You’re mine but I’m not yours.
An unwavering line between us,
invisible but solid. Strong like vine
in brick. It grows thicker. It spools and
twists across road, over pavement,
under bridge. To you. You’re mine, but
I am not yours. Conjuring emotions in
each person that I meet. A holiday
researched, clicked and booked with
him in the supermarket queue. A wedding
planner called about him sitting two rows
behind. Inventing love where there is
none. Seeing hearts in bodies anywhere,
everywhere. To beat mine to back life.
No longer does the subtle breeze
Bring relief on searing days
Hidden below the willow trees
Wherever love-thick fades
And leaves bleed
Or with the shadows on the moon’s farside
Along the dark lagoons
Of forever abandons collide
And where no one notices extremes
Swarms of wasp stings
Sluggish are the foothills furthermore
No way into the clouds
Forgotten by them
Love’s tragedy victims
Are hers to spare
The bond of love,
Amoris giver, no longer is seen there
Numb are the empty wells
Tears no longer fall
Dry are the fields
Where she lays her lowered head
Nor do the flames of affection feel
Not even the weeds sway across the fleshy
Fruits that fall for her,
She is anonymous
After all
("Lonesome Day Blues", 2025, original encaustic)
Trying so hard to make a mark
To create at least something
To leave behind
But no matter what
With enough time
With enough perspective
We are all anonymous.
(3/30/26)
Break-Up
She let me down,
Basically, kicked me “OUT!” of town...
Turned things around,
Turned my smile N 2 a frown...
I all MOST drowned,
Was a patient in a gown,
Snapped @ the very sound,
Of my cage like a dawg at the lb.
Trapped in a rage,
Nothing on that which I could count,
Still, I am feeling kind of down,
I want to leave this town,
NOW!!!
Hungry for change...
Like a bloodhound,
Feeling deranged all the same,
For crying out loud...
Why is it you hide?
Anonymous popster pride,
Neutral of game plus private shame
A flame eternal
None shall extinguish—
A fire reborn from ash
Who is Bez Boi?
A private prince
His hoodie of chintz
Lyrics; blends of cherry mince
Fans wishing for a glimpse of—
The Banksy of Reggaeton
Most drink for the after effects and others for the taste
Some tend to over enjoy it then do something debased
It seems to be the invited guest at every get together
The myth seems to be that alcohol makes it better
Then you have those who try to flood out their problems
Hoping to find the solution at the bottom of the bottle
It may be true that this poison tends to numb you
Not long enough to ease the pain you've been through
Which is the reason why some people remain that way
You find them unstable and drunk day after day
Alcohol has a way to wash away our insecurities
Men would say it makes an ugly woman pretty
This awesome liquid seems to blur our vision
Makes us express words we never would mention
It also puts us in these horrible situations
Someone's accused of rape or life is taken
Every group of friends need that designated driver
Because of one fool who thinks his tolerance is higher
What was the real reason alcohol was made
Is it to help the real person inside of us fade
You have some that choose not to drink at all
Is it for the right reasons we're drinking alcohol?
I didn’t place my name
Because I didn’t want the words tethered to me,
I want no credit,
Hoping that the verbiage gives you sight.
A prescription of my rose colored glasses.
Hoping that each string of words are embroidered on your heart.
To my face you are kindness itself:
cheerful, always upbeat,
but in your anonymous blog
you rip me apart.
You press your thumb and forefinger on each side,
hold, pull and rend,
and rupture my very innards.
You focus on me,
my life, my words, my actions and my body
like you are a Celestron Telescope
searching for every single crater and irregularity.
With an Ultima Barlow lens
and your Leica M9 18MP
You grab each natural image
and then rearrange reality with
your precious, perversely persuasive, periscopic Photoshop technique.
poetic liberty has leased you a license to assassinate,
humiliate,
decimate,
invalidate,
severely lambaste,
and mockingly castrate
everything that I identify as me.
literary freedom allows you to liberally fabricate,
mutilate,
denigrate,
incriminate,
scathingly castigate,
and maliciously urinate
on what others think of me.
To my face you are kind beyond selflessness,
but on your online beat,
your anonymous malevolence
sets you apart
from all the others
that have ever wanted
to write me up,
put me down,
and publish me out.
— Zumwalt (2011) (used by permission from zumpoems.com)
Captured by your pageantry
Mask shielded identity
Bewitched my gallantry
Stole my heart anonymously
Such mysterious glamour
Eerie yet intriguing
Speaking to my emptiness
Replacing all my loneliness
Extravagant mystery
Shadowy history
Surreal and dramatic
Ornately enigmatic
Your life a deceptive dance
Role played romance
Cloaked intentions
And social masks
Lavishly concealed
Make your backroom deals
Trading hearts like tokens
With words softly spoken
The masquerade illusion
The ultimate confusion
Love but allusion
Self-serving inclusion
Bitter truth unveiled
Torn landscape surveilled
Love’s victim impaled
Your manifesto nailed
To my soul
the faceless strikes keyboard hard
shooting opinion barbs
inside the church he prays to
this anonymous stalker hunts
his unseen victim-cries
he-the faceless remains faceless
# for Bite Size Contest No118 Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
Another chapter in my life
over much too soon
when there's so much more to live
it's just not opportune
but is Anonymous the author
or would it be myself possibly
writing this tale so true
could it be an autobiography
and yet I won't be put on hold
my one and only guarantee
tho' late won't be overdue
when it's check out time for me
for on turning a page today
I came to realise and to clarify
I'm living a story in a book on loan
from the Great Library in the Sky
Immortal lines of loss, immortal lines of tears,
lives lived already, swallowed up by the sad years;
Childhood and adulthood anointed by heaven,
and baptized by hell's fallen, demonic children.
In the world of the privileged and few, alone
have I worshiped and prayed in Church, embraced by none:
and recognized in solitude that (for me) life
means isolation, anguish, and depressing strife.
Lord! As thou art now, I'd sooner be God in making;
and free myself from this unfathomable heartbreaking,
this searing of my soul (this burning of my mind)
beyond the pain till there's almost nothing left behind!
On the cold highway of this life I cruise, alone
with no end of the line in sight but the unknown;
for life starts with a dream, and ends in a nightmare:
blessed are these few (they live, then die, ne'er being aware).
Drop a rock into a still pond,
and the ripples echo.
A large enough rock,
and a pond sized tsunami,
waves echoing beyond the edges.
Every step I take creates ripples.
Sometimes, a tsunami.
After all, I'm not screaming in outer space.
And the trillions of steps before mine
that gave me the ground I walk on,
need to be acknowledged by the care I take with every step.
Edna gave advice to the love lost and lovelorn on the radio.
Her show was popular, but it would be the last place I would go.
Her breakups were many, her sour dour ways were no better.
I was thinking of sending this silly station an anonymous letter.
Dearest kitty, you drank my wine last night.
No wonder, you avoid the bright sunlight !
I shall make a small ice bag, for your head,
Your petite, waif-like body, feeling half-dead.
To Felines Anonymous you will now go.
For you see, my Kitty,…….I do love you so!
7/28/2023
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