Short Storylines Poems

Those 

Body organs

Brain and heart 

And more

Show up in

Medical records 

Doctor's columns

And home remedies..

It is the dissection of

The separate 

Individual into

What appears as

Dissected storylines

Of knowing and

Searching......

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Nature is tinkering
And timber
Leaning on the rope
To the law of gravity
While breaking branches
Sharpen the storylines 
I am using this saw
To divide infinite numbers
So that my suede shoes
Are merely muddy moccasins 
So, the sticks are stacked
And she’s dragging her own limbs
To the heaving heap...

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You spoke a new language
  of rarefied air
  guided nonchalantly 
  through curving channels of brass

Conduits of cool
  juries of jazz
  floating past soulful valves 
  harbingers of what will come

Slender fingers
  improvising storylines
  magistrates of melancholy
  bailiffs of bop

Miles from the mainstream
  a milestone of 
  modern modalities 
  kind of blue...

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As I search through the centuries
exploring ancient dynasties
This idea is sown in my head
To see the lives they led, instead
of records, names and dates and times
Imagining their storylines
Dreaming of their loves and sorrows 
Picturing long gone tomorrows

8x8 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: PS Awtry
Date: 8th November 2018
4th placement

Contest ALL YOURS (Jan 22)
Sponsor Brian Strand
N/A...

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My life is told in lines here
the ones etched upon my face
deep lines drawn in the sand
storylines I wrote past years
the lines rarely going straight
many written over again
fractured pages inked in tears
stories fade without a trace
wiped away by my own hand
a wasted memoir is what I fear
can I redeem my essential place
in spirit of faith I now stand
bright sliver of light shining clear
a crushed being saved only by grace...

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Unique unto
themselves.
Truths.
All truths.
Amongst 
countless
storylines
spread 
through
space
and time.
All believed,
all known, 
all true.
To them 
all true.
Woven unique.
To no one
but them.
Woven special
focused truth.
Our truths
dissipate 
devolve 
dissolve
into nothing 
everything 
everywhere.
All the high,
 all the mighty 
all their 
truths
meaningless,
everywhere 
worthless
through all
eternity...

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It was a wonderful experience.
Creating plots and storylines,
Coming up with names and voices.
Moving and dressing the dolls,
Styling their hair, creating a perfect image.
Giggling by myself as my heart filled with joy.


It’s been a few years since I’ve found joy,
I’ve grown up, my world experience took away the imagination.
I still play with dolls with my niece, but it doesn't bring me the same joy,
It’s so cold when I touch the doll, to me it’s just plastic now.
...

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