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Monthly Archives: October 2013

Grey clouds extended claw-like overhead;
the early sun erupted into light,
and Benjamin wiped off a final tear.
He waved and grabbed his duffle bag to leave
behind this tiny town. The bus arrived
and with one look he took that fateful step
to his new life away from all he’d known:
a pilot winging through the same blue skies
he’d gazed at wide-eyed since he was a boy
on this wide plain between two distant peaks.
He watched his world awaken to the day
as the bus drew new paths on his life’s map.
He thought of the adventures he’d soon find,
while riding past so much now left behind.
His memories, a dusty album full
of sepia trees like towers to survey
the golden fields around his playground home.
He passed the hollow echo of that place,
where more than only childhood burned away.
A rope without a tire still caught the wind
where he had spun her laughing in the sun-
dappled shade beneath the gnarled old oak.
Gold hay bails melted from that same red barn
where she first kissed him all those years ago,
when life was young and love meant only hope;
when he still held the quill to pen his tale.
He thought of her and of her fiery hair,
and moonlit walks beneath the endless stars.
He wondered whether she was happy now
in her new life she’d chosen over him.

A bowl of dried kibble-crumbs for me to complain,
The cold outside a quilted cocoon,
A world denied by your sleeping hands.
 
Who do you think you are? I will not be forgotten,
don’t push me away you rolling beast of stillness,
it’s time for me now, it’s my time, I hunger.
 
In silence before the awakening I’ve waited;
waited for the bell to stir you;
waited for that moment to call a
challenge and pounce at the narrowest
slit from sleep-crusted eyes.
 
Your lumbering form denies the dawn, but I will not be ignored.
Oh no, you will acknowledge my presence, my innate
superiority. You will feed me, you will free me.
Open the door.

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On restless nights like these I dream of beach fires and the walks
we haven’t taken yet. A salty breeze ebbs through bare legs
to our dimple-dent trail behind. Endless evergreens caress the coast
and our tiny tent is an open face smiling to the sky. We silently climb
trees to stare out at the fool’s moon smiling. We seize sighs with
only the firelight to guide our eyes. Our romance is silence
and the restless whispering breeze.

(As published in Mare Nostrum, Spring 2013)

Tree-top boy smiles down from his throne
atop a cedar crown below the storm;
his hands stewed in amber sap,
grip lock-tight to creaking limbs
straining with his weight and the dancing bluster.
The tree’s caress is a clement tenderness
long lacking in the shackle-grey prison looming below;
a cold home that makes the storm seem warm,
or at least alive.
A mother’s cries pierce the wind
and the boy looks down to the storm of her eyes
and the bandage on her hand,
a bloody reminder of the upset Lego fortress
and shattered hobnail vase that sent him thundering for the storm.
Tree-top boy smiles up to the welcoming storm;
his mother’s streaming eyes plead to pretend
that everything’s fine, but a boy in a tree is beyond fine,
beyond her eyes, beyond the storm.
In his swaying cedar crown he is the wind,
and the grey-blue embers of his eyes
are the skies.

When he died so died my creativity, taken by a thief
Of mourning. I still tried, but each thought seemed tired and old.
Once shimmering prospects evinced fool’s gold.
Grandpa’s eyes glimmer through mine to remind me of the brief
Bright before the fall. When disbelief
Slipped in to shatter a once-bold
Boy, muses scattered from a fresh-dug tomb, uncontrolled,
And my dripping eyes let dreams slip in the grip of grief.
 
How long to embrace the urge to erase
Each written line? Smothered light searches for a slit
To shine through, but I’m locked in place:
A stasis where inspiration fades and I can’t get
To the details. Left for naught, not ready to face
For years: no way to write it out or choose not to omit.