The tree in my backyard has been watching me since I was three.
As time passed, its gaze has never set me free.
In the light, it gives a shadow;
in the dark, it hides the light.
This tree makes my life just not right.
Like the other night, it knocked on my window, gave me a fright.
This damn tree is trying to take my life;
I know it looks at me like a killer with a knife.
So with an axe, I hacked it to the ground,
And joyfully, wildly, I danced around.
d e a t h came . . .
like a thief and took my love
I kissed his stone cold lips
his beautiful face frozen in time
the place where his heart once beat
all was still
oh, I wanted to scream and wail
w h y . . .
in the mists of your eyes
I fall into a restless dream
twirling and swirling ~
then, I am walking among headstones
I know the way well
and find myself standing at your grave
the roses I brought yesterday
lay dead and withered~
I feel the heat of your heartbeat
as gauzy clouds sweep us away . . . to
where the sky drifts into the sea
and I am lost in your love
my ruby lips find yours
you are whispering into my ear
I will love you for a thousand years
and more ~
and we are drifting on the aqua sea
vast and endless . . .
but the dream fades~
and I whisper
tears falling
oh, fear not my l o v e
I will find you beyond the stars
death's knife cannot destroy
this love
for the vow and bond between us
is eternal ~
cuts truer
than any sharper end
through any meat or heart
that lies on the cutting board
for cooking
nuvole bianche
means white clouds
in Italian
I also love the song
titled the same
I smell you on my pillow
Music and smell sometimes
coincide
My hair hangs tangled
The gray, water-burdened sky
cannot clear itself either,
of whatever made it heavy
My life is in piano notes
thought of and never played
Nine days before Terry died
he told me to tilt the candle
so he could light it
'Dietro Casa' was playing
and he asked me what the song was
I cannot see the deer,
light a candle,
eat pasta primavera,
or enjoy a spring, a lake, a moment
without considering how much more
color, texture, angle, flavor,
and all the other dimensions
there could be
life would be worth naming
with you in it
You slash into my space,
armed with venom,
to poison me, the one,
you are supposed to love,
and protect.
But—
all you do, is inspire fear,
into me.
I like to
hide myself
away, from all the rest.
And you,
you attack me for this,
you yell, you scream, you cry.
Why,
Why,
Why,
would I ever want to be with
someone who loves me,
through everything,
but words.
I like to be alone, far
from you.
I cannot love someone who,
chooses only to love me,
when I make them happy;
when I do what they think is right;
when I am a mere lamb, following them.
For to be anything else with you,
is to deal with your pain,
that you couldn’t stand,
so you burn and burden mean.
Maybe I carry the flame, or maybe
im already—always?— was on fire
to begin with.
Still,
I cannot be with someone,
who loves me only,
when I make no wrong move.
For that is to burn,
at the expense of another;
blood is not thicker,
than what you cut it with.
THE LONELY KNIFE
The lonely man grieving a lie,
a stranger to his life.
No one left to speak his name,
an undeserved strife.
His body tired, his mind replete,
remembering his wife.
Watching the news from dawn to dusk.
What keeps him from the knife?
A dutiful life without complaint,
content to love and live.
The lady was only interested
in what this man could give.
He loved her still despite each shot,
a rude, crude, one sided feud.
A patient placated pac mule
whose love was always skewed.
Manipulating affections,
habitation in his head.
Yet her diary sits unfiltered
on her side of the bed.
He wont invade her privacy
although she's long since gone.
For all of her indiscretions,
her last shot stays undrawn.
This cleuless, lonely, love lorn, man
his ignorance is bliss.
Tis character that just as much
saved him from the abyss.
Is it better that he should mourn
the lost love of his life,
or suffer the truth her betrayal?
Which ever stays the knife!
Betrayal is a quiet thing at first,
a whisper behind a smile,
a handshake that lingers just a second too long
while the knife is already picked out.
It doesn’t crash through the door
like anger or grief.
It slips in politely,
wipes its feet,
and sits at your table like it belongs there.
You replay the moments later,
the laughs, the promises, the “I’ve got you.”
Each memory turns inside out,
like photographs soaked in water
until the faces blur into strangers.
The worst part isn’t the loss.
It’s the rewrite.
The way yesterday suddenly feels fake,
like you were reading a book
and discovered half the pages were forged.
Trust doesn’t shatter loudly.
It fractures like ice under snow,
one step, then another,
and only when you’re falling
do you hear the crack.
Yet somehow,
in the cold space left behind,
you learn the shape of your own spine.
You stand a little straighter,
a little quieter,
and far more aware
of who earns a seat at your table next time.
Did you hear it? In the separation of my spirit
A bellowing from within
All my demons shake and quiver
And you befriended them
Their velvet gaze whispers
sweetly deception
Did you feel it?
The taking of my life
Kissed my wound and said you loved it
before you turned the knife
Did they trick you too?
Or was it always in you
To know just where to put it
Friendly and friendly words
I longed for all my life.
But all I got are words and words
that cut me like a knife.
(27.07.2025)
Knife straight through the heart
She twists it just a little more
Making sure the point's made
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Your
Dull Knife
Cuts
old Memories
like a lobotomy
I've drank
you before
Your song
plays in my head
like a stones skipping
across my face
My teeth
rattle
Like wind chimes
in cold air
There nothing
Left to say
But
I love you
I feel their knife in my mouth,
As they carve out my tounge.
I feel all of the words I dare not say,
Stain my lips alongside the blood.
I look into their eyes and smile,
Knowing I could never truly hate them.
No matter how they silence me,
Or bruise me with my words.
Because my type of sickness has no boundaries.
They beat me, break me, and cut me,
But no.
I will always come back.
Like a sinner to a chapel,
I will come back with my palms up.
Asking for blessings,
But knowing I will get struck down, once again.
I am their's to break. I always have been.
Their blood runs in my very veins.
And no matter how many times I let it ooze out,
It's what makes me live.
I am indebted to them.
Forced to live in the shakes they forge,
Out of the hate they don't know reaches
My ears.
I am exactly what they hate.
What they fear.
I am what they fight against.
But I will never tell them.
I will always stay silent.
my tounge carved out.
I can't feel the pain.
I'm already in pain from their words.
But I stand there smiling,
In a pool of my own blood,
As they are ignorant, not knowing,
I am the thing they fear most.
Overhead in silence
something caught my eye
a bird of prey hung still-life
in a blood-red sky
I was drawn by the tolling
of an ancient bell
dark-robed figures chanting
was it heaven was it hell
I reached out at shadows
on a deserted street
an icy wind blew lonely
feathers at my feet
I thought I saw the knife blade
the room echoed with the screams
I lay there in a cold sweat
was it real or only dreams
as the ground moved
and the scene shifted
the crowd hushed
when the curtain lifted
to reveal the view
as the door moaned
from deep down in the crypt
a low voice intoned
'Step inside our fright scare
we've been waiting here for you
welcome to your nightmare
where all your fears come true'
All because of that single decision
To grasp that grate and breathe in the ethereal skies above
Rather than
To let go of that grate and suffocate in the foul sewage below
Because of what he chose
This is what he is
Independent
Not
Incarcerated
Whole
Not
Wounded
Confident
Not
Confused
Slipping off of the rusted edge, on which side will he land?
Brilliant
Not
Bleak
Courageous
Not
Cowardly
Relieved
Not
Remorseful
This is what he is
Because of what he chose
To grasp that grate and breathe in the ethereal skies above
Rather than
To let go of that grate and suffocate in the foul sewage below
All because of that single decision
Now, what if he wasn’t resolved in his decision?
Simply read the poem in reverse.
you weave a cushion
to what might've been a free fall
dragging each tumble
into elongated bounce
gentle—over trampoline
instead of one splat
letting my body shatter
flipping narrative
providing a fluffy cloud
unable to hold my body weight
sort of metaphor
easiest to decipher
if seeking what's flipped
is what you have been after
not a murder with knife's back
Everything I do is for you forever and always not because I love you but because I'm constantly walking on eggshells waiting for the other shoe to drop just for you.
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