pale yellow shards of brittle glass
shatter under my feet
as I stroll along this grey patchwork of concrete
and if the world stutters precarious on its spurious axis,
I pay it no mind
the ice of my pupils melts into inky lashes
that bleed cold down my face
and in my head,
I conjure a universe where
every contradiction, every illusion you did not believe in this one
becomes a reality
all around me,
there are people breathing autumn air who know the art of exhaling
their throats don’t choke, and their tongues don’t freeze
at the thought of forgetting the taste
and that is what I remember hope to be
the galaxies and supernovas and black holes in my chest-
I am tired of their weight
it’s too much for a person, and I am just half of one
so I tell myself it’s not selfish
to fall to frail knees on a faded sidewalk
to double over in searing throes
and give up on starry eyes,
even if it is their memory
that dusts begotten leaves
their golden brown edges crumble into goodbyes
under callous feet
Turn of An Unfriendly Card
(Tarot 3 of Swords)
I cannot empathize with a shattered heart.
That image of a fragile, breakable baby pink orb
Is insulting to how I feel.
The turn of an unfriendly card depicts three swords
thrust into a still beating heart
I feel the sliver blade of that first sword
plunge hard, deep and succinctly.
I gasp with the pain in my chest
I feel the second as it severs sideways
and tears my heart from side to side
and as grief overwhelms my shredded heart,
the third slides neatly, methodically
down the middle until it dismembers
the connection to keeping it all together,
and I double over, sink to the floor, rock my body
and cry.
What I avoided is staring at me
daring me
to accept the inevitable and grow from upheaval
Become something greater that the puddle I’ve collapsed into,
grow something strong from the richness
of the blood-meal soaked earth.
The sword hurts and tears again while being pulled out
in necessary preparation for the healing to begin.
My heart is not fragile.
you, me, she and she
love is us, the four of us,
you, me, she and she.
it is the way we bust out
in spontaneous dance moves
in the middle of our living room
when our fam-fave beat comes on
and we turn the stereo way up too loud
and you do your dorky daddy dance for us
because it makes us laugh so hard we have to stop
and wipe our eyes, double over, hold our tummies.
and I show off old moves because I have rhythm, and
older she does teenaged turns of crazy control
while younger she is a nine-year-old free for all,
four smiley faces dancing in our circle
lost in the beat of the song, the
beating of our one heart.
life is us, the four of us.
you and me, she and she.
Like a burst of confetti
They erupt into the corner store.
Tanned, long legged,
Laughing and pushing each other.
They toss their sun-bleached hair
And glance around to see
If people are watching.
Beach outfits – bikinis
Barely hidden under short
Skimpy coverups.
Sandals, high platform heels,
Gold or red or raffia
With sparkly decorations.
They find the cold soda case
And finally each picks out
Some favorite drink.
They giggle. One fixes
The strap on another’s sandal.
They shove each other
And double over into
Gales of laughter
Over some private joke.
Still giggling, they make their way
To the cashier, pay for their drinks,
And explode into the street
The same way they came in.
I see them most days now in the street,
Neanderthal look-a-likes,
Who only grunt when I give them a hearty good day,
Bent double over their phone,
Gripping it like a prize bone
Bearing a sharp resemblance to prehistoric man,
Who could not yet stand upright,
Showing no signs of sociability or co-operation,
Traits that sowed the seeds of doom,
For that branch of Man-kinds family Tree.
He's always up there
On the crescent moon
Sleeping and snoring loudly
Oh, this "Cupid" couldn't be more different
He's always too groggy from sleep
To ever shoot his arrow straight
Ask his unfortunate victims
Those still alive anyway
All of them, injured... still lovelorn
Some are still hospitalized
He's different from the rest alright.
You'll spot him sleeping on the crescent moon
Wake him at your peril
He hates being bothered. Leave him alone!
He uses his visitors as target practice
He just shoots them
In the groin and laughs
As they double over
Screaming in pain, or dead
YOUR CHOICE LIGHT VERSE (wit,humour,wordplay,puns)any form,any theme Brian Strand (Winner: Honorable Mention)
Date written and posted: 12/12/2018
"Actually Make Me Lol" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Nina Parmenter (Winner: 1st Place)
Date written and posted: 12/12/2018
I SAW THE TREES LAUGHING
I saw the trees laughing at the wind
as it passed by.
They were whispering jokes to each other,
I’m almost sure.
Their arms started flailing as the jolly rumble
began in the trunk;
A timber tickle sent through a barky throat
that shivered
Leading to the double-over, barrel-rolling
laughter.
Tell me you’ve heard the creaking bellow
in your ears, too,
And these are not more wild thoughts leaking
from mad places.
Tell me you’ve seen their frozen faces,
the many races,
The Standing People of older nations
alive but in peril.
Laugh now, before the chainsaw banter
and ‘Timber!’ throes.
Makes me wonder how they can laugh
at all.
I see you
Double over
Cripple to the ground
Who's laughing now
Don't pretend you
Know me
For your the hollow
Whisper in my ear
That whispers of
Nation creations
As if its all your fun
You pull out your weapons
you pull out your guns'
And dance with joy
And away you run..
For the world is your play
Ground evil one
You hold the wickiness of
All ..Tongues ' don't pretend
You know me
For my heart runs cold
I turned my back to you
Evil soul..
Sharp piercing pains
rendered me breathless
I double over,
crouching low like a panther.
Fire, searing fiery fire
leaped at my sides,
licking my backside.
I groan and writhe,
growl and curse!
only the ticking clock
dares to surpass my loud moans.
Sweat trickles down my backside,
flowing down, forming rivulets as
they meet and scamper downwards.
Another tormenting wrench!
This time a wounded lion’s roar echoes.
And so it went on—
Doctors and nurses
mumbled words meaningless
in the face of my helplessness!
I was gripped in the throes of labour pains;
my body betraying me
as it struggled to give life to another.
Seconds, minutes, hours ticked away.
and finally at the eleventh hour,
my energy spent,
my body bushed,
she burst through--
piercing the birthroom with a keening protest!
I lay down my head,
too exhausted to even offer her
a proper welcome
but a weary smile.
People don't play sports because its fun, ask any athlete most of them hate it, but
they couldn't imagine their life without it.
Its part of them, the love hate relationship it’s what they live for. They live for the
practices, the parties, and the cheers.
They live for the long bus rides, all the invitationals, and the countless
pairs of shoes, and of course, coaches’ you hate but yet appreciate.
They live for the way it feels when going into double over time and then wining by
one point, and then knowing those two extra sprints they ran in practice were
worth it.
They live for the way they become a family with the team, they live for the
countless songs they sing in there head while a coach conditions them like
there’s no tomorrow.
They live for the competition; they live for the glory, the memories, and
the satisfaction.
It’s who they are, it's who we are. WE ARE ATHLETES!
(Live strong and Live free)
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