beloved
Father
all i’ve known
and You are still
and shut to me
the west claims
me through my
sickened blood and
terms so foreign
i long for You
to open wide and
take me from
this abstract place
so autumn now is
here again and those
who’ve gone i can’t
replace; they were never here
Father of the east
call to me and claim
me as i am with
sullied heart
the broken bones
of battles lost
and smiles tainted
with grief
oh Holy One
in lone direction
let the Kingdom
come at last to me
Berakah to Broadway
my favorite hour is at 3:07 a.m. your ramblers are spent. the streets are hot with discontent and happiness. your building walls are tired. there is hope and despair. the lights flicker off and off and sometimes on. dear Broadway i love you so. i want to drop dead on your asphalt and sink in forever. your silent strength feeding and nourishing all staggers of life. days are lived fast upon you. the letters, the pictures, the breaths, the gasps; cultivator of all that. your façade oozing with corporate swag, but your soul, your spirit profound, pure, wild and capricious, like a beautiful woman. i want to roll in your soot, trip on your cracks and see your ghosts who lived in you and of you, my beloved Broadway. speak easy of my dreams, mistress keeper of my veins in your dark little alleys. i love you so Broadway. i want you all to myself, no man, woman or creature can have you. you are my mother, when no one is willing to be. you are my father when all are too cowardly. you gave me karate movies, 8-tracks and joy. you gave me advice, caution and wisdom. you are my mistress, chancellor of my education and intuitions. you are my eyes into the past that lingers in my most penultimate remembrances as a child falling down by your fire hydrant. to you, who has always been the only one who understands my twistedness and carcinomatous fevers, i write to you fair goddess, keeper of myself. i love you so my beloved Broadway. thank you for keeping me in your implorations.
wound
the layers disappear
on the pavement
of her soul
seconds go by and precious
life spills on leaving
opportunities and choices
there is little time in each quandary
before the bell rings and the
arrow picks a destination
sweet and bitter most of
all
through the soil
are the roots
and as they reach
the point of end
the layers are
healed
but she is not the same
h2o
in the drop my thought swirls about smaller than a worms breath the wetness of the dew in the spires of hell my brow sweats to know what’s coming knocking at the door tidal wave of destiny doomed to clear in agony all debt i’ve left behind in the oceans of mars where the fog of disbelief punishes the chiefs of the snowy altitudes dharma electricity pulses on the Nile and the Ganges will build factories in the tsunami states
Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge March 12, 2019
Devereaux Frazier and Beth Amanda are currently hosting the Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge which was started by our star writer Christine Ray. We hope to offer all of you something that will spark your creativity and willingness to participate.
The prompts are designed to be quick challenges that can be written in 10 to 15minutes, inspire you creatively, are fun, and get everyone interacting. Please post your response to the prompt in the comments below and show your fellow posters some love and support. All members of the Go Dog Go community, including Baristas, are welcome to participate. Feel free to share this post on your own blogs and/or Facebook.
Today’s prompt:
Write any kind of piece dealing with the topic of water.
Show us your stuff!
that one eye of God
peering from the years of worn
child love fills up the aura
God has looked upon me
tiny giant’s hands that have built
epochs and eras of mad love
for life in free range cages
i now come face to face with me
with a perfect mirror and my
fears and crazy inexpressible
love with madness of fever
i at long lost have been
answered
in one single
blink
July 4, 1981
in the grocery cart you find the frogs down by the river
bending in the light to where
the Pacific Bell poles rot at the bottom
in the creek where all the vagrants pee
it’s not lady like to see those things
but i guess i can learn faster to just look
lucidity in their feet as the cops roll bye quietly
looking at the river grounds
“shut up shut up shut up!” the mantra of the
prophetic invisibles fighting to stay in the
black hole
by the river Frog-town groans and the little fire fluffs
spark here and there like in Gustav’s serpents
but Chavez’ Ravine bullies the twilight with a salute to
the liberation on the fourth
and we are all out of innings
by the tower
harmony clashes
pounding through the drums of fate
floating messages
on the wings of lonesome doves
pennies for the angels’ breath
trepidation
blazing to the highest heavens
but how can i measure
i’m ill equipped
i am not God
touching my way on the ground
just like one that lived before
the Psalms were written
i do not know how to swim
out of water
Mohawk street is not the same
the houses are familiar
in the vagueness of my name
teacup roses are all now full of moss
the churches are different
than when i was knee long high
i cried out as silently as i could
is the world changing
or am i
picnic 1975
so he said don’t look up
little darling or your pistachio
eyes will turn to coal
so i said no they won’t
but i did not believe my words
although against logic
i looked up anyway
so can you see stars and lines
or dark dark bubbles on the car
doors my little darling
your eyes are red
no i said so i can keep
looking unbeknown to him
i really wanted to burn
my eyes out to stop the future
from charging me
so listen my petite
devil i cannot let you
look up anymore
so place this hat upon your
head and know that God is always
above you
i know i am beneath
but can i have an orange
oh no no i want a pickle
with pastrami instead
i could not see but i lied
anyway
so you think you’re
hungry? we have food
in the car follow me
but don’t look up and if you’re
good we can roll down the
hill together
words less spoken 