Line of Inquiry: We look at spirit not at form. Our touch is gentle, kind and warm. We but reflect God’s love and light. ‘Tis the path to which we conform.
She stood beside the crosswalk in the rain,
her coat drenched, her gaze turned toward the ground;
I almost passed, weighed down by my own haste.
But something in the storm—perhaps its whispered strain~
unveiled her spirit like a lantern found,
a quiet glow no weather could erase.
I offered her my umbrella, small and slight,
and in her lifted eyes dawn broke anew~
a warmth that mirrored God’s unbidden grace.
Thus kindness shaped the path my heart pursued,
teaching me form is shadow, spirit light.
Busy as a street could ever be
Everyone's eyes veiled but me
In this busy anthill
A poor old lady gave a shrill
Struggling on a zebra, a daily drill.
As every ant, loaded, hurriedly passed by
To the poor lady I gave a wide smile.
Met by a worn-out stare
I noticed my gesture was to her a scare
"Mom, let me help you cross," I said to her.
Sensing the genuineness in that smile
She handed me her hand, gave a high sigh.
Her panting could not just stop
As if her poor breath was on the cross
Ready to be nailed for crucifixion.
On the other side of the road
The sun shines again, brighter.
Her poor old heart breathes lighter
A weight lifted from her tired soul
And I, too, feel a little more whole.
`
stuck between smoke stack volumes
in alphabetical order
woven metal bodies
straight lines leaving little to the imagination
some big, some small
from exhausted paint rollers
leaving their mark
just outside of the jewelry store
crushed cigarette butts on the ground
falling between the cracks
of walkways reflecting diamond brooches
you can’t afford
designer dreams offered at half the price
where the sign in the windows reads
“anything you want”
and you do
scents drift between stone columns
fast food lines move slower
as fries fall to the bottom
to be found later
when the traffic light finally turns green
and you run out of gas
stalling at the crosswalk
of where you never wanted to be
11/1/19
For the: Anything you want Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
It tears my heart to see where you're heading
I can feel you lying to my face
You're not the same girl I once knew
I don't know how much longer I can stand to be around
I put myself in so much agony as we sit there in lies
It's there in black and white yet you turn the other cheek
You need to figure out your goals and priorities and quit your lies
Because we all see where this is heading
I saw the old Death Angel
Walking ‘cross the street,
Disguised as a pedestrian,
Visage coy and sweet.
I rolled up my window,
‘Didn’t pause to wait—
I drove right past the lady—
“Can’t we have a date…?”
“No time to talk…I’m late…”
I saw the old Death Angel
Walking ‘cross the street,
Disguised as a pedestrian,
Visage coy and sweet.
I rolled up my window,
‘Didn’t pause to wait—
I drove right past the lady—
“Can’t we have a date…?”
“No time to talk…I’m late…”
Vantage:
the curb
and tide beside the curb
of soggy buds
and moist minds
spilled loose with thrust-
my innards {PRESSURIZE}
to rise me up, up, or down, down -
but I am no fish.
the boots I kick are
bloated,
chilled still and mostly water.
i peck the curb -
call out,
claw -
caw gray thoughts
of snowglobes.
i ask you please
that you scratch
at the base of my shoulderblade,
- that you scrape deep!
so ice showers slough off me
like
ancient skin.
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