pain
you hang
there like a
hidden stain just underneath
the fragile layer of a
strained mind tormented by you so
help me God if i forget the
alchemical pacifier to keep you satisfied when will
you let me be at times i feel the
joy of any human soul and other times i muster
that stiff upper lip and paddle up the stream with my
own arms on a rice paper raft tied with uncertainty a compass
with no dial and as i look into the arms of setting stars
i drink a breath of victory and pound my chest in good measure but
when my feet sink through the mirage of fortitude of the tenuous craft i see
you flailing back at me and treasure found in my chest of peace engulfed by oppression
Poetry
Phoebe Ann
early cool breeze by the frame she sits
quiet eloquence green windows into mystic grooves
in the presence of the Queen bow i must to pick her up
for morning supper tired she is up all night
catching gnats and only witness to falling stars
entrance through Bixel Street
time does not exist
walls beige frames colorless
scent not sweet stale
conditioned to 74 degrees
bed metal electric cold
fitted with buttons gauges
noise white with warnings
bleeps bings some hisses
faded aqua marine curtain
surrounds me wrists tied
down the hall polite
whispers then a wail
exploding through antiseptic hall
like Fourth of July
ceiling bland dusty vents
TV monitor spills lies
no music exists here
in and out they
come one after the
conversation bobs up and
down indecision open wide
my eyes now it
begins to lift the
fog how did i
Elizabeth
hot the concrete is today
plastic black orchid near the front step
of the Gothic house but only in her head
3:30 a.m. writing session to her congressman
about her old folks home going to the dogs
when at breakfast her and her friends call the nurse speed racer
and lament not having money
and love least of all
Banksy art work on the wall across the street they see
the wind runs his fingers through her thinning hair
after stroke and misery took out her common sense
her doctor dresses in jeans and looks like young Lou Reed
she silently riots at the lies that she is told
and falls into depression dreaming of Marilyn Monroe
the shade of the magnolia tree pokes its trunk on through
and gives Elizabeth another day away from sudden death
always is she thankful in her widowed lonely heart
far away from Montana and the nest home of the Crow
green eggs and ham was never read to her
while empty beer bottles at the end of a long day
forced to collect with laughter at the inn
voluntary ignorance all to chase a dream
Hollywood sign was the destination but opened doors are never guaranteed
if Dylan knew
Zimmy has an old soul
if you look at his eyes
they are other worldly
the color of Earth’s face
from up in space
it means just what is
but when i heard him this morning
while drinking my mud
these words telegraphed
out from Alexa .1
“Oh my name it ain’t nothin’
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I was taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that land that I live in
Has God on its side”
the shame i felt
rose to waterlines of my
green lined eyes
and the liquid it spilleth over
perhaps it’s the hormones
or the brow beat quarantine
and my cat she ate the dog’s food
but i couldn’t tell her to quit
shaking it off
turning the vacuum on
the dog he shakes his
fluffy white tail
and my thoughts run asunder
white hot sun beaming
brown wood flooring
a meeting of the titans
debacled by the cat
does God pick sides
Nutella
fruit
lavash
rye bread
ramen
and a good fuck while i’m on top
chewing on ice
these things that i like
why am i this way
could it be in black vain
that i ask these strange questions
a dandelion of thoughts
cast into the humidity
answers might or might not
germinate
does God get to decide
from where do i find
recourse for sinning
early i rise
eating my heart out
doing what’s right
one moment gets wasted
my faith goes in haste
my spirit is stuck wild horses help me am i on God’s side
mangifera
sweet fleshy skin warm
kiss like nothing else
your orange creamy tart taste will into honey turn if we lay in the sun together
the smell of green emanates from you within calling me to pull the knife
i strip you down to your ripe round middle and gently nibble and suck you down
and when the time is right i stroke you down as i’m reminded of his long missed circumcision
and our tropical walks through Walmart aisles shopping for the Fourth of July
eating my words [iii]
hey letter X
hey letter X
you’re my favorite
i relate with your
closed off heart center
but four very open ended arms
i too have closed in
and have for many years
but the more the heart shut
i kinda became vulnerable to
the dark underbelly of too much
awareness of things best left alone
some might say through this traveled winding tar soaked road that i’ve acquired more X’s than the Pussy Cat Theatre
i guess it’s the best to have open options not to get boxed in but at times in the midnight hourglass of time
the thought Xes my head that we both have four paths and our keys to the maps are rusted shut deep in our centers
She waits for us
no answer is also an answer
🦅 Hopi Proverb
to stare into the blank horizon
it lacks the pastel colors mother used to love
we the silent types proud and self assured cowards or lost fools
makes very little difference
to tighten my jaw as you purse your lips we know what we are thinking
we have no answer for what is happening to us
all we are not willing to admit that She is critical because of our silence
are we prepared for what comes this way as Her pulse tires and slows
the silence without bird songs is the vilest way to perish
the Alsephinas
my eyes deep into the looking glass they go
the crevice on my throat regulates my breath so slow
bones my genetic frame from the Danube it came
a girl with a mind of her own but her thoughts are filled with white carnations and light pink madness
stuffed into a blue and gold Chinese vase they go
ivory exquisite bones of beasts and mastodons fixed into the old red velvet settee
ivory silks drape my milky skin past my finger tips dipped in obsidian tears
the bench that holds my weight a fancy rosewood filigreed trophy
my deeply regretful eyes slide over to the compromised canopy bed made with hate and lies
there where on some deceitful night opened legged and mouth shut tight
i am supposed to worship you
more is endless breath is tight
nervous docile night
let’s walk into the light
we forever have been everything
we are daughters of the fight
*thank you Christine at braveandrecklessblog and HereticsLoversandMadmen for posting this piece first for the I Am More Than Breath and Bone prompt
words less spoken 