I’m the worst of angry footsteps.
I’m blisters on spider webs.
Attention seeking.
It’s like horror but sapphire.
Because I’ve been attention seeking.
Willingly.
Even with soaked feelings.
I’m the worst of spot on an old pillowcase.
Kept stuff anyway.
Burnt out like a pot roast.
Wistfulness on the side.
It comes at night, a tendril below pillowcase.
It comes in a café, steam rising in accusatory curls.
It comes when reading, words spooling into wordsearch loops.
It comes in conversations, translating words into true falsities.
It comes within noise, an invisible barking that hunts in silence.
they told her to be original
she thought about dyeing her hair with ketchup
it got all sticky and gooey
her pillowcase was a mess now
you will think of something before Halloween said her mother
her father thought all this fuss over hair was silly
he is a man
what does he know?
she wanted to do something unique
something special
something that would get her noticed
she told her girlfriends about her plans
They thought it was adorable
She walked into the dance with eighteen mini-jack-o-lanterns in her hair
thought she would be unique
she would have too
if she had not told so many people
who also thought it was a great idea
Midnight Lullaby
by Michael R. Burch
I.
A measureless rhythm rules the night—
few have heard it,
but I have shared it,
and its secret is mine.
To put it into words
is as to extract the sweetness from honey
and must be done as gently
as a butterfly cleans its wings.
But when it is captured, it is gone again;
its usefulness is only
that it lulls to sleep.
II.
So sleep, my love, to the cadence of night,
to the moans of the moonlit hills'
bass chorus of frogs, while the deep valleys fill
with the nightjar’s shrill, cryptic trills.
But I will not sleep this night, nor any …
how can I—when my dreams
are always of your perfect face
ringed by soft whorls of fretted lace,
framed by your tear-drenched pillowcase?
"Midnight Lullaby" has been set to music by the award-winning New Zealand composer David Hamilton.
Bashed by Basho
by Michael R. Burch
He came to me like an early birdie
and said, “My, my, you are REALLY wordy!”
Keywords/Tags: lullaby, lullabies, music, musical, song, child, children, childhood, baby, babies, midnight, night, rhythm, sleep
Challenging house lights on our street,
that sheer brilliance of outer space.
Brash stars shimmering in the heat,
challenging house lights on our street.
Riding the Moon to the bedsheet,
wishes bounce on my pillowcase.
Challenging house lights on our street,
that sheer brilliance of outer space.
Every word is a choice
The notebook page is hungry
She needs verbs
Her blank page excites me
Verbs are my favorites too
I give her a teaspoonful of jumping, dancing, and twirling
She gulps that down with gusto
Gives me a nod
I feed her a tablespoon of whirling, skipping and hopping
Followed by a cup of adjectives
I like her to have a balanced diet
Exciting, thrilling, beautiful, marvelous, entertaining
More adjectives? Black, salty, red, inky, personable
Where are my nouns? The page asks.
I ponder. Dragon? Unicorn? Witch? Pillow case?
She laughs
Pillowcase it is.
I take out my pen.
A ninety-two year-old whirling twirling pillowcase was having
An exciting, marvelous, beautiful entertaining visit, wowing
The other women in the next church pew.
The bathroom is chaos.
Lipstick-streaked tissues,
Half-empty bottles,
A curling iron.
The TV hums with your favorite show—
The one where lovers betray each other.
I watch, waiting for you to gasp,
But the silence doesn’t break.
The sink drowns in dishes,
Your coffee mug wears its last kiss.
Pink pillowcase lay crumpled,
Still warm with ghosts of sleep.
Your heels, kicked off in a hurry,
Point in every direction but back.
You are everywhere.
Your mess, your scent, your shadow.
But when I call your name,
Only the walls answer.
Where are you?
I check the door, the street—
As if you might return.
But you are six feet down,
And I am still here,
Tripping over the pieces
You left behind.
What are you studying? I asked two co-eds.
One is getting a masters in tissue removal.
The other is getting a bachelor’s degree in pillowcase warfare.
Raising a whole new slew of questions.
While I dillydally in my spring garden
I smell the lavender before noticing the buds
Dusk in a symphony of lavender hues
Summer can wait; so can my coronation
Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly,
Lavender's green
When you are King, dilly dilly,
I shall be Queen
Who told you so, dilly dilly,
Who told you so?
'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,
That told me so
I pick a sprig to put into my pillowcase
To sleep, per chance to dream
A chance to see you again
Healthy, vital
My childhood friend and confidant … my king
The man I fell in love with
Before Life intervened
My thoughts melt into the lingering dusk …
In the back floorboard empty Boones Farm bottles,
rattled to the rhythm of lust without love.
Fourteen and her world was a different backseat,
staring at another gray rooftop above.
He’d abandoned them so many years ago,
it was hard for her to remember his face.
Each new boy now was her attempt to find him,
but a father’s love was hard to replace.
It was an endless stream of the same old thing,
though she knew they didn’t have what she’d need.
They only drip the same sweat from their foreheads,
taking what they want to satisfy their greed.
Each night ended with her alone and ashamed,
the same tears leaving stains on her pillowcase.
Each time the razor blade slid slightly deeper,
each memory taking longer to erase.
Mirror, Mirror, Who Is That?
Who is that
Sleeping close enough
To dream of kissing my nose…?
Well, almost…
Who is that who keeps inside
Of him the man I’ve loved
For more than forty years?
Who is that whose hair — once mink brown —
Appears whiter these days…now blending with
Pillowcase white at night?
ngth Who is that who’s kidnapped
My darling, young husband, bearing
— I thought — the strength of youth for all of life?
With the decades passing…with their toll on
Our looks, bones, and veins, along comes this
Rage! How each night it thieves a bit of youth
for a ransom of age!
Who is that, then, who could ask who I am?
My heart’s love — just as his — is deeper, no older
Than when we met and married …still keeping
Each new dawn full with hope, and for our life ahead,
we still author dreams’ envisioning.
————————————————————————-
(c) sally yougeslinger 11/17/2023
I want you to know
That I love you more
Than all of my Octobers
Which is not to say
There are a lot of them
Even though there are
But what I mean is
I love you more warmly
Than hot cinnamon apple cider
On a brisk autumn morning
When I can just see my breath
I love you more festively
Than pumpkins, gourds
And Indian corn
Decorating a porch
I love you more crisply
Than the crunch of brown
And red and yellow leaves
Underneath my boots
But most of all
I love you more deeply
Than the good candies
I keep digging for
All the way down
To the bottom of the pillowcase
During the long walk home
At the end of the night
After all of the front stoops
Have gone dark.
Windows open on the bay
Fluffy yellow king duvet
Satin sheets and pillowcase
Frilly tablecloth of lace
On it coffee mugs for two
Latte, French press, freshly brewed
Boho style living room
Orchids all year round abloom
Bluebird pictures on the wall
Knitting needles big and small
Yarns of many colors fine
Waiting to become entwined
Snow globes sitting in a case
Fresh cut lilacs in a vase
Guitars waiting to be played
Chelsea boots made of real suede
Closets full of women's clothes
Perfumed with vanilla rose
Playlists looping favorite songs
Music streaming all day long
Stacks of unread books galore
Daily shopping, produce store
Walk in shower, double sink
Filtered water, pure to drink
Cheeses, great varieties
Pantry full of treasured teas
Wind chimes, hammock, chairs to sit
Front deck, back deck, fire pit
Someone there to cook and clean
While we take in the sunset scene
A quiet cove, a sandy beach
Shore birds soaring out of reach
Time stands still, or so it seems
When we're in this house of dreams
Turning tales of an empty road
Glass and mirrors
And
A rose...
Strolling alone I hear the wind
Although
a whisper from within
I can't bear this riddle
So,
I shake inside this puzzle piece dangles
Books and bandages
She was no crook
A bed and a pillowcase
Tattooed and clean
I wear my scars like an index
Would you stay
Or
Just smile..... As, I dream.
Act Three - the nap
Naptime was uneventful. The girls didn’t show up. The dog snores. He drools. The pillowcase is a brownish, water stained, Picasso-esque masterpiece.
Act Four - table for three
Dogs are omnivorous, they will eat anything that hits the floor. The cat is more selective. It will use a single claw to remind him of its likes and dislikes. If it is rare steak the cat will use several claws and a paw to guide his hand from plate to gaping maw. The dog will pretend it is sleeping and drool in anticipation. If he opens a can of tuna he believes that the cat will have an ****** as it claws his leg. The three of them eat a highly protein(aka-meat)-centric diet.
John G. Lawless
©4/28/2023
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