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Monday, March 24, 2014

thorns




sometimes judgment obscures -
significant truths
plunge into battles of woes

thorny bushes scrape
foolish pride
who is right, wrong
mere projections
that hurt aimlessly
like hitting the bullseye
blindfolded
wreckage of pride senseless

all I acquire
are bragging rights
for precision

ultimately, the war is lost
though the skirmish won
alienation the price paid
for defensive darts flung
in efforts to be understood -
why do my words plummet
like an anchored ship?

barbed wire hands
cling to shredded hearts
mountains of baggage slip
expose valleys of vulnerability -
pick, pick, pick

sinkhole of thoughts swirl
questions, answers intertwine
pull me underneath
where I breathe mulch

alone again
I shake my weary head
submerged in confusion
I ask -
was it worth it?
was it worth it?

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

now and then

This was written for a competition where we were required to write vignettes in response to a current popular song based on a sonnet written. The song selected was "Born To Die" by Lana Del Ray



i.

through opaque crystal
I sift through dreams, what was
what now is

what seemed forever a mix
of dreams embraced,
free of inhibition
rests a life forgotten
put on hold,
bound with yesteryear’s spirit
that hummed sweet nectar
when hopes were at once eternal

now expunged

ii.

I trek down many paths
particularly ones emblazoned
with your curse

I tried to reform
taste the feral journey,
though it screams so
in all appearances

boys like me don’t hatch
from the typical nest-egg

we trade souls
hiss secrets to be liked, craved
so that in the night air’s bustle,
you desire more

only the high of you
gets me off
satiates heroin hearts
does not hesitate
to transform and become
what you spell out
in amour’s curse

I sing hoarsely
“it’s not the end,
but I perish in Autumn’s amber”

iii.

the outcome is always the same

I always dreamed it would be me
that Heaven would embrace those
that fought through trenches
living out the now in future’s folly

but you can never return
to an innocent past
where hard work, determination
paid dues for those who rasterized
internal worlds now guilty
in slackened acceptance

your body listless
at the foot of the bed
a slash of crimson
where there ought to be a bow

Monday, December 9, 2013

I Loved You Then As I Do Now



* This piece was created for a contest. Most people know I do not write rhyme, unless it is eternal, because I suck at it, but somehow in this challenge, I was given specific meter requirements, and was told how the syllables should sound in the sonnet itself, and something clicked. I am getting a warm reception writing out of my comfort zone, so I was just excited to share!

** Rhyme scheme: abbaabba cdcdcd (iambic pentameter)

I Loved You Then As I Do Now

Though life’s travails can break a turtle dove
Kaleidoscopes deny the trickster’s verse
We stay together through the journey's curse,
And rise to hold each other’s heart in love
We recognize the lessons taught above
Connection sealed in passion’s wealthy purse
Concealed embraces we reserve, rehearse
Like hands that snugly fit in leather gloves

Our Heaven dwells on Earth not in the sky
The miracle of blooming buds in May
And pleasures shared when hopes learn how to fly
Sweet tenderness defies the need to stray
You changed my tears of pain from wet to dry
Illumination clears our paths each day

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Citrus






* This poem was written for a contest. The requirement was to use color in 75 words or less. I loved this challenge, because color is a device I use in general for my poetry. In fact, I had to cut back on the use of color, not because I needed to so much as to try other poetic devices. In other words, I have been trying to grow, so I hope you all appreciate my efforts.


Citrus

My mind dwells in yellow;
blues dissolved green
until what lingered
was a sour lemon
stuck in butter.

Abandonment isn’t as awful
as the remains
of a tepid relationship
picked over by crows,
bones buried
in fermented compost.

Words spit nails into hands,
pressed against stucco walls
knives thrown at cranberry heart
missing by inches
but you wear plum battle scars.

Yet, I miss the idea of you -
only the thought.


Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Unpretty

* This is a piece of fiction written first person through the eyes of a child. This is a collected amalgamation of experiences I have heard over the years, and it is not meant to reflect any aspect or piece of my life. I have no Aunt Desiree, nor do I know the James in this poem.

Prompt for contest: Quote: The demons that dwell within. ~ Gerald W. Locke, Jr. 
 
~ Take this prompt where you may. There can and will be many various interpretations of this quote. No more than twenty lines and no more than six words per line.



Unpretty


Masticated sobs cut the sky
sight of mailman’s letter.
Aunt Desiree faints
before grey envelope is opened
divulges grave knowledge.

He’s dead! It's my fault!
Mama shrieks, sisters bracing her fall -
James officially confirmed dead.

Before Darfur, Palestine,
Desert Storm, Afghanistan, Korea,
where Father escaped cognizant,
lives eternally shattered
like herbs ground by marble pestles.
Families faced military papers
casualties of war’s glitter.
Some only culled white noise.

People pontificate personal tribulations.
Vietnam was commensurate:
global colossal waste, scars imbedded
in defiled gunshot wounds.

Sunday, August 25, 2013

when spring arrives




when spring arrives


i. primrose

salmon rosettes bloom
Spring’s first breath
Winter defeated

you tickles spots within
warms chills
first kiss from pink lips
makes knees wobble

sweet aroma remains
silk scarf left behind
stuffed in pillowcase

I dream of you


ii. daisy

love me or not
plucked until
one leaflet remains

you are the one

nerves overwhelm
I ask if you will journey
into uncharted paths

yellow centers with white asterales
descend from Heaven
when you say

yes


iii. snapdragons

we cultivate gardens
till soil
plant trees, blossoms
your favorite
pink clusters with angry faces

the following April
cough persists
blood drains from mouth

doctor’s diagnosis
bequeaths news
words dreaded most

how long? I inquire

doom fills bloated silence


iv. tulip

waxen stance
as coffin passes
tears suppressed
eyes sore
disconsolate grief
dazed disbelief

faded crimson petals
tinges with yellow fold
on once vibrant chest
perfect yet fragile

cursed by nature’s storms


v. hydrangea

we play peek-a-boo
smiles glow iridescent
still on all-fours

one day you will inquire
where she disappeared
you possess her eyes
pale baby blues
bushy florets of hair
tied in satin ribbons

bitter truth lodges in pharynx

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Teeter Totter



* I originally wrote this poem back in November 2012 from a prompt my friend Karen gave to me, and it now seems appropriate to post.


Teeter Totter

The sea engulfs, waves that roar
                their voices heard
                                from where I perch
                afraid to inch forward, this tightrope
                                a slick balancing act
                                between the past
                                               and present,
                as jealous sky spins on my right.

I feel the trickle of tears
                beads of sweat
                                that trigger paralysis;
                                I must move forward,
                confront hostile realities
                                              honestly,
                accept their approval or criticism
                without hindrance of my progress.

Life sways in the balance;           
                I press on despite
                                this notion of teetering
                                            on the edge
                                of life, death, flying, falling,
                                decisions that affect
                my ultimate success, derision.
                Whoever declared existence
                                           would be paved
                                with pearly rose-beds
                forgot to announce the thorny truths.
                The true reality? We create paths
                                to follow or not without wisdom
                                of how fate will play her last ace.

I slip, catch the rope,
                hang on by a hair
                                scream for some kind soul
                                to bail me out of bitter lies,
                                contradictory facts,
                                                to pave the way
                                so I may see in obscured light
-                               climb mountains not foraged,
               as wails reverberate into an abyss.

I pull myself up by tethered bootstraps,
                                while anger turns to hurt
                                               then to resentment,
                                but fury awakens courage instilled
                                               in crevices of tissue
                                hidden from consciousness,
                                as I grasp the platform
                on the other side panting for air.

What I gleaned is this:
                memories hold us hostage, encircle faith
                                like a vulture that feeds
                                on cadaverous cattle.
                They obliterate futures of hope and faith
                terrified we can achieve the spectacular
                                            while the present
                                stuns us into submission.

Time for an oil change, lubricate ideas,
                                tighten loose screws,
               exfoliate crisp falsehoods       
                                embrace a new way of existence,
                                          and relish in satisfaction.

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

No More Sun



Poetry spills from painted hands
tumbles, rolls to storm drains
where they lay
amidst cluttered leaves,
fermented mulch.

Why do words of jubilation
wither from consciousness?
The internal world marinates
in soft tissue, blood;
even the sun can cry,
shed noxious tears
like sheared wool from a ram.

My phrases drip in melancholy
liquidate into greens and yellows,
joy squelched by anxiety, fear
places familiar, comfortable
like swaddled in a lined mink coat.

On the surface
smiles light in cerulean seas
filled with optimism, potential;
underneath, the earth quakes,
fissures appear in tectonic plates
foundation clamors,
sucks in the land, atmosphere
dwells in doldrums.

Yes, I feel beatitude,
but what I know is change occurs
in a wispy blink
as the past incubates demons
who plan to haunt my currency.
It is Fool’s Paradise,
but I stick with what is understood.

Saturday, August 3, 2013

Dreams of Pericles

 
 
 
Yesterday retreated into night
bringing a new morn
with possibilities abound -
but where to begin?

I stayed home the previous,
opportunities for interaction deserted
for a day to myself,
hidden under comforter
three pillows,

modus operandi
for sufficient rest:
lazy day where no metaphor
alliteration, onomatopoeia
struggled for expression
though countless efforts
spilled onto parchment
the ink still wet with abandonment..

I wonder why the muse

did not spark her grace
failing to inspire ambition to produce
even witty haiku of some sort.
She is so fickle, so full of mischief

like an imp who pinches
your toes unseen..

As I write this, I am aware
of drab imperfections -
filler words, certain tightening of phrase
here, there, everywhere -
but this is today’s condition
and to scribe anything,

something  magnificent,
is painful, fatigue mixed with anxiety
another chance to unveil

Aphrodite's robe -
as I drown in yellows and blues
settle for celadons.

It is what it is,
time for me to take a nap
dream of Pericles
see if he will build the Acropolis,
possibly bequeath me
some of his golden treasures.

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

If Not For You



* Originally written March, 2013, I thought I would post this and see what you all think. The style and tone are different for me. 

If Not For You

If not for you, who would complete me?
        When winter blows glacial winds
        you warm me with your smile
        your arms a shelter against storms
                that graze my delicate soul.

If not for you, how would I cope?
        Lend me your strength to combat
        apparitions that visit me at night
               when darkness shrouds reality;
               Pull me to the light, extend
        your hands so that your caress
               soothes a pliable heart..

If not for you, where would I be?
        I cannot fathom a forest with trees
                that block citrus sunlight,
                that chafes my face,
                deters me  from victory;
        I would wither in shadows, cower
        underneath the heather that supplies
        pillows for this weary head.

Thanks my love for your tenderness
        for the acceptance that comforts me
                in vulnerable glass houses
                susceptible to pebbles concealed
        in lace ups that pinch my toes
        when I walk towards luminosity.

If not for you, I would sleep
        a thousand days, never to return
        to this realm, under turquoise skies.