each day
is my living wake
I wish you cared
& they weren't fake
my eyes are dry
tears made of dust
never mind
no one's fussed
all the f"cks
& suppressed damns
are my quiet poetry slams
rotate the fear
rearrange
the dread
ego & id
are well fed
days unlived
nights unslept
scarcity of love is kept
no howls of pain
but they twist & turn
retina & eyelids burn
tunnel vision
bottlenecks
sort through
my personal effects
recalibration
set in stone
through it all
I felt alone
reaching out
with brightly coloured gem
fear itself
I couldn't stem
hold the image
lock in view
lose balance
as all askew
life made up
of pretty rubble
but I'll commit
to be no trouble
My name is Captain Thomas Blake
William’s company commander
I am very sorry for the loss of your son
at the hands of a sniper
I did not get to know him as he was assigned
to my company only a week ago
I have enclosed his personal effects:
1. a sepia toned picture of a young woman holding a
baby boy with Mom and Me in black marker scrawled on the back
2. an envelope with the name Susie written in feminine hand on
the front containing a love letter from her
3. a well gnawed penicil and tattered notebook-
your son was an excellent poet
4. one dog eared Gideon New Testament
5. the Scot Terrier token from Monopoly
wrapped in a zip lock bag
It is with deepest regret we can only return these enclosed
items and not your living son.
With humble regards
Capt. Thomas Blake
Co. A
1st Battalion
504th Inf. Reg
82nd Airborne Div.
The man went for a mountain run.
Telling his fiancé of his plans.
A sundial slowly waltzed on by...
But the man never came back.
They called in search and rescue.
They spread out far into the wild.
Loved ones posted a picture of him.
Donning the future's angelic smile.
The hours speedily turned into days.
The days bleeding into endless weeks.
White weather swallowed the mountain.
The search dwindled to nothing.
They said they'd resume the search.
When the weather cleared.
It was an especially devilish season.
So, they never really did.
Talk turned from hope to closure.
Blue hearts folded tight in prayer.
Quickly turned into paper airplanes.
On a lost flight called pure despair.
In the spring, his remains were found.
On the banks of a silver whisper.
The cause of death was undetermined.
I believe it was mostly due to living.
A memorial blossomed at the trailhead.
Some woven from his personal effects.
Things that had great meaning in his life
but were quite meaningless to death.
The Boat Of Us
'Twas a few years back, I remembered that,
When we had both placed our down payment checks,
At first we did not know which one, in fact,
We chose, then placed our personal effects,
They gave us our berth's, 'twas but side by side,
When we went fishing, our haul equaled both,
We filled our nets till we were satisfied,
Held separate jobs, together lost hope,
Long have we parted, until that storm hit,
My boat had adrift, could not make it start,
You came and towed us but the line had split,
I gave up my boat, got on yours was smart,
Home safe, next day, on the beach our boat sat,
'Twas a few years back, I remembered that.
2019 May 14
*1st Place*
Choices
~~Sara Kendrick
#1
I circle life’s memories
all smiles and emergencies
a baby and a wedding
all so breath taking
a photo album collects
all my personal effects
a life and love creating
a life breath taking
images lose their colour
as vows now start to stutter
life has a way of taking
as breath starts fading
circling my dreams in a web
my life, flow and ebb
Today I went to Haworth to the Bronte Museum
It was simply INCREDIBLE
Looking back at the lives of Emily Anne and Charlotte Bronte
The tragic lives of the family
Of their siblings dying so young
An Alcoholic brother
The death of their beloved mother
How their father coped bringing up 6 children in poverty
YET despite all this they became accomplished writers
You may have read the books or seen the TV adaptations
Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights to name but two
Seeing manuscripts, poems and personal effects was so moving
If you ever get the chance to go – do it - you won’t be disappointed
I won’t leave it another 20 years before I visit Yorkshire again!!
Jan Allison
5th August 2014
He was a meandering thief and serial murderer
who got lucky and became an overnight multi millionaire.
He kept the personal effects of all his victims as a trophy.
When he opened his basement closet, out fell his latest victim's body.
"Congratulations," he said, "you just won the lottery."
No one will fully understand,
the personal effects of my disease.
What I experience, how I feel,
and the horrible things that I see.
I'm trapped inside this mess called life,
stuck with the visions, the sounds and the noises.
Escape theres none, it follows me everywhere I go,
with the constant demands of the voices.
Locked down, all alone in the dark,
yes, my head is screaming, "You are mine!"
I am held hostage by my own insanity,
to me a victim if you had to define.
The many nightmares that I have,
haunt me while I sleep.
I hide away from the rest of the world,
but my fears run too deep.
Crazy I will always be,
that will never change.
Accepting that this is who I am,
misunderstood, alone and strange.
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