What do you do
when you’re riddled with riddles,
swallowed whole
right down the middle?
Music blares,
but it’s not me.
’Twas a toot or two
from a fiddle.
What do you do
when your riddles get riddled?
When you’re all alone
and you fiddle your diddle.
Nothing comes out
but a little
piddle.
Compulsively arranged
and out of control,
thought after thought
has swallowed me whole.
Riddled with feelings,
I pick at my mind,
looking for answers
that no one can find.
Can you connect the dots?
I’m trying to justify
whatever still rots.
Riddled with riddles,
discarded
like an afterthought.
Something’s not right here.
Something became
a knot.
strapped to a chair while wires
pierced my skin, tested my knowledge
Will this ever end? Come forth not
My tongue tells all lies, as it splits
down the middle towards your
demise.
My eyes turned black my skin crawling
With fear, as my speech comes out
I feel endless fear. strap me down as
The room shakes, come forth as my
Shackles come off I'm going to my
happy place.
You bind my hands,
Command me to kneel
For what you know are my final moments.
(Surely you know this will kill me)
You take your axe,
Split me down the middle-
Clean.
And I open.
You rip through my skin,
Tear through my fat,
Destroy my viscera.
Prying each rib open,
With the tip of your axe.
You contort my body into grotesque form,
I let you.
I can be whomever you need me to be.
You watch my heart,
Its movements now erratic,
In the wake of ruin.
The carrier of my pain, my thoughts,
My love.
Even still,
It bleeds for you,
It beats for you,
It burns for you.
My blood pools around your heels,
Staining your feet.
You step away,
Disgusted by the mess you made.
The light between the leaves,
is where she likes to play.
Dancing on the dewdrops
as the bubble gives way.
Slurping up her body
until she's nestled inside.
Resting on the giant leaf,
water all she spies.
Colors are abound,
red and purple and blue.
Teasing with the senses,
as dewdrops often do.
She feels the motion coming
as the drip begins to slide,
slowly down the middle,
leaf on either side.
Sailing off the tip,
gliding in the air,
remembering the wings
that were always there.
Busting through the dewdrop,
slimy on her skin,
she watches as it shatters,
becoming whole again.
Until a million more
form bubbles of their own,
each like the one that split,
not like the one before.
Allemande left to your corner;
Go right and left grand.
When you see your pretty gal,
don't squeeze too hard her little hand.
Head ladies chain; side ladies too down the middle
Your partner ain't no second fiddle.
All partners promenade.
Don't stop off for lemonade.
Do si do your corner;
do si do your own.
Circle left. Make a ring;
no, don't ring like a telephone!
Promenade once again.
She’s your Barbie. He’s your Ken.
Ladies in; men sashay.
Step lively; this ain’t no ballet!
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.
Thumb screws its way walking a straight line down the middle of the road hitching a ride on a new page no road kill here life’s a breeze surfing open minds along the torturous wake with all the sweet things
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Shuggie Otis
Balancing midst them both, two lives at once.
Split down the middle and torn at the seams.
Tiptoe the balance beam, pleasing the ones
who know only one side of things.
Confliction, a way of life down to the core.
From every angle, two people ‘twould seem.
Not yet discovered a way to be more,
so both lives are not but a dream.
Illusions, acts on stage, fulfilling roles.
Wondering how it would be.
Letting it melt to one, fill in the holes,
and finally just become me.
I wish it were simply that simple to do,
but both sides are set in their way,
and fully expect me to be the one who
they need at the end of the day.
But only so far can a double life go
before the stretch tears you in two.
And you cannot hide the blood, everyone knows…
but no one knows quite what to do.
four merry frogs with a hey wheez wiggle wiggle wiggle
Were riding a designer fish down the middle of Lake Gibble
The fish was flopping and floundering as fashion fish do.
The frogs were laughing their guts out, and playing their old kazoo.
It’s the kind of day that other frogs are sitting in their swampy place.
But we are the orchestra of orchestras said frog cousin Mrs. Grace.
The rest of them agreed, as they floated out to sea on the fish.
Just one thing, said a dragonfly stopping by “what is your final wish?”
headlight came out of the dusk
heading straight down the middle of Highway Six
He is going to hit us!
The motorcycle drove through us
A ghost cycle
Our son
Kicking an empty beer can,
right down the middle of main street.
Taking time to stop and talk,
to any friends that I might meet.
Hey Red Rover, Red Rover,
come on over if you’re not scared.
Spin the bottle, take my chance,
trying for the girl with red hair.
With an ice-cold Coke and a,
grape pixie stick for us to share.
Walking on the hot steel rail,
with no shoes and never a care.
Why is your beer so yellow,
cause it’s filled with vitamin Pee.
Pass me another cold one,
anyone seen that darn church-key.
‘57 Chevrolet,
bright cherry red and blazing fast.
Cruise the square and Burger bar,
trying hard to make the night last.
Steering wheel in my left hand,
the other around your shoulder.
Planning for a life we’ll share,
together when we are older.
Garage filled with minivans,
children’s toys scattered on the yard.
Have those few hours between,
work and bed always been this hard.
This heat makes it hard to breathe,
as summer forces us to hide.
Sit in air-conditioning,
and never stick our nose outside.
Napping in our rocking chairs,
eyesight dim and hair faded gray.
I know that I have been blessed,
to share with you those summer days.
This is a great place to hide, high above the frozen
creek. My brother will be walking down the middle of it soon.
He'll never see me or this snowball I will hit him with.
I hear footsteps crunching down the thin top layer of ice.
A little closer and I'll attack.
Here's a nice limb to hold onto to balance myself for the throw.
"Crack" The stem has broke, I'm falling, and I feel my body punch
through the ice. I'm cold freezing I need to crawl out onto the bank.
Good, I have made it out, now the long walk home through
the snow before my pants freeze. Each step is becoming more
painful than the last. My steps are becoming shuffles. The
distance home is becoming further and further away.
It's beginning to feel like forever.
Us obediently unaware; the water is getting higher
Sharks of every shape swimming circles conspire;
How did we allow this broken plain to land;
Obviously; the break was visible in that wire
When did you decide to ignore this, electrical fire
Feelings mean little; judged by where you stand
Everyone, even me, needs to feel some desire
Alone has never been; what I truly require
Ripped down the middle; our bed a sinking island;
How can I stop this; from getting more dyer
Are you prepared to receive that legal flier;
Right or Wrong; I can not fix, what I don't understand
Down the middle,
The road to self,
It looks endless,
Walking through infinite doors.
I see more than can be explained.
Down the middle,
I have to journey,
My self unveils itself,
As I venture deeper,
I need more light to see me.
Down the middle,
I embark on a road
fraught with briers and nettles,
I ask if it’s the same for everyone,
I can catch a glimpse of something ahead.
Down the middle,
It’s a winding footpath,
My searchlight doesn’t beam much ahead,
Phantom comes to reality,
There’s a quest and a conquest.
Down the middle,
I see superimposed images,
Yesterday creeping into today,
The road to self,
I see more than the eyes view.
September 25, 2022.
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest,
Brian Strand.
John was painting white lines down the middle of the road
The lines extended rapidly but gradually slowed
The dotted line he'd painted was so accurately spaced
But then his boss said, “Sorry John, you’ll have to be replaced.
“I’m giving you your notice, John, your work rate’s going down,
This morning you got started and you reached the end of town,
After lunch you only painted thirty seven feet
And now it seems you’re really not much further up the street.”
John said, “Look I’m sorry boss, I am doing my best,
I didn’t know that I would face a time and motion test,
My line’s still getting longer, can’t you see how far I’ve got?
But every time I need the paint I’m further from the pot!”
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