No longer at desk the typewriter has been given
it's final rest.
As he cant recall the day or year.
The once strong mind is closed the body
but a museum or tribute to what once was.
he his home but locked within himself.
Vist's from thoose who once knew the man
are like people viewing a body at a wake.
he calls from within the shell for for release.
Yet his lips will not move his voice never sounds.
Inside he burns for the chance to run as the river
chases the sea.
To be the man they never knew and the one he
could admire and both despise.
The page sits in typewriter like a willing
eager lover in bed.
Waitting in stockings that cling to delicate thigh.
the tears escapes it's minds prison.
He thirsts for it like a drunk for that morning drink
of whiskey waitting hands held togather trying
to keep from shaking.
He sits as a painter without hand.
watching the most beautiful sunset fade without
a chance of ever capturing this moment.
The ink is drying he feels it everyday.
Soon he hopes like the dust that does gather
he will be swept away.
I've passed it by, so many times before
While traveling this twisted asphalt highway
That weathered sign, nailed, so crudely fashioned
To peeling bark, upon the yoke
Of one ancient, gnarled and battered cottonwood tree
It marks a fork of the old backwood road
Where gravel branches, bends and sways
And meanders through the glade
Where the dry creek bed, goes high into the hills...
Where poison oak thrives, and secrets hide...
There it is!.... That feeling, that inclination to explore...
I've had before....
Stabbing that place of my wanderlust
An old dented mailbox....sitting alone...whose, do you suppose?
Where does the mail go? Does anyone know?
So many times,.....we have passed on by...
I've caught a glimpse, and thoughts would rise...
What lies beyond this fork in the road?
What lies beyond the bend, the turn?...What would we learn?
What course, would we follow
If just this once, we turned, and broke away from the ordinary...
Changed our direction...followed the unknown
Where the creek runs dry
And the banks are rife...
With chokecherry....and willow scrub
Where leaves are layered with chalk white dust?...
Will we ever know?
What lies beyond the fork in the road?....
As I turn my head, and watch my chance disappear once again....
Will I ever know?.....
Mornings are dreadful time in life unless waking beside gorgeous woman hopefully
a not married one husbans can be such a downer.
And when ya wake to a warm beautiful creature by your side.
And the first thought that comes to your mind is i wonder whats for breakfest.
Then ya probaly cant read the menu to start with and desserve
to have a oversized weight lifter re arrange your ribs.
Im a southern man once means several things non of which means im normal.
And this morning finds my yerning for a trip and widespread mischief.
My amigo had vanished after are trip south of the boarder I remember saying
to myself as i watched him running naked across the dessert being chased
by the flying monkeys he was surley seeing after his consumption of a foreign substance
There goes a fine american.
I would have ran after him but but i didnt want thoose things to turn there attention to me
I herd they had a thing for southern actscents.
And theres nothing worse than a bunch of horney flying monkeys trust me
Ive delt with this problem befor.
and being it was happy hour i knew my slightly insane amigo would understand
in all his naked glory.
Besides I left him some sneakers and a sixpack.
And kept his credit card for safe keeping.
Naked men have no place to keep credit cards and I figured he was in no state to handle
So as i sit behind the wheel ready to to get lost in the madness of fast food and
the ant hill of insanity that is wall mart i turn my thoughts to vegas.
For where would a lost nude slightly insane person run to and feel at home.
I had turn the music up to drown out the sound of whoever was in the trunk.
I figured if i had put sombody in there in a drunken moment.
It had to be for a good reason.
And so with slightly hungover mindset are road begins.
and so with that do the games also.
And i figured hanging around with a cops wife wasnt the smartest idea.
That and im allergic to bullets.
My muse and 16 year old spirtiual advisor had phoned me to say that.
I probaly needed to Invest in the spirt of Jack Daniels today.
And hey she had went to church more than once so who was I to argue.
With a five five spitfire by the name of tinker.
so with A unknown companion in the trunk not helping my hangover i was off
to the races Untill next time kiddies.
Adios and im off to find my amigo.
Stumbling Through a Bewildering Maze,
Of Thoughts and Dreams, He Finds Emptiness.
The Over-exhuming Haze of a Comfortable
Life Exhausts Him, And He Sinks into Himself.
Words From His Brief Interactions Are Destroyed
By Him, Not Absorbed. It's Killing Him.
Water From His Dusty Satchel, Glints as
He Spills it onto His Lap.
-You're Losing it -
He Feels The Stares From Countless Eyes,
And Shrugs it off with Solitude as his Shield.
You've Become The Guy Your Parents Used
To Tell You To Avoid in The Street.
- You Wanna Hurt People -
He watches the Cliques of People Enjoy his
Insecurity. No-one Takes him Seriously.
He Picks The biggest Guy, His Shank, more
Powerful Than His Fist, He walks towards Him.
- It's About To Go Sour -
His Feet Crunches Aeons Beneath Him, And
Stamps Out His Future Genetics.
The Shank, Concealed in his Sleeve. Here it
Comes, This Was his final mark of Respect.
- His Veins Pump Hard -
The Adrenaline Sends Tears to his Eyes,
And Weakens His Legs, he'll Fight or Cry.
The Shank Slides Like Threading Silk Into
His Victims Stomach, Eyes Locked.
- Control it, Stay Calm -
There Was To be No Assistance, Retaliation
Was To be Swift, and Effortless.
He Smiled as They Withdrew Their Weapons
From His Chest.
- Fall To Your Knees -
Choking on Muffled Screams, behind The
Blood and Mucus Filling his Mouth.
- Close your Eyes -
The Light Seemed To Bend in and out of The
Dark patches, It hit his eyes, and blinded him.
- This Makes Sense -
His Face hits Sand...
The phone rings empty into the night.
Filling a void that brings strange comfort
to thoose around.
Rage eats away untill it bores a hole
straight through are hearts.
Whiskey cauterizes the wound.
Alone with fools we gather.
The bitter ones taking to there barstools.
the weak look to punish thoose happy
Who dare to feel anything in the place of
She left so many years befor.
At least her mortal soul did.
I rememeber when it was when I still
dared to dream.
Long befor reallity was a friend.
Motions keep us living.
She spoke but the words were empty as her heart.
So as strangers we parted just as we met.
With a bitter taste I never did reply.
The phone rang it's last time.
I herd it echo farewell down the hall.
I had to go so I never unlocked the door.
i just left my emotions hanging like some
forgotten coat pushed back in
Its been almost a year since that phone filled
the emptyness of my soul.
If only I had answered.
They listened to your clever lines,
Felt guilty when you gave them blame
Bought in to your stick man stories
The anecdotal evidence you proclaimed
So now adoption is the enemy
Christian families are a villain
Gotcha day is doom's day
A horror story of joy killing
They believed you, "He was trafficked!"
But if that was true then what went wrong
The dollars would have moved me out of there
If these books were credible I'd have been gone
Of course you knew the true reality
Your agenda was so thinly veiled
There isn't this army of rescuers
For years adoption numbers have fell
I'm not copy for your editors
Don't care about best selling lists
I wasn't a child for any Catcher's
Those kinds of children rarely exist
You'd think there was an evil industry
By the awful things you wrote
You created your desired fiction
The fact is agencies are going broke
So don't imprison me with narrow labels
I'm just a hurting human being
I'm not a product or a talking point
I'm a somebody, not a something!
No one shopped for me like it was Walmart
I'm a fatherless child, now an aged out orphan
I have a name, hopes, and fears
You sold me out and made a fortune!
By: Dave Wood
Sponsor: Chris D. Aechtner
Contest Name: Anything Goes
where were you when my world stopped moving?
your hands were there as instruments of pain
to inflict raw red burns and
wounds that lay hidden and bruised
on a child’s skin and…..
on tender hearts that can’t fight back
are you haunted buried six feet beneath…
as I shivered at night and grinded my teeth?
do you think of me and wonder what shreds
I managed to piece together of my tattered life?
tell me to let go and forget this hurt
that winds like poison ivy twisting
my heart into a mere tenth of what it could be
strangled in a mass of life eating lies
and mangled sorrowful soul songs
(mourning the sword slashes)
you never knew me and would you have cared
if you did…would you have wrangled with me
hanging on a hook while you dangled me
helpless and crying beneath a weeping moon
that still watches me with helpless eyes
(pity resting there)
a child is priceless
(innocence is worth more than gold)
and taking their lives
unforgivable….so I wonder…are you punished
do you cry in your darkness
knowing what you have done
will it pierce a naked sky with madness….
your cry? Or is any semblance of sanity gone
buried beneath your shawl of rabid dog bites
and sad listless body
wasting into the sun as it flows back to earth
going nowhere as I flounder in my own broken fate
(swimming upstream as I slowly drown)
loss cannot be retrieved.....for it is lost
and letting go
is my way of revenge on you ….
so I let go now…I am free of you…
and I toss it all back to you
careful when you catch it…it burns the skin
the hands of destiny are crying out to me
I pull that little girl out of darkness
and let her see the sunshine again
as she smiles in to the light and takes my grown up hand
and I will keep her safe from you
hate is poison and I let it go….it crushes me no more
. "Listen first,.....to the voice in your head"
Mmmmm, …if we can catch the waitress’s eye, we should order more iced tea…
Can hardly believe it… Joan is still complaining about her in-laws….
Peg interrupts, excusing herself to go to the ladies room
What was that about Barb’s husband burning breakfast?
It must have been funny.., the way everyone is laughing…
My eyes wander to the window….
I see some geese in the sky
Heading north...oh my,…summer has gone so quickly…
I must get the family together and go out to the lake one more time
We'll take a picnic, and let the children feed the geese...
I'll take a loaf of bread just for that,.......
But we'll have to watch the children..
Last time one goose chased Suzanna, and she fell down, ....
…made her cry,…poor thing
It is so beautiful on the east shore….hopefully the water isn’t too cold
Maybe the children can still enjoy a swim…yes…we must do that soon….
Oops, she’s back from the Ladies......
I'd better scoot over, to make more room,.....
Hmm..looks like she's done something different with her hair...
Joan is still chattering about her weekend with the in-laws.....
How I long to be back at the lake again….on the beach in the sun….
Oh there…outside the window…a whirlwind has gathered up a few leaves
Already rust and brown…edges curled with the touch of autumn
Yes, ….summer has gone so quickly…
.... .... .... .... .... ....
For the Contest: "A Poem, Please" Sponsored by Constance La France
By Carrie Richards
Morning breaks in cheerful warm brilliance,
pale sapphire sky pristine.
Grey-white gulls glide vociferously above
in search of firma bound fare.
Reflections of Sol’s arms vault from the sea,
smooth but for zephyr stroked folds;
pure, sugar white sand kissed softly
by persistent waves subtle roll.
Soft ghosts of tepid breeze course random,
sensually caressing what be;
long thin-bladed grasses sway lightly
in synchrony and shameless delight.
With bonnet in hand an aged woman strolls
beside the vast Gulf of blue;
damp, firm sand squeaks soothingly
against the soles of her tired bare feet.
Her large eyes of brown focus ahead,
bear no witness to her days and shine;
fine flowing hair of luminous white
draped over shoulders so slight.
A pause, though brief, in quiet reflection,
her gaze upon the distant view
and mind in stoic reminiscence
of past friends and loves and wonder.
His strong arms hold her close tightly,
warmth of body and soul unite,
while gaiety in unbound laughter
disclose love once again renewed.
A tender brush of hand upon cheek
raises fiery passion in both,
as excited young eyes meet in ardor
essence link in eternal embrace.
One warm briny tear born of these thoughts
streams slowly down her cheek,
she slowly walks on as sand squeaks soothingly
against the soles of her tired bare feet.
she dances to the beat of hollow drums
acoustic guitars with trembling strings
solemn in the archeology of the long buried
(bleeding raw wounds on the moon)
a lonesome flute on a two AM skyline
and saxophone symphonies that weep the air
offbeat sounds and taut muscles swaying
unearthing the sorrow with the echo of songs
reverberate harshly the wail of rain
(it rattles the panes with a shattered reply)
she seeks an asylum of solace from memory
caught up in the fluid ballet of surviving
a dark cloud hovers the streets of her heart
whispers come harsher as the sun finally sets
its alright to cry in a cell of solitude
(hiding the tatters inside her hands)
buried beneath the soil of eyelids
moistened by tears that tumble downstairs
brown eyes bruised when she cannot shut them
and hiding is no longer an option for her
(her prison holds her chained on concrete)
reality lives like a bile in her throat
and the world is battered by the truth of itself
whiskey would hide only so much hurt
(upon awakening it slaps you with its validity)
ending up on a dead end road…..
wherever she goes….there she remains….
those footsteps taunt and cannot elude her….
Remembrance is a heavy cross to bear….