Category Archives: Prose

The Dead Among Us

Nobody guards the living dead.

That wander around among us.

We can no longer smell their decay

Or witness their festering pus

The stories you’re told protect you

Against the sacred forever sleep.

Work harder than you need to

Pray your soul for them to keep

I hate mourning the living dead

That can’t remember the words

To the songs that living humans sing

To the tunes of the cawing birds

The crackling fear that reaps us clean

Of dastardly deeds and acts unseen

Retrieves us back from comfort one

At rising dawn or setting sun

I hate that the fear leaves things unsaid

That fear that the coffin will spring open

like a jack-in-the-box’s bouncing head

 scaring the life out of your heart

as it sucks you up in one whole part.

 Yes.

 Nobody guards the living dead.

Ancient Tomes

dustybooksThere is a mummified shroud

unraveling in our spirits
that are delivered with gusts

of gauzy breaths
revealing chapter, verse,

the context and content
of our lives lived
by the turning of our pages
to reveal
the chapters of our hearts
to one another
in labored, birthing, unity.

extend humanity outward
like a library of reciprocal knowledge
donate your gifts to fill your coffers
 
Teach from the trenches

Learn from the quarry
Bloom from the crap
Shine from the darkness

Believe from the silence

Joy from despair

Triumph from resistance

Freedom from oppression

Meaning from Understanding

Wino Confessions

After a bottle of wine I like to confess things to my husband.

I like to tell him of how I felt when I first laid eyes on his face;

how my heart raced, how my eyes teared up, how I forgot to breathe.

I like to tell him how I didn’t want to believe that he existed

because then it would mean I live surreal.

Even now, I feel shy putting this down from my fingertips.

The same fingertips that have traced every inch of his body.

The same fingertips that he’s kissed when I burn them on dinner.

The same fingertips that smooth out his blankets when I make the bed.

The same fingertips that boop his nose to see if it still works. (It does.)

I like to tell him how I’d follow or lead or walk beside him anywhere.

I like to tell him that he’s the funniest man I know,

that he leaves me breathless with laughter and breathless with love.

I like to tell him with great earnestness that he brought me to life

even though I thought I already was, but not in this way. Not in this time.

I would still be me without him, but not the same me I am now.

I’m a better human with him nearby. I’m able to freely explore the world.

After a bottle of wine, I like to confess to my husband; my always, truly.

Lost Sunday

Go away.
He sat in the back seat using his hands as a rosary
praying to holy mother Rosemary his sin not be discovered.
The violation of my air space undetected by his stealth
suddenly had air raid sirens blaring loudly,

“HOW DARE YOU?!” upon my radar screen
while I drove away and prayed the guards were adept.

Open to me

OCEAN

Open up your sea to me so that I can sink my toes into your shores

Let me be wrapped up in your undertow,

Drowning while begging for more.

Open up your sky to me so that I can dream your galaxies with you

Let me become the very air we are

So that I may breathe you too

Open up your infinity to me so that I can swim in the pool of us

Let me drape on lounging couches stories

Of pearled adventures of our trust

Open up your earth to me so that I might return to dust again

Let me crumble from the quakes you give

That I’ll return world without end.

I really dig

I really dig that when I open up my blog reader

I find people-y readers lurking about, liking this or that.

I really dig that when I peer back through the shop window

the readers grunt, groan, lust, hug, love and hate like I do.

I really dig that when I peer through the looking glass

I don’t find my readers slumped sleeping in side-chairs.

I really dig that they poke fingers to keys while:

drinking coffee

popping pills

drinking bourbon

honoring artists

dancing with desires for origami people on paper they will print.

I really dig that the people I don’t know by face

stare back at me as we travel, passing on our reader’s train.

I really dig when we arrive at the same destination of personal truth.

Because that’s when the shit gets real.

Truly and Dearly

The day we met, I knew, that from that day forward

The sky would have to embrace a truer blue,

The stars couldn’t sparkle except from your eyes,

The sun would shy from your radiance,

The moon would hide its face in shame,

The oceans would flow from your fingertips

Bending to your whim and desires,

The earth, itself, would long to capture your attention

And when you smiled

There was my Happy Ever After staring back at me

It was then that I realized that I’d move any obstacle

To bask in your heart

In your love

Forever

My Friend Stand-By

When I was younger,

You chose,

For some reason,

To give me support when I was broken

Offered kindness when I acted stupid

Gifted patience when I didn’t understand.

You stood by me when it felt

The whole world was laughing,

Not with me, but at me.

Because of these things

You’ve given so freely to my spirit

I’m taking the time to tell you

How very much you’re loved.

Thank you for being my friend.

The Death Knell

Three times

The death knell called my name

The spear impaled my soul

Rivulets run thick, hot, flame

To fill the vulture’s bowl

Three calls

The crow yelled out my name

Vortex-ed by a black hole

Nemesis’ smile, mother’s bane

Lost virtues to extoll

Three times

The gruesome knell rang out

Drowning the sobs of longing shouts

Purging the bosom blooming full of strife

Judge’s sentence now through life

Three calls

The crow yelled out a warning

While the locusts came down a ’swarming

Shredding loose what once was cherished

Forcing surrender of love to perish