A fallow season, a time of trivial hungers.
Scissoring illuminations sheared his eyes.
Petulant lips pursed.
He laid himself down, yet again
covered himself over with a bone deep hurt.
Light cut and snipped
at the tangled hairs of a grey despair,
it swung him open
until a self-interned corpse flickered awake
in the pale eyes of cave bats
No longer were stone angel's graveyard attendants,
the world unboxed itself, he had been doornail dead,
now a gateway swung wide.
Was this life, or was this death by light?
Snails had left silver poems
on that part of his mind, he had yet to find,
yet it was near enough to dream of.
I have been accepting
that I lost my courage to be vulnerable,
and I hovered over words that would not flow,
For my emotional tsunami hides in the insufferable,
I was just afraid to let this ache inside me go.
My stygian soul then scheduled my mental breakdown
And the photosynthesizes of my overwhelming pain,
I have established that in this
psychological baptism I drown,
But to grow is to immerse
in my sacrifice and appertain,
Should I allow myself to break into small pieces,
then composition myself with love
and become a Kintsugi soul?
My fearless spirit encapsulates a warrior
in the world of Ulysses,
So I unboxed my Worth and discovered my Hope,
To understand my veracity is to feel it in my core,
That running only tires the internal child
who is weeping,
Those tears power my garden of humanity
while being restored,
Unearthed healing from truth
in the eternal spring of the reaping.
long in the attic,
now unboxed,
treasure trove of
old Polaroid photographs;
priceless!
pulled from
the gaping mouth of oblivion.
one family album,
in particular,
sucks me into the vortex
of nostalgic memories.
instantaneously,
I'm spirited back
to my salad days.
ah, my youth...
an opulence of memories;
fun times with Dad,
and Mom, too.
oh, wow, a family portrait...
look at how young we all look!
questions, questions, questions...
so many rhetorical questions
flood my mind...
"who took this one?"
"where was this?"
"what became of some of these folks?"
"how many are still living?"
bringing a smile...
baby photos of mine,
a kindergarten photo.
bringing a tear...
photos of long deceased relatives;
I miss them so!
precious moments in time
I wish I could relive.
photos I haven't seen
since childhood;
many taken before I was born
hit me like a jolt of electricity!
some, faded
some, still vividly clear
i smile at so many young frozen faces
- familiar and strange -
smiling back at me.
myriad of emotions
on my face
as I rummage through
a dusty box of memories.
The light is thinning.
A ragged man struggles
to carry an unboxed
large plasma screen.
He is walking it home,
he has no home
still, he is walking it,
but now it's raining
the TV becomes
a slippery umbrella.
There is so little light to be had,
no one goes to the park
not even to stare at the sky,
not even to walk a dog,
not even to smoke a cigarette
huddled behind
a dripping tree trunk.
A TV slides down
a slick grassy bank.
A bad day for minstrels,
knights and stray unicorns.
An old woman,
hands wrapped
in fingerless wool,
tugs at an abandoned
plasma screen.
After sliding down a grassy bank
she gives up.
Beetles spill out of a ruck of turf.
Her heels disappear into a gray light.
The beetles take shelter
under a large television.
These eyes are full
If I blink this river will flood,
Overwhelming feeling
My fears are misunderstood.
An unboxed memory- open
Thoughts I cannot take,
Don’t want to talk about it
Fear- my mind will of course break.
Can’t push it back now
It’s here - the fear I have to face,
Tried to force it back inside
But can’t put it back in its place.
It wants to take me down- deep
Kill my life, my love, my joy,
Thought I’d fight it off- but can’t
So scared it will ruin my little boy.
Scared to say it out aloud
As I know what this may bring,
Not sure where to turn to
Almost can’t feel a damn thing.
Can’t allow this fear to crush me
The time is now. Time I must be strong,
Baby steps at first, I think
Prove my worth and that I belong.
Suzette was Auntie Dolly’s favorite porcelain wonder.
None of us liked her, yet, we could not give her away
Maybe because we loved Auntie Dolly so much.
And we knew she would want one of us to keep Suzette.
Suzette is too prissy for me, a cousin told us.
Not me, I have six little ones. She would not last a week.
I am packing to move to a new town.
Excuses all over the place, no one wanted this creepy doll.
She is not that spooky, I say, offering to take her.
Suzette stayed in a box the first few months with me.
But I had a dream that she had to be unboxed.
I put her in the living room, on the mantel.
The next day, she was sitting at the kitchen table.
Reading the paper over my husband’s shoulder.
Not on my watch! I told her.
She went back into the box.
A gentle kiss, sent love to her forehead,
unmatched to the unboxed dozen of roses.
Silence, comforted by re-assuring smiles,
they danced together, to their last hoorah.
A lover's tear, slid in the face of fear ~
will she remember who she was, before him?
10 July 2022
Bite Size Poem no.49 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
My imagination ran shamelessly amok last night
While I slumbered in beaded sweat, askance that I would
Be peddling ornate coffins to the absurdly rich, then
Second handing them to poorer souls for paltry profit.
After black-draped mourners departed for sumptuous feasts
I heaved their unboxed tuxedoed beloved into the pit
And shoveled them over head to foot with yellow clay.
No shame ensuing, I wiped down the shiny satin interior
Erasing telltale vestiges of the recently deceased occupant
Loaded the ornamental bronze, a considerably less-weighty box,
Into the back of my somber black Cadillac hearse
And laughing lustily sped away…, then I awakened.
reposted December 16, 2021
written December 8, 2020
A call from a nephew here
A text from children, not near
It takes so little, these days
Be grateful always, He says
Another day on planet earth
Forget the shape of my girth
A place to work called home
A world in which I cannot roam
For these things, Him I thank
With every breath, I am more frank
No more secrets between us, at all
Falsehoods before the omniscient will fall
My imagination ran shamelessly amok last night
While I slumbered in beaded sweat, askance that I would
Be peddling ornate coffins to the absurdly rich, then
Second handing them to poorer souls for paltry profit.
After black-draped mourners departed for sumptuous feasts
I heaved their unboxed tuxedoed beloved into the pit
And shoveled them over head to foot with yellow clay.
No shame ensuing, I wiped down the shiny satin interior
Erasing telltale vestiges of the recently deceased occupant
Loaded the ornamental bronze, a considerably less-weighty box,
Into the back of my somber black Cadillac hearse
And laughing lustily sped away…, then I awakened.
Poem received a N/A in the It Feels Surreal Contest
Sense altering fertility:
a stoic female falters
Seven consecutive avid hours in each four weeks
I mull over mitigating my chosen ongoing celibacy
Primitive drive permeates realms where pleasure peaks
Stomach burgeoning coersion detects digital delicacy
Needy as a newborn, abdomen aches, resonates reason
Discarded inhibition of prudence pursues resolution, swollen
Tulip bulb split, affliction's blister is conceived procreation
Stupendous scenarios sordid, fluent imagination draws on
Widened with aspiration, desire requires instant unbridling
Materialising gluttony beckons with incandescent distress
Moans cryptic as ocean speak, freed from concious conspiring
Unboxed frolicked fathomings become loitering brain's duress
It's easy to be in kind
cruelling self to denial.
Harder to step up, unboxed.
But why must you beg, aplogise
for stuffing your ego with struts,
standing up, off your knees;
self supported, doing your own stuff.
Unboxed
I held her tight
Her weight in my lap
boxed
to let her go gently
Water & wind ready to embrace her
The sun falling halfway
Our metal casket gleaming mid-flight
I needed her weight
in my lap
Not wanting to give her up
I thought I’d swallow just one bit of her
Take her in and make her stay
But she had chosen differently
Forcing me to reach into that wooden box
for her
And holding her one last time
extending my arm out into open air
fingers begrudgingly freeing
dropping her from sky
I let her go
First published: Dual Coast
Mind games,
They make us think,
The norm is not the norm,
Our thought patterns are being changed,
Unboxed.
for my Mother
After the failed attempt to kill herself,
She gaveled up a parliament of owls,
Repurposing every cabinet and shelf
To house her blinkless treasury of fowls.
What comfort came from a gross of hooded eyes
Strewn through her home, I could not even guess.
Yet urgently she unboxed every prize
And for it found some suitable recess.
As executor, I audited the owls.
Seventy-two, my final reckoning.
There was one I liked. He'd pivot in his cowl
Like a startled monk, when shook. His shuttering
eyes, like cameras, seemed to document the night.
Her night, I thought: her burden, and her flight.
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