In a valley where gravity
drinks only upside-down,
She wakes, spinning thread
from fractured glass,
Kindling pale fires
that refuse to burn,
Her heart was a metronome
ticking in a vacuum.
She speaks in violet vowels,
Building bridges out of
forgotten whispers,
Holding the sun
inside a jar of moths,
Where nothing is
permitted to die.
He arrives on a wind
that tastes of iron,
A void dressed in velvet,
Swallowing the light
she mightily stitches,
His heart was a hollow flute
recreating in quietness.
He breathes out velvet nights,
Breaking bridges
with a touch of nostalgia,
Stalking the shadows
of her bright moths,
Where everything
is allowed to rot.
They meet at the intersection
of Nowhere and Ever,
She weaves him a coat
of crystal tears,
He dissolves it
into a cloak of ash.
She offers a rose,
blooming backward into dust,
He drinks the rot,
singing a lullaby of screaming,
Two opposites locked
in a dream that bleeds,
Never merging, never leaving,
One holding the flame,
the other the dark,
Binding the shattered
world together,
In a dark, loving, terrible art.
he is the eater of light
he will consume your soul
and
your mind
stalking inside you nightmares
he is the killer of dreams
crushing all hope and desire
weakening your will
and
your might
he is the fear running
through your veins
his rivers of darkness
flow strong
flow-with robust might
he sends shivers up your spine
tightening the knot
then call it shame
as you curl up and hide
inside anxieties shadows
his screams echo through your brain
a chorus of the insane
living inside your mind
he is the hands of idleness
the procrastinator of time
breathing ice
and exhaling the same
darkness his true delight
My sister's so picky 'bout what she'll eat.
Her food quirks are annoying and offbeat.
At breakfast and lunch
or Saturday brunch
we all roll our eyes and admit defeat!
***
1 Spicy Pickled Scallion
In The Beard Is Worth
2 That Fell Out Of That
Beard On The Floor.
***
Take THAT
Major FOMO, Ma'am!
3 Scallions Only
I Can Still Enjoy...
-Gray Squirrel
11-06-2025
I do not like peanut butter, potatoes, cheese or chocolate said Hugh
To other foods I suggested, he rapidly replied “ooooh”.
I could tell by face, they were not a favorite in any way.
This was an eye-opener for me, his grandma, this day.
He was supposed to stay with us a week what could I do?
No foods in my cupboards would appeal to young Hugh
What is in your refrigerator? My cousin Louise asked me.
Brownies, cake mixes, potatoes, cheeses and a large cooky.
to feel another’s Pain is not enough.
you must combine your sympAthy
wIth your empathy,
until they are oNe in the samE.
you must tAke it,
devour IT,
until it becomEs your own.
now…
you can count it your loss, but foR their gain
God would eat giant marshmallows the size of mountains, I think.
He would turn up his nose at leftovers thrown down the sink.
Lollipops and popsicles would be easy for him to reach.
Lined up in his bedroom, next to his pet llama, Screech.
God would devour tuna and salmon, but leave beef to us.
Red meat is a killer, he confides to his servant, Gus.
He loves key lime pie, goes to Florida incognito to buy it.
Was in line next to you yesterday, please don’t have a fit.
German chocolate cake with coconut icing is a favorite of His.
He drinks twenty-two cream sodas daily, if they have extra fizz.
God is a sweet-eater, he loves sugar, and honey.
Salt is also a favorite; he buys potato chips when he finds money.
Soul Eater
The concept of the soul was intangible and distant.
Faith and belief all that gave it substance,
weak and watery as it was. Until that wretched day…
I hurt, I ached, in a before unfelt place deep within. My physical being was effected but it did not originate from my body.
If I were paralyzed, or dead to my flesh in some way, This pain would continue, on and on.
The concept of the soul was intangible and distant…until the creation of my body was snuffed out, buried under soil and rock to decompose as corpses do.
My child taken from me caused me to know my soul… for it became tortured. An itch I couldn't scratch…an ache unrelenting, all consuming.
Now I know, beyond doubt, I have a soul…because bright pain always shows his hideous face, demands attention, cannibalizes joy and leaves only dispair.
Loss is the Soul Eater.
son's hands tremble fierce
all gas going to burn it up
needs to find rhythm
(Alternative Ending for Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater)
Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater.
Do you think he kept his wife so well
by putting her inside a pumpkin shell?
Inside that shell she had no room
to move around. A rotten groom
was Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater.
In the end, his wife could not be found
by friends or family. He’d thrown away the key,
and his wife was not allowed
to leave that stinking pumpkin shell.
Rumor is from loneliness she died.
Peter cruelly put all empathy aside.
Self-assertion blatant, repelling babble exuberant, closing floodgates you eschew, none fooled by you.
you speak,
winds shriek,
shout loud,
feel proud,
you brag
self tag,
your lies
none buys,
voice lone,
place shown,
musk breaks,
face wrecks,
mouth shut,
stops glut.
You blurt garbage dirt, off your guard, torn to shard, do a volte-face, eat words in disgrace.
__ __
> | <
|
---
===
W
--
I ate because I was bored.
A bunch of meats, none tasty enough.
I gulped down caramel popcorn.
Unsatisfied, I looked for something sweet.
I ate because I was disappointed.
Three kinds of cheeses – jalapeno, cheddar and pepper jack.
I felt stuffed for about an hour, then I sought something chocolate.
A Milk Way bar did not cut it.
I ate because I was sad.
I could not get the salt into my mouth fast enough.
I devoured potato chips, French fries and a Margarita.
Do you suppose you are an emotional eater?
Um……..duh!
Sweet Eater was pink from the inside out.
We saw her coming and we all gave a shout.
She had a sweet disposition she never did pout.
But she ate our pantries and our kitchens out.
She devoured cookies, she devoured bread.
Her cheeks got pink and her teeth got red.
She slurped up frosting, and she ate our cheese.
She could barely walk on her corpulent big old knees.
She’s coming! We yelled, getting out of the way.
She usually appeared on the third Thursday.
She liked sweets especially, our food was not safe.
She’s a glutton! Said our cousin, Mr. Rutherford Rafe.
The Soul Eater
Has a very deep voice; he
gurgles and gargles, and
he call out names and eats
them up. He belches and fumes
And has a great
sense of direction; he knows
which way is up. Yet all
he really wants
is to be
admired.
I will have my steak gruesomely rare.
Eating mine with Heinz 57 flare.
I am from I-O-WAY
I do not play.
I can eat a cow, a horse and a mare.
I am from Nebraska don’t you know?
You Iowans can brag, and you can blow
But here’s my rule
You little fool
I’ll eat whatever does not start to go.
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