til sharpened forms so menacingly grow Strangely ominous, threat’ns with silent might. After the horrid show plays through, and she Near’ wakens from screams, he tucks them away, Instruments which played th’ ghastly melody But must never be seen by light of day. Altering dreamscape proves perilous, yet Crossing to madness a riskier bet. – – –
Saving the World, One Poem at a Time
I just wrote a post that left me in tears. How could I publish something so ranty, so raw and so potentially argument provoking? I hit save, closed my laptop, and walked away to have my cry out. Here I am again. I’m very upset over not just the government shutdown and the lives in turmoil because of it, but over the reactions of people I know. I have never seen such vitriol, such a lack of compassion. It gets to me. But after a good cry and a good think, I decided that the world doesn’t need another rant from someone who has been hurt by what’s going on…
Deep are the Memories: A Poem
She sank into the depths of her memories Which cushioned her as she plucked them one by one From the cavernous heart that remembered how It felt to twirl in the surf and awaken At dawn to see the sun rise over the water Where flickering candles illuminated The pearls of his teeth and threadbare jacket As she leaned over and inhaled the spicy scent Of first dates and eternity to follow as She sank into the depths of her memories They stung like stepping on tentacles of Jellyfish whipping around a stray ankle Each time she recalled the vicious slap On her lover’s cheek before he left home And venomous words spewed forth…
