Expecting a rude tin can— “Here, this is what you can afford”, I opened the entrusted six-by-six box with my car keys (here, this is how prepared you were). Inside- his ashes, of course, but in a dark red bag of the thickest velvet I had ever felt, drawstrung and tasseled in gold. His remains (bone-beige, of course) were like so many grains of rice, though I thought of them as seeds. Tomorrow, I will be down by the riverside for the casting and the crudest of blessings, with a hardy shrub for the planting, and with tears, I expect, still unshed.
Tag Archives: poetry
For free
I dream in hieroglyphics
and ink the walls of caves;
eschew the honorifics,
the accolades, the raves.
It’s all for fun, and all for free-
I’ll never make a buck.
Matter of fact, I’m in the hole,
but still I run amok.
Getting used to it
In a moldering dream,
I fitted a woolen sock
over the stump of my leg.
The two middle fingers of each hand
were missing,
the knuckles paper-skinned.
A presence studied my learned motions
and nodded its approval.
~Now you will stay~
~Now you have learned~
***
image credit: https://pixabay.com/users/mysticsartdesign-322497/
If wishes were horses
In market’s bustle,
I buy promises of time-
new shoes I don’t need.
Camouflage
Garbed in pastels and duns
I went,
though there were whims
of crimson, and blue ebullience.
And I was always
just around the corner,
safe in softness,
empty of the passings by.
On a day,
I thought to write lines
with hooks and sinkers.
A thing to underlie,
a thing to fill
this tired camouflage.
Careful now
A trusting soul
is long in the learning
of candor’s proper place.
For betrayals rankle still,
confounding the hardened heart,
Their memory an accretion
to its jealous husk.
Werewolf?
“You’re such a strange critter “
He posted on Twitter
And waited until she replied.
“You’re just being bitter”
She said, then he hit her
And dragged her limp body inside.
A full moon had risen
O’er the site of her prison
He could not control what he did
And those who would listen
Knew not they were missin’
His howl as the body he hid.
Apparition
In the dark of your room
Something cold from the tomb
Awakes you with feelings of dread
Seems to float and to hover
Then pulls on your cover
And sidles up next to your bed
Its image is fearsome
A face without eyes
An energy making you swoon
It radiates outward
Your hair it will rise
Like you feel when you rub on a balloon
Paralysis grips you
You cannot but shout
Your face feels as if it will smother
Someone turns on the light
And, there in the bright,
Stands (in costume)
Your wee little brother.
You missed Halloween, you dope.
Bright sun, Fall winds
in the suddenness of blustery gust
leaves of crimson, orange, and rust
spangling the stained glass sky
in celebration, before they die
The getaway
as a freshening teenage boy
just shy of sixteen years
foisted from a battle-scarred home
into this supposed school of highness
he is already in retreat
from vitriolic violence
from love that has gone
from hormonal eruptions
from the Bullies Three
the ostracization of the ostrich
he builds his defences
hands upon hands upon hands
he pushes away, and keeps all
at arm’s length.
Aremyfeetofftheground 