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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

Sandpipers and Terns

* This was written for a competition. It was a word bank where we had to create a poem using the ten words supplied in the prompt given. This is what I wrote in response. The highlighted words were the words required to write the poem.

Purple sandpipers and White-winged terns
litter beaches where their portraits
cast shadows upon ocean shores
in August before they leave
to migrate, wipe coastlines clean
innate lessons that drive instinct.

I always had envy for their ability to fly
to fantastic lands when in truth,
their journeys are often sour, perilous
to weather nature’s truth
that these creatures may never reach
their final destination intact.

But it was their gift to fly, push up
from the ground and soar to new heights
surveying all that I see:
the elements of rain in dying seas,
changes of clouds that cast
misty dyes into the atmosphere
or feel free from constraints
that entraps us, life’s consequences.

Kismet

 

Love buried, an artifact
 -  so I thought
but hearts cannot lie.

You stand opposite
promise to stay present
never abuse faith.

I slip into infatuation
pinch flesh to awaken spirit
rapt in pinks, lavenders.

What’s erstwhile, now unsullied;
hope replaces cynicism
with reality’s pull.

Fresh daisies bloom.

Bottled Up

 
* Based on a Billy Collins poem at the bottom of the page!

Bottled Up

If I could capture
twilight in mason jars,
wear you around my neck
in a silver locket -
I would, you know.

But yearning and anxiety,
butterflies encapsulated
in a beach ball,
run recklessly awry
and the thirst
I seek for completion
is magnified tenfold.

You desire chemistry
value the rhythm
while I prefer kisses
filled with empty promises.
You bequeath me roses
with thorny outcomes.

You pull me close,
chase away the tapes
that run rampant in a blistered mind.
I just feel hollow
in the knowledge
that you won’t change
and I won’t reveal feelings aborted
because it is lies I covet,
            while you shun truth.

Author notes

In response to Billy Collins:

Just as in the horror movies

when someone discovers that the phone calls

are coming from inside the house

 

so, too, I realized

that our tender overlapping

has been taking place only inside me.

 

All that sweetness, the love and desire--

it's just been me dialing myself

then following the ringing to another room

 

to find no one on the line,

well, sometimes a little breathing

but more often than not, nothing.

 

To think that all this time--

which would include the boat rides,

the airport embraces, and all the drinks--

 

it's been only me and the two telephones,

the one on the wall in the kitchen 

and the extension in the darkened guestroom upstairs.

Ripper

 

i.

Acuity extends to azure vessels
where wilted lilies aschew
prodigious perfume
on your savory breath.

I inhabit your touch.

ii.

The scandalous shrieks stupify
an anxious jury of patricians,
who scrutinize while churlish imputations
abscond like barren blackbirds
courting kernels of corn.

My life flashes cold, white noise.

iii.

I amble through nocturnal currents
eclipsed by the hanging moon.
You hover beneath as I penetrate Atlantis
craving to be apprehended in your ambush
beckoning me to assay the curve of your nape.

Envelop me with sugar espousals you will abase;
I will not abdicate.

iv.

She slumbers in tainted bile, disembodied,
her hand still clutching
the key to her piazza
knees chafed, neck severed:
butcher spurious.

I rouse from charcoal sleep
cowering in the brumal air,
sobs betraying my foresaken heart.

v.

Orange, like the mystic orb
that emanates tenacious heat,
scours your satin skin,
as I embrace you through iron bars -
the choice was not mine -
your whispers heavy,
as I dance the devil's tango
with fickle fate.

I asphyxiate, my chest convulsing,
shame flooding pearly cheeks,
my nails digging deep,deeper, slicing flesh
drawing droplets of blood.

I recoil as you beckon -
remember, I was ordained;
it was a crime of convenience.

I tumble into your curved eyelash,
the punch crushing your luscious lips:
shattering translucent cheekbones,
but all I see is crimson.

vi.

The nightmare taunts
as I arise, the belt from my robe
lacerating my knees
through opaque windows.

I peer with swollen eyes,
perform a swan dive,
clashing with cement pavement,
dissembling languid limbs.
and blistered bones,
the ground painted gossamer
on a blank canvas waiting
for another brush stroke
to color me blue.

A Little Bit of This, A Little Bit of That

* Don't worry folks. I am not perennially tortured. But I do have a tendency to see the serious sides of things in my writings. In real life, I am kind of a goofball dork! LOL

A Little Bit of This, A Little Bit of That

I teeter totter like a child
as he learns first steps
deliberate, off kilter
Humpty Dumpty toppled
from Jericho’s Wall
shell broken into shards
glued back together

There are fissures in my exterior
slight imperfections
sometimes masked
other times flagrant
like a sunburn on alabaster skin

My mood reflects battles
of complexities
remnants spilled onto
starched white shirts,
or effervescence sprayed
on to blank canvas
watercolors that paint mosaics
run together like melted crayons
that color outside the lines

I am a jigsaw
with stolen pieces
a Scrabble game with vowels
indecipherable
synapses that connect
invisible dots
only I decipher

My mind shuts down
like a locomotive without steam
sensitive, tortured;
I sleep with vampires
feed off negative ions
that combust
temporarily my life force
until the reset button
is pressed and I am reborn

But I am kind, perceptive
unable to accept compliments
even when warranted -
my face flushes pink
like a broiled shrimp;
I am brilliant
even if I cannot recite
Einstein’s Theory of Relativity

I am ever-changing
like Autumn leaves
that burn red, plum,
a work in progress
emotions displayed
on stained glass windows
in crystal prisms
splayed against white walls
finding the shadows

Purging

* This was an exercise where it was required to use the following phrase as my opening line which I doctored a bit: "My emotions pulled and tore strips from my heart, I placed them down on the hot summer sidewalk of my life and left them to burn."

Purging

My emotions pulled
tore strips from maligned heart;
I placed them on hot summer sidewalks
of life, left them to burn.

I am an onion peeked
a naked soldier on boiled battlefields
where searing scars form
over coagulated flesh.

I withdraw, taste bitter melon
spit shards of steel from pouty lips
my way of coping with
broken promises,
foolish journeys across rivers
overflowing with crocodiles
that hope I lose my balance
the rocks slippery, menacing.

Anxiety compounds complex sentiments –
hurt,  shame, anger, bewilderment -
form funnel clouds, devastate
internal organs which shut down;
they await for my spiritual demise,
prey on hopelessness embedded
in unprotected nucleus vulnerable,
quickly chewed up, spit out.

I am an embryo fighting for sustenance
those first six weeks perilous
a challenge to survive
develop a stealthy life force.

For now, my heart is beating
sizzling in blistering heat
two eggs sunny-side up
a meal for pigeons.

Awakenings

Awakened

by the bellow of a drunk
as he relentlessly pleads,

Sheila. Come home
Please Sheila.

I can feel you
in shadowed walls
in empty basins,
and naked sheets
where your head used to dwell.

Your scent hovers
trapped in flannel shirts
old cologne bottles;
I see you in double vision
but when I blink, you’re gone.

I spot you in mirrors
where yesterday you shared
coveted smiles,
spoke witty non sequiturs
blanched in ivory light,
but the truth tells me
you were never there.

Some things you never get used to

I am afraid slumber provides
restless dreams
where I am haunted
by intangible caresses
kisses from hummingbird wings
gentle mist after
silver Spring showers

I remind myself
that now I can repair
my shattered heart
splintered by wooden crates
broken alarm clocks

But it’s you, always
and although I trick myself
into the belief that ultimately
I am better off
the heart shakes its head
embarrassed by my self-pity

Until then, I wait
like a cat on the prowl
when I can rest
dreamless
without injury

A Lifetime Ago

You used to be so cute (used to be)
he declared with too much enthusiasm
a real looker, a total babe! -
as if chopped liver appeared more savory
than me in this moment:
a reminder of what was,
of skinnier jeans, chiseled torso
healthy tan, and a smile
any orthodontist would admire

The years take their toll
as my once narrow frame
buckles under sore knees,
my eyesight falters under duress
the computer screen’s twelve font display
dwindles in real time
barely able to peer letters
when I squint

Glory days of yesteryear
pass like a freight train
bolting at one hundred miles per hour,
visions of my tight 501s
flannel shirt, steel toe boots
rugged, intimidating;
underneath was the child
who escaped the conservative shackles
of Midwestern strife
a great place to grow up
a better one to leave

I played the reindeer games
dated pretty girls with red bows
pink lipstick, afraid
they would kiss me under the elm
in front of my house,
scared that I wouldn’t smack lips
and show the boys I fit in

I pecked my first man
at the age of seventeen;
he was all of twenty-three
blond bangs that covered
his baby-greens,
a smooth talker who liked to drink
smoke too many cigarettes
until I became weary
and passed him by
his heart a molten mess

The world was my playground
but insecurities, naiveté
plagued me so that I did not comprehend
that I was coveted;
all I wanted were stealthy arms
to hold me tight, whisper
intimate secrets under linens
our knees locked in a lover’s embrace

You really were beautiful (were)
he says deliberately
as if what I have to offer
now that experience has taught
is not enough to reflect
on yesterday’s promise
that I can brave the world alone
.
I am worthy, I self-soothe
frayed nerves that challenge
my resolve, self-esteem,
that I am not being admonished
so much as being sought
in the orbs of a pouty queen
with the sensitivity of a nagging gnat.
Survivor when brothers perished,
educator to ignorant ears
overachiever in self-growth, awareness –
I am all these things and yet…

I do not question what I won;
I just wish I had more time to love,
to appreciate the journey,
had the ability to turn clocks back
begin again, strive
to know then what I know now

You really were something
and I have to smile
because I have invested in my core.
Besides, to still be wistful
is to feel at all –
I don’t pretend to be anyone
other than who I am
and it took a lifetime perhaps
but it was worth the wait after all.

Exercises in Brevity

* The purpose of brevity in poetry is to create a poem where each word counts, removing all superfluous words that do not add to the overall experience. Here are some examples of some brevity that I have written. Thank you all for reading!

Exercise one: Create a piece of brevity in response to "This is just a dream" in exactly 25 words. (Gold Trophy on AllPoetry.com)


Karmic Violation

He climbed off her, stench
                from cigars, bourbon, Old Spice
                branding her like a Holstein
                                forever tainted by his mark.
 
She vigorously plunged the knife.


Exercise two: In 20 words, write a poem with the theme "reality shifts". (Gold Trophy at AllPoetry.com)


Impatiens

The miracle of a birth,
a baby bor to an unassuming
  mother. Pink petals
of impatiens
flutter by in celebration.


Exercise three: In 20 words, create a poem using the theme "sleep study" (Gold)


Hush Now

Dreams rankle blistered bones
        taut nerves.

The science of wakefulness
        interpret raw data
    transform the ever-alert
        into a napping baby.


Exercise four: In 101 words, create a piece that is emotionally packed on any theme of your choice. (Honorable Mention)


One Hundred And One Reasons To Forget

I wade into gentle currents,
allow waves to cleanse dour anxieties
and brittle sentiments.
 
Relief engorges tense muscles,
yet your absence leaves
a cavernous chasm
where my heart once was affixed.
 
Picking up piercing shards
organizing them into an accordion file
do not diminish the anguish
that haunts dreamless sleep,
afraid to recall nightmares
slathered in baby oil.
 
It’s best that black reveries
remain in seamless darkness.
 
My fragmented mind blisters
into atoms and molecules, naked
to zealous eyes; I hear
gossamer accusations emanating
from blind lips, and I am paralyzed,
dumbstruck into submission
cowering behind dampened sheets
of silver satin.


Exercise five: In 50 words, create a piece about the word winter. (Gold)


Winter Heart

How is it I can lay adjacent to you
                         yet feel so distant,
                as if I can touch the moon
                         cascading over canopies
                of pine trees where crystal shards
                dangle, spearing my sallow heart?
               
The truth is you abandoned me
                         before the first snowfall
                turning the cobalt night into amber.