There.
third row, second seat
hair over eyes, red-rimmed
tired maybe?
shirt buttoned wrong
laces untied
broken hearted
last row, right at the back
a young couple
giggling
not watching
love
how long will it last
the movie starts
theatre darkens
eyes front
focused on the screen
engrossed, distracted
popcorn, drinks, spilt
front row
now on the floor
children
necks tilted up
vibrating in excitement
can't look away
middle aisle
near the exit
new parents
on the edge of their seat
waiting for the call
desperate for a night off
movie ends
lights rise
people stand, stretch
slowly trickle out
leaving behind spilt drinks, popcorn
the floor a mosaic of people
netflix
stan
prime
hulu
peacock
disney
empty now
darkness lingers
screen unused
velvet seats grow dusty
stale popcorn permeates
I am empty now
No one there.
A girl watchmaker stands among clocks rimmed with frost,
their pale faces caught in winter's thin hush.
She watches silence drip from their frozen hands,
each drop a faint crack in the brittle air.
Shadows settle like cold breath around her craft,
while time thins itself beneath her steady gaze.
Long distant cry, how I pine for your touch,
a bridge of one hundred miles,
gaunt gulf beyond my grasp
golden haze of blithe recall, sunlit strolls,
heartfelt pledge, under green copse,
then transfer, post abroad
your dulcet voice on phone has me weeping,
though honeysuckle laughter,
creeps in, sinks a deep root
close union fostered, we dwell, dream, at dawn,
where that gem rimmed stroke of luck,
heralds my homebound trek
post trauma absence, dwindles in a kiss,
a gleaming eye rapprochement,
velvet voice hue’d dribble
winsome weekend yet return journey lurks,
seconds fly, olympic spurts,
solemn clock a spoilsport
resume garnet glisten threads of fond blab,
sonic swathe of peachy phrase,
from a glow world era
ramble through lush haunt on a spur or spark,
where once love’s first blush blossomed,
in time pastille misty.
a gurgling swirl pool, high tide torrent now,
engulf twin flame’s scarce resource,
random swing by mood boost
catch up at lightning pace, that traffic jam,
of wistful yesterday’s dash,
oops…yikes…booked cab in yard!!
He sits at his stump-desk
as though the forest appointed him
keeper of its minor truths~
wire-rimmed glasses catching the low light,
plaid bowtie knotted with intention.
The wooden laptop waits,
open to whatever thought
the morning has not yet named.
Coffee steams beside the inkwell,
papers scattered like fallen leaves
he has already begun to translate.
Even the landline, absurd in its presence,
seems to understand
that calls here are rare
but always important.
The uncracked pecans rest beside his papers,
not symbolic, simply present~
a reminder that some work
starts with the smallest,
most ordinary labor of the hands.
He studies the papers strewn around him,
each marked with the faint trace
of earlier attempts at order.
For a moment he simply reads,
letting the work tell him
where to begin.
Not a snowflake’s chance in mid-August
of Goldwater ever changing his stripes
Nope. Ever since he could palm a frankfurter weenie
he's been somewhere to the right of Mussolini
A proud match for William Buckley, that Barry
horn-rimmed glasses, living free on the Arizona prairie
Uh, what? He’s gone? OK. Who can I substitute? Reagan? Gone too?
How ‘bout Trump? I don’t think so. Too fickle, you see
Vain tears
they seep in
silent streams
lurk darkly
behind
a repressed
shadowy wail
taunt or tease
fond veils
torn and tattered
seldom worn
visibly
of dull
wistfulness
oe’r silver
passage
or faux gold
bridge
whose
wobbly link
to halcyon
august days
putative ring
mere hollow
bell toll
purported peal
a shallow chime
vanishing vapour
of hazy clang
nocturnal raptures
of mythic maze
bagatelle vacuous
chimera amplified
by skewed perspective
tangents rimmed
by fantasy
Her blue swirl sea green orbs woo,
me, shipwrecked swimming waif with,
that wild tide rush froth-rimmed glance,
I capsize transfixed
Mellow mantras,
daub my ear,
with rapt sultry
opal peals,
whilst entwining,
seamless sheath,
of aural vista,
whose magic wand,
sedates yet enthusiast,
of this morning nomad,
whose quixotic quill,
aches for ardent dawn,
to tranquilize meandering,
muse off target,
focus on,
aurora spectrum,
day-peep pageant,
of pristine pink,
demure aligned,
sun horizon hover,
gliding gold wisps,
fleeting blue ray,
chimera or mood swing,
dalliance of dust grain,
as I allude to,
gleaming dewdrops,
In lofty lyric,
prompt from,
green leaf rustle,
or grey twig tweak,
silver stream murmur,
moist babble of,
hushed hints,
rush and ripple,
froth rimmed swirl,
vapour vortices visceral,
whet my creative juice,
from lucent pools,
can I imagine,
wondrous tactile trails
black-rimmed mirror waits,
holding the calm of spring rain~
old memories rise.
Soft droplets drift down the glass,
touching what the past once held.
Poem created from Poetry Wheel Challenge
Theme: Memory
Emotion: Calm
Color: Black
Season: Spring
Form: Tanka
Object: Mirror
Verb: Rise
Heaven is not the word to awaken,
with lemon balm sprig bristle in each lung,
a staunch loam-ridden citrus bouquet,
in an urban copse of dulcet twittering tone,
avian wrens in sweet floral flute glaze,
whose madrigal a charmed chestnut chime,
vast tree canopy quiver note suspense,
clam shell ear tilt of mine to absorb,
scattered mint fragrant leaf strewn carpet,
pale grey glisten brittle branch snap I twig,
rain soak mud clump squelch quaint echo,
still morning usher draped in lambent haze,
teaser trickle stream tucked away a prickle,
deep purple rose bush as dawn shelter,
grass blade tuft flicker on rimmed bypath,
breathless so I am amidst lavish terrain,
spellbound, captivated, eye transfixed,
by clement backcloth to a city in slumber,
indigo blue signpost embossed bold cue,
for empyrean trope as shrewd street élan,
mural chalk mark swirl from deft artist,
gourmet menu flair neath parasol,
overwhelmed, stunned, air passage empty,
yet my first blush stroll sun vital tonic
Whilst the sun slowly sinks
Beneath the snow-capped mountains
Dark-rimmed clouds drift high above
Red-orange skies shroud the sky
V-shaped geese honking afar
Darkness creeps on mirrored lakes
Gold eyes wink as dusk sets in
Alejandro kicked the door open.
His step-daughter was huddled on her bed,
weeping and trembling with fear.
There was no pity in him,
his heart cold as an iceberg,
his whole being reeking of alcohol.
Gabrielle dreaded her ordeal
but could not utter one sound.
"One shout from you and I'll kill you."
She knew he meant it as she stared
into his red rimmed hard eyes.
Downstairs his wife sat placidly
in front of the television,
watching the latest episode
of Desperate Housewives.
What a fearful aspect in your eyes:
liquid, dark, fierce and deep;
two orbs rimmed with copper and gold,
and I wonder what awesome council you keep.
What is behind that thousand mile stare?
You look like a poet composing a line
or an orator pausing to grandly declaim
something profound for the ill of our time;
or a brave soldier standing guard,
outstaring the sun on Hadrian's wall;
or a handsome lover seeking to hold
a smitten maiden in a smouldering thrall.
Your glaring face fills my mind with wonder.
What are you thinking, hawk?
Hunger.
Shadow mountain peak,
one somehow can’t quite fathom,
it’s that upward sweep
at sunrise, sunset,
quaint jagged features protrude,
they induce dark mirth
methinks a fable,
inscrutable, tightly lodged,
in each skyward step
novel within grasp,
phrases etched in mystic stone,
rimmed by moss whirl stream
lofty, lambent odes,
I sculpt in mound of twilight,
enshrouded wry blur
vast hunch ascendant,
edgy climber gumption yet,
settles for lax gaze
syblline boundless bard,
that red cloud piercing tower,
a remote verse whim
For years and four days,
I await a knock, a stark reply,
The unknown a wretched price to pay,
And it burns me alive.
They say fire is but cleansing, if so my soul is burnished bright,
Yet it does not warm the morning, nor brighten black night.
But mourning the past, what has been and could be, brings a heart only sorrow, and threatens ill deed.
So I'll turn red rimmed eyes, from smoke and weary tears, to the God who is wise, to whom prayers never fall on deaf ears.
For the years I have waited, a lifetime of trial,
He never wavered, my heart never reviled.
For His goodness and mercy, are neither bound nor abated,
Through the waiting and fire,
I see it is in Him, I've truly waited.
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