Short Vials Poems

TRIED
VIALS
FISHY
IN 
THREE...

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The spoon bubbles
Darkness sits
Vials of risk
Do not care
For pain
...

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incognito guests
from murky water possessed
fill their vials with blood...

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"Infants drink milk"
From the hands and breasts of their mothers
When such small bottles are called our babies.
"Children drink blood"
From the wrists and necks of their fathers
As these vials struggle to be men and ladies....

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Bedroom Wall

Hidden in 
the small space in 
my bedroom wall are a 
bit flared skirts (witches skirts only), fairy shoes, bottles of 
elf arm hairs, alien dried poop, urine vials too, and 
lutes of 
egg whites rotting.
...

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The news
    controls my views
  Vials of pills
    mountains of bills

  Lack of sleep
    counting sheep
  Overeating 
    bowels bleeding

  Tooth decay
    more every day
  Hair's turned white
    Say 'goodnight!'...

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How do I pick up after this long break
The melee of mute thought and emotion
Rims of paper, vials of ink would take
To fill hiatus of this proportion
Nights of lightning, storm and shattering quake
Giving the fallen foliage a shake

Written on:02/01/2017
Syllables:60...

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Emailed apologies with no response
Uncertainty in vials like Novocaine
Contentious stares and plastic smiles
Drenched from the storm with no rain
I lean back in my chair and pull
the little daggers out of my back
Emptiness fills that inadequate hole
As I wait for the next attack...

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The sum total
just breath 
on glass
vials of substance 
and substantial
dust on shoe
your thoughts
your softness
like rubbed edges
Blurred memories
its sum total
measured or
spent
while you 
cautiously
frown 
while smiling 
Crying
graciously honest
believing honestly
confabulations
as lines writ
erased
forgotten...

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In 1745, the apothecary

Time stands still, peering at the past

The chemists lived making potions

Between dust and rats

Gadgets like compasses hung

Amidst glass vials and bronze knobs

Keys to hidden compartments

Silver ladles and candelabras

Joseph Black isolates CO2

An odd phenomena of “fixed air.”

The healers of the early ages

The fearful labelled witches

And, often then burned...

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FLUFFY STUFF

My brain doesn’t dream; it sorts out the stuff
That’s cluttered its corners with meaningful fluff.
It files the memories we may need for tomorrow
To Forgive the pain; accepting the sorrow;
It plans the moves, so my spirit grows strong
For life’s unexpected things that go wrong.

And when all is sorted and placed in neat files,
All details; poured into healing, sleep vials
Of forgettable dreams, so I wake up with smiles....

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Addiction,  
reality,  
non-fiction.  
All is dark,  
out of the shadows,  
eyes of a  
Great White shark;  
Blank stares  
beyond glass windows.  

Syringes,  
false smiles,  
glass vials.  
Void laughs harkend  
therein the  
presence of death;  
'Crystal Death'!  
Intoxicating moments  
illy starkened.  

Much dysfunction,  
such malfunction  
thereof mortal robots.  
Of flesh  
and of mind --  
so rots  
mortal robots.  
A touch of  
self-destruction!...

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