The artist is absent, i guess i killed her off. Built her, just to break her- like a ceramic cup in the decor. A sway and the pieces fall, broken down in chunks of her pain. In the story of everything, the art suffers- tight ship, bad weather- nothing helps. There's no shore to go to. You stay with the wind, flock with the waves like a clueless bird, hoping someday you'll reach a comfort of a place you get to call home. I didn't feed her soul- with words full of love, hate, sad, happy- all she can feel is a hole, in her life where the content used to be. Where the quill-and-ink rested along with a page, ready to be scribbled, ready to be filled with her mind's rage. The ink bleeds once or not at all. It's tiring, having to walk in the spring season, fresh air, new hopes different dreams and yet feeling like the fall.
Every step she takes, every mistake she makes, all the roadblocks that make her feel nothing at all. Carnations over her gazettes, no scriptures, no memories to recall. It has faded into nothing yet she bleeds it somehow. The writer is absent, I think I've killed her off. Clueless in her own world somehow.
I’m someone’s baggage.
Broken zipper.
She took her notebook and I took my journal.
That’s loneliness.
She broke all the stepping stones that got me to the next motionless swamp.
I thought I had somewhere to cry like raining jellybeans.
I’m many people’s baggage.
Sinks down like mango chunks of myself.
My body is poisonous as old pencil shavings.
Almost as irritating.
My therapist left me a few weeks ago.
She said I took the last candy in her candy jar.
Ruined it for her next client.
He stands by the window,
a glass of whiskey in his hand,
watching the rain pull the city
into little fractured mirrors.
Ten years, he thinks, ten years
since the house fell quiet,
since the brother turned thief,
slicing chunks out of their father,
not with blades but with empty words
and promises that tore at their seams.
Love is a joke some days,
a noose others,
and tonight it’s the weight
pulling down hard
on the bridge of his nose.
He pictures his brother now,
tall, sharp-angled laugh,
skin folded with time
and shamelessness,
the guileless predator
preying on the man who raised them,
left him lighter in the pockets,
heavier in the heart.
And though he loves him
doesn’t he always?
he could snap his neck clean
if the moment called for symmetry.
But Cain and Abel,
he wonders,
were the gods wrong to decide
who bled first?
Some sins stink worse,
and guilt is always tender.
It’s hard to accept the character
Which you aren’t meant to
It’s useless to accept mistakes
When you haven’t committed
Sometimes chunks of emotion
ruin your dignity and self esteem
It’s better to withstand it
Controlling overflow of it
Well, it’s Preety obvious
You know who you are
So it’s unworthy
Explaining your character
Those who knows you
Obviously won’t lay a finger on you
So, it’s better
Maintaining a gap with those peoples
I know sometimes
It’s hard to keep distance
between loved ones
but sometimes those solutions
Fix many misunderstandings and problems
I sit at the feet of giants
As I write this
Humbled in the presence
Of cedars and sequoias
Magnificent pillars propping up
An impossibly blue heaven
Tourists trickle between their toes
Like ants from all over the world
On this Easter Sunday
While the ever-devout mosses
Face their northern Mecca
In perpetual silent prayer
A man strolls by
Carrying chunks of red bark
And I can’t help but smile
Because the only souvenirs
I’ll be bringing back with me
Are photos to scrapbook
And the memories of
This viridescent breeze
Its ocean-whisper through
The towering treetops
The glitter of sunlit snow
A velvet-antlered mule deer
Blossoming dogwood
And this poem.
(5-21-26 For "Snapshots of a Night Scene" Contest Sponsor - Nette Onclaud)
Dusk slowly approaches, as their energy finally begins to wane. Half flat soccer balls
speedily sent down a grassless, asphalt field by crooked, knobby sticks.
Stubby chunks of chalk - pink, yellow, blue, white. Hopscotch squares already fading
Frayed jump ropes swinging up, around, and down,
their satisfying soft smacks on the ground, keeping rhythm.
Delighted squeals of joy, laughter, calling out of names to friends, classmates, neighbors, siblings...
Somehow, this view left me remembering
my days of young, pondering the timeless satisfactions and yearnings of youth.
Gentle raindrops begin to splat red and orange leaves, partially painted the weed-lined pavement
Small shadows scatter and go wherever it is they go when the night sets in.
they flitter and flutter like inverted birds
turning and curving like verbs and adverbs
tangerine, amber, and a few sunlit leaves too
squirrels do not watch to see what they will do
They are chasing each other around the trunks
while the leaves are divebombing in tiny chunks
the autumn ambiance is showing trees of black
these shriveling leaves will never find their way back
the brownies and elves are glad to be here today
They watch me bring pumpkins and gourds to stay
I give up trying to collect leaves, and put my rake away
This is leaf dying weather, celebrate with “hooray!”
Emotional turmoil
Sudden surges of recoil
Bursting flames of rage
Black chunks of coal
Purged from the soul
Embers of grief and regret
Fresh and fine cubes of assorted fruit bites
Rainbow hued bits add an appealing look
Unite them with the creamy custard sauce
Ingredients like dry- fruits boost its taste
Thickens when the dish placed in a freezer
Serve it by garnishing with chopped dry fruits
Adorable dessert for all age groups
Luring footed-bowls make the feast full pledged
Appetite eases with the cool crisp chunks
Diverse tastes resemble the shades of life
Place : 2nd
Oh give me a pie
Just before I die
And yes of course
I’ll have some sauce.
It must have large chunks of meat
Anything else I refuse to eat
None of that pissy gravy and mince
That kind of stuff just makes me wince.
Make it as hot as volcanic lava
Hot enough to hurt a cadaver
Flavour it with some Guinness stout
Otherwise you’ll hear me shout.
Don’t give me some noodles
Or crisp apple strudels
Just give me a nice pie
Before I die.
What’s in a disease
when hate is all one needs
to chip away the soul...
Chunks us to our knees,
exposes all the darkness
Deep within
called
sin.
They say, it’s not my fault
They say, it’s in my genes
But every time I let one out
Everyone turns green
“Oh God” I hear them try to scream
As they gasp for air and breathe
God I’m not but some do believe
I may be a silly Martian
Landing bombs indiscriminately
Even though it is they
So, it seems to me
Who all are turning green
I swear it’s not my fault
But my body does not lie
When everything has gone to it
It’s time to let it fly
The pressure gets to be too much
So, I let ‘er rip
It’s time for my assault
So Everyone best get a grip
I never hold it back or halt
It only makes it worse
Releasing stinky poetry
Is my earthly curse
I’m not your puzzle.
I’m not a picture of a cloud.
I could be a rain check.
For a later date.
But you better leave my peace behind.
And just leave me with “see you later.”
You’ll regret pulling me apart into chunks.
I’m not your puzzle.
I’m too jagged and I’m no peaceful garden picture.
Or a flat surface.
Though it may seem…
You’re foolish anyway.
Have you ever thought that…
I’m as solved as a blueberry pie.
Or a bale of hay.
Makes you sniff and sneeze.
Have you ever thought that…
I’m not your puzzle.
Maybe next time….
Spend a little money.
Because puzzles ain’t free.
A sandwich of peanut butter,
be it with or without jelly,
is just the thing that I need
to satisfy my belly.
So, if you have a jar of Jif,
with or without chunks,
a butter knife is what we need
to smooth out all the glunks.
We'll also need a slice of bread,
with or without crust,
and a plumber's helper
to clear our esophagust.
A pretzel goes with mustard
Like a bagel goes with cheese
And meals must end with something sweet
In order to appease.
French fries should not have ketchup,
But for burgers, it’s a must
And ice cream filled with chocolate chunks
Leaves others in the dust.
My choices might not mesh with yours,
For everybody’s taste
Depends on how and where we’re raised
And foods we have embraced.
Yet each of us has favorites
And that sets us all apart.
Let’s unite with some strong coffee
And a well-made Linzer tart!
Chunks of dark chocolate
Crushed into a large mug,
Covered in silky milk,
Cooked until subtly warm
Caresses my parched throat,
Comforts my snow-cold hands –
Christmas cheer on my tongue!
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