Lazy nights
Backbay
Sunsets
I dream of
you
Me
Lobster tails
As big
as my forearm
I could swim
in butter
Your smile
lite my face
Like the moon
Memories
I hold them
like change
in a Jar
Forever
tiger like striping
forearm looks like a white tree trunk
finger leaves at tip
smooth and half way warm
polka dotted with freckles
tiny grandma hands
Where the hell am I, for God's sake how did I get here, what have I done to deserve this un-humane madness. I knew what I was doing, I had complete control of myself. It wasn't the alcohol nor be it the pills that were prescribed to me for anxiety. It was me in a nutshell, because that's who I am and that's who I will always be. I knew exactly what I was doing, when I was doing it, and why I was doing what I had done. It was a simple little piece of art that fit me to a tee. This little but meaningful tattoo of a heart showed others who I was and that it was meant for others to give them hope in life. That's all it stood for and all it was meant for. So why ask I, have I been snatched from my home like a spider from its web on your wall and thrown into this hellhole like the spider in a jar and tortured by the likes of a rulers' law. The ink that I have stained permanently on my left forearm for others to see and feel comfort will always be a part of me, like it or not you damn foolish bigot. For heaven's sake...let me out of this hellhole Satin.
the ink on my arm
the devil didn't like it
it's for heaven's sake
Third Shard
But black
I could clearly see where the past dried
And the new began
I need to clean this dried blood
Before more comes
Damage control
Before I could even
I collapse
I’ve lost too much
I can’t move
What’s happening ?
What do I do ?
I need to clean
“There’s nothing left.”
With the strength I have left
I take a large shard of glass
And cut my forearm
No red
I cut again
Nothing
I cut again
And again
And again
Nothing
There’s nothing left
But scars
A shell
She wore uncertainty on her shoulder
hesitation held back her shoes
Twitches split her left forearm
these emotions seeped into their news
Let him explain, she considered
nerves of steel need not preparation...
In the pit of a parental boardroom
one word ~ eloped ~ sealed their doom
Your hand
As so inclined
Am I to show that love refined
Itself to friendship
Yet in that lowly
Friendly act
There still remains the simple fact
As lips touch skin
Respectful blessing
Is released
And worried brow becomes uncreased
For lips they linger..
Just a while..
To transfer more than just a smile
They wish to walk the extra mile
From wrist
To forearm
Where friends desist
And love walks slowly from the mist
And yet..
This happens
In the mind
Forgive the drift from 'love refined'..
As thought constrained
And locked away
In hopeful future such love remains
A warmth, cold daytime life detains
In daydreams
That was why I had to smack your cheek:
Always for our James the Biggest Smile;
Scored tasks from school untouched every week:
On one subject had he gone some mile.
God knows that James clothes of whisky reek
And he washes them not; up they pile;
Last week on his forearm a streak:
A Dad should refuse to excuse style...
I see things reaching the Devil's Peak,
If I don't their school's phone number dial
You may Lord God's face through prayers seek
But If James joins you it is as guile!
No need now to pretend the Good Knight,
Right under my roof a pitch-black night.
James junior you joined for roles not right,
I no longer glimpse a future bright...
Like cops shall open for James a file,
His phone by me purchased hold a while.
Due to his callous disregard, he divided her intent
Wanting to be loved was rapidly replaced
With needing to be nurtured
Windscreen scorch, midday duco seared her palms
A lost Christmas scarab lurid green beetle
Gripped Flora's taut forearm
Future she craved wavered toward steely necessity
Untitled as lucre of lake illusion luminous
Looming in her frontal lobe
Angel held urns runneth over, soma sportula pour
Treacle tips intoxicating as cherry kirsch
Accommodation on aileron
Conveyed from kookaburra sarcasm to city suzerain
Mirror tower monuments collide in clouds
Encourage worldwide rivalry
Flora's inclination for comfort drives acute delirium
Arid Arab cobalt coast melts cultures mosaic
Gamey gourmet, cutlery gleam
Her new wrist cuffed, convict of antique timepiece
Lost Duat archived exchange rate temporal
Khepra hands kissed henceforth
12th March 2023
Written for Contest: 'K' Word Challenge
Sponsor: Constance La France
I was walking through Woodruff Park
again today, although it felt a little
bit more like swimming; I had to backstroke
my way through viscous Summer air.
As I stopped to catch my breath
and towel off, I saw him.
Lying at the bottom of this swimming pool of a park
among the 2 o’clock trees and rugged,
rebellious weeds was a middle-aged man,
face creased and folded like fresh-pressed
dry cleaning before your first big interview
He was on his back, still as statuary,
in unlaced jet-black dress shoes,
polished so each one winked in the sunlight.
Arms buffeted at the elbows by quickly cuffed
sleeves as they lay heavy on the ground like unsuspecting
roadkill on that new on-ramp off of Boulevard.
The spotlight was on him: golden rays upon
fragile eyelids. Cruel beams focused like a bored
eight-year-old with a magnifying glass.
He looked dead.
Just when I began to dive back in and play
lifeguard, he pulled that naked forearm
up over his eyes and took a deep, wet breath.
There lived in bog a frog who was aloof,
croaked string music, his clan called him a goof.
Plunged in deep water for prey,
swam struggling, kept risk at bay,
seeing his friend, the fiddler on the roof.
The frog ate the prey, swam back steadily,
the fiddler strummed strings for him zestfully.
Lost balance, from roof he fell,
his forearm broke like eggshell.
The frog croaked his friend’s curtailed melody.
______________
January 27, 2023
Syllable count : 10/10/7/7/10 (HMS)
Contest : The Fiddler And The Frog
Sponsored by : Craig Cornish
That dog bares his teeth
but don’t you know, he’s nose to nose
with a very long kid
who grew up with him
I try to rub his fur
as he runs along, never looking back
meanwhile he
plays kissy-kiss with the linebacker
I grab him bold
a paw stumbles over each hand
his teeth in a fitful state
scores my forearm and hand
Still if I have a chip,
he hears the crunch, knows I might toss
it on the floor
because he goes all in if I finger-feed
I picked up the Sports page,
not to hit, I’d never…
but to put between me and him
does the trick
The kid’s not the alpha…
neither am I, but someone better be.
My sis snatches him up,
“Good Dog, Baxter.”
Who are you kidding…bad dog…bad dog
but he’s a nice bit of fur,
looks like an ewok —
he’s working it for a chip…
1/10/2022
*Name of the dog’s changed to protect the innocent
or is it the guilty…lol
Talk to Me Rosetted Body
David J Walker
The reminders
Of adventures
Worthy of immortal celebration
displayed in an inked
Hieroglyphs parade
on all locations of
the bodies canvas-like surface
aged and dated
in a once vibrant hue
as the new
faded with time
what was it you were saying
when you were saying mine
I remember the mother
Who tracked every lover
She had ever known
With their names in order
On her forearm
I remember the Carnie
With the carnage of his life
Covering every inch
Of his body
In the black prison ink recording
The everyday strife
I remember the soldier
Growing older
with the battles won and lost
At the cost
Of every member of a
Decimated squad he will
Never be able to forget
Talk to me Rosetted body
Of the reminders and adventures
Of a lifetime
You never meant anything to me anyway.
If I twist my wrist and thrust it down,
I flick my hips and slip away.
If I smash my forearm into your grill,
this is how I get my thrill.
You never meant anything to me anyway.
I am just a player, playing for fun.
But when I begin to play for money,
I flick my hips and slip away.
Sometimes, brutality and reality collide.
Brothers and players stand side by side.
You never meant anything to me anyway.
Well-off fans and super-rich owners,
to the players, are nothing but donors.
I flick my hips and slip away.
The players always give their all,
but always are expendable.
You never meant anything to me anyway.
I flick my hips and slip away.
I've got a mate called Mick,
With an appendage like my forearm.
He's got no wit or personality,
Not even an ounce of charm,
But the ladies all still love him,
In tight trousers he goes out at night.
I asked him how he does it,
In an extra pocket I wear on the right.
Now that I know how he does it,
Without any wit or charm.
Just sew a pocket in my pants,
Filled with a sock,shaped like an arm.
Just a bit of fun to make you ladies smile.
And to make the blokes jealous.lol.
9/July/2021.
There is a wolf among us, Webrah, their clan leader stated.
The clansman looked around in disbelief.
Their shadows were eerily elongated
Enhanced and distorted by the council fire.
Names began rumbling in a mumbling way.
Scentar? Dragsphere?
The clan leader said I am as concerned as you
But no one knows who he is. We only know he is here.
To fulfill the prophecy? One of the younger wolf dwellers asked.
The clan began to nod. They had recognized the other signs.
Owl hooting six times on a Thursday.
Rocks mysteriously placed on top of each other without toppling.
I think so, the clan leader said.
Do we honor the pact? The whispering was fierce now.
It was agreed that whoever he was, they would recognize him as clan leader.
Webrah’s daughter came in, and stated she had been chosen. All were silent.
Had a woman ever become clan leader?
She showed them the mark of the wolf’s teeth.
It was on her forearm, the absolute sign they had been waiting for.
No one dared argue, though some were less than pleased.
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