Wishes
Hot air of the mouth
Desires
Baseless notions riddled with doubt
I wait for you
I watch for you
Brave in life, coward in love
Send me a sign
Beacon of life from Above
And so is Below
Where feelings fester and grow
Beneath the surface of something intangible
Beneath the truth is forbidden fruit
Beneath my smile is longing for you
Beneath my joy are desires untold
Beneath my skulls fantasies unfold
How I long
How I wait
Another helping on my dinner plate
The indulgence, the greedy
This want, lust consumes me
Or is it love?
I ask of nothing
I expect even less
I sit in silent stress
Your life flows by
No but I'm waiting, watching
Hand in hand with time
As a patient soul, one could argue it is fate
One could argue I deserve another helping on my dinner plate
Or one could not
One could decide it is my time to wait and rot
One could accuse me of the greatest sin of all
Expecting the love of another without showing mine
I stall.
Thirty-nine and thirty-eight…
Let me get this straight.
Thirty-seven and thirty-six…
How can I be in this fix?
Thirty-five and thirty-four…
Are you sure there is no more?
Thirty-three and thirty-two…
What can I do?
Thirty-one and thirty…
Now I'm getting shirty!
Twenty-nine and twenty-eight…
I don't accept this fate!
Twenty-seven and twenty-six…
I refuse to be in this fix!
Twenty-five and twenty-four…
I’ll settle this score.
Twenty-three and twenty-two…
What's my life worth to you?
Twenty-one and twenty…
If it's money, I've got plenty.
Nineteen and eighteen…
I demand to stay on the scene!
Seventeen and sixteen…
C'mon! On a deal, I’m keen.
Fifteen and fourteen…
Your stubbornness is obscene.
Thirteen and twelve…
I’ve negotiations to shelve.
Eleven and ten…
I guess I'll just give in.
Nine and eight…
It's getting late.
Seven and six…
This, I can't fix.
Five and four…
There is no more.
Three and two…
I love you.
One and done.
Death came for her on a Sunday.
I have to fry the chicken for church, she argued.
Death hung out in a closet with mildew and stains.
She tried on clothes the victim would not need any more.
Came out wearing a black leather coat that fit perfectly.
You can have that, the victim said, hoping for more time.
Monday I have Bible study, she said. Can you give me Monday?
What time is it over? Death asked.
I should be home by noon, she said.
Can I keep the leather jacket?
Of course!
They slept together that night – she and Death.
It was a fitful sleep as death held her arm down hard.
She decided to outsmart Death.
Can I go to Bible Study alone? She asked.
Death laughed.
She was helpless
No escape.
She had forgotten this….
Would you take a dollar?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
Would you take a fifty-cent piece?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
Would you take a quarter?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
The haggler has no idea how to haggle really, the
vendor thinks, not realizing she gets more things for
a dollar, a fifty cent piece and a quarter than anyone
else in the world.
The buyer leaves with her dollar intact.
There is another garage sale two houses down, right?
Would you take a dollar?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
Would you take a fifty-cent piece?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
Would you take a quarter?
Yes. Sure.
Thank you very much! I love it!
Oh, dear God, less than one year ago you took her...
his only sister, younger than he is...
his wound still heals...
heartache, still raw.
And now, a new knife stabs his sore and open wound...
his younger brother, fighting for his life,
now lays dependent on machines to live...
alive for now, but doomed so soon to say goodbye.
God, I beg, can you spare their pain...
let these brothers stay together?
Just two left now...
one, soon, alone.
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: Fragmented Verse
Sponsor: Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings
Judged: 07/23/2018
Use not only a stool
as a bargaining tool.
Volodymyr Knyr
2014
unsatisfied with a life
possessed
by the significant other of
choice,
s/he begins to flirt, to open a
door &
lets in the heart of another,
who appreciates him/her
like s/he feels that s/he should be,
who makes him/her feel
sexy, who makes him/her feel
alive, who makes him/her
feel like leaving said significant other,
at least some of the
time---
for the years spent with
the longtermer, have not all been bad,
they’ve just begun to wither
like any flower that has been
taken out of the sun &
letting on to the new heart in her life
so as to set jealousy aflame in
the mind of the longtermer
is all part of trying to stir things up,
to make him/her appreciate what it is
that s/he has,
to keep them together
by any means necessary,
inevitably leaving this new heart
in the gutter,
having fulfilled their job as the
manipulated
bargaining chip.
A very special treat when I was a lad,
Was going to J C Penneys with my Mom and Dad,
To visit Santa sitting upon his elegant throne,
Hoping my youthful follies with him I could atone!
I'd been warned by Mom throughout the year,
That if I behaved I would have nothing to fear,
Because somehow Santa knew if I'd been bad or good;
If good, toys beneath the tree was a likelihood!
So with fingers crossed I hopped up on his knees,
To make known to him my youthful pleas.
After hearty ho-hoing he got around to asking me,
What I wanted him to leave beneath the Christmas tree.
I gave him my list and he said, "I can't guarantee,
But I'll do my best if you will promise me,
To leave a snack other than cookies and milk,
Like salami and cheese or vittles of that ilk!"
I was a nervous wreck, my angst hard to conceal,
Wondering if Santa would stick to his end of the deal.
There were heaps of toys when I awoke on Christmas dawn,
And mysteriously, all the salami and cheese was gone!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
A view from the cause,
alters the landscape in you
I surrender to the earth,
the roots. Purifying the leaves.
I tell myself, this was not me,
my music. Still my skin
has the tattoos of pandemic deafness.
I am breathing through the lips.
My attachment to death
is a private affair
my voice lies in a lake.
The butterfly in a womb.
the psalms under the rocks.
Is it ending of death
or death of ending?
I go beyond the brink,
drop the stone in water.
When the moon touches
my eyes, like a kiss
I start sharing the menu of night.
The rimless thoughts are hovering
like small birds. I listen
to their flappings.
Can we live without bargaining?
Do you know the price?
SATISH VERMA