Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Lurking in the Corner of my Bellyache



I close my eyes softly.
My fingers touch hers
two opposing thighs brush in error.
A nose feels an ear in a whisper unclear
And a hand finds a place on a player

The bow sucks the air and the rosin declares
a friction of fury and lust.
The crunch of vibration
Stirs heated sensation
And the devil creeps out of the dust.

The Secret Life of a Snowflake

Snowflake thoughts dissolve on my tongue.
Social airs contaminate my sentiment until all is lost.
I long for you to simply read my mind.
Catch the thought before it is polluted,
before it is decoded with a forged key.
My thoughts are too fragile to grasp,
they melt before they can be realized.

I am a perfect malfunction; a flawless error.
I am erased; the shavings brushed away.
I am so suddenly devastated.

Monday, March 21, 2011

Alone

Bemused, a muse, speak to her
what does she say?
that it hurts to be alone, but it's okay.
Lines of angry blue
I loved you.
Yellow paints the fear.
A haunting fear that kept me here,
the ugly shame of my weakness.
green splashes on the canvas, I smile
this is my freedom, scattered and uncontrolled.
A sea of pain in red, I harness it and ride the wave.
A purple horizon, calms me.
A burning fire of orange rising,
It warms my future.
My black silhouette, walks on
pulling the colour with me.
I am whole, safe and in control.
Not lonely, just alone.

Valediction


I ache, a little.
Small hands caress the pain,
kneading and nourishing.
A sadness washes over me.
Legends in the sand, erased by a careless moon tide.
A frantic attempt to own the elusive.
Craving one unaltered truth.
Choking with relief, I watch you,
fall in love without me.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Cock Robin Parody

"Who killed this young girl?"
"I," slurred the driver,
sipping his cider,
"I killed this young girl."

"Who held her hand?"
"I," said the Man,
"I saw her land,
so I held her hand."

"Who called the doctor?"
"I," said the Biker,
"with my Nokia Stryker,
I called the doctor."

"Who has her shoe?"
"I," said the Cook,
they watched as he shook,
“I have her shoe.”

"Who wiped the blood?"
"I," said the Judge,
"her beauty begrudged,
so I wiped the blood."

“Who gave their coat?”
"I," said the Showboat,
“I’m not one to gloat,
but, I gave my coat."

"Who searched her purse?"
"I," said the Writer,
"to try to decipher,
I searched her purse."

"Who knows her name?"
"I," said the Drummer,
“we toured in the summer,
her name is Elaine."

"Is she a donor?"
"Yes," said the Loner,
"she is a donor,
will this atone her?”

"Who'll get her organs?"
"We," said the Foremans,
"To cure Alice and Morgan,
we'll get her organs."

"Who'll tell her family?"
"I," said the Guard,
"I’m trained and I’m hard,
I'll tell her family."

"Who'll write her eulogy,"
"I," said her Brother,
"I grew up beside her,
I'll write her eulogy."

"Who'll cherish her memory,"
"I,” said her Mother,
“I will."
These strangers, assorted, their silence unbending. United in mourning, the sirens impending.

A Sneeze in Wet Mascara

A reckless game of impulse;
I play so I can feel.
Irreversibly careless,
Irrespectively, I deal.

A cruel, illicit rainstorm,
provided shelter from the void.
Rebel thoughts assembled,
a fertile land destroyed.

The pretense of autonomy,
shunned feelings hurt in vain
A vacuum of sound judgment,
care of my comrade, pain.

A borscht of raw emotion,
simmered sternly in the silence.
A slap of cold perception,
incited aptly crafted violence.

Clinging to the menace,
of that richly textured beast.
My fragile state determined,
once caged, is now unleashed.

A crowd of avid tourists,
took pictures of the scene.
The peril of compulsion
made them feel pearly clean.

The weight of shame unyielding,
a burden of my youth.
Precariously drinking
the inconsolable truth.