Saturday, wouldst be Sadder Day
nineteen seventy-five
purple skies dusk twilight display
friend and I, still alive
Sleepyheads, car seats unbuckled
Russian roulette enroute
shut eyes refused a wakeup call
rabbit foot wore a boot
Squirming confirming not our time
go get out while you can
opportunity just-in-time
two tired souls and more than
Clueless me, whys and wherefores
reveal relevancy
this, that, and all those therefores
transcends generously
Are We There Yet
David J Walker
Are we there yet?
We whispered in prayer
As if asking from the
Back seat of our old
Desoto
The father driving
The mother smiling
Across the bench seat
From each other unbuckled
Are we there?
The whine of the wheels
Is the silent answer
Turning against an asphalt clock
Pushing back the lost past
On the trek to a
Somewhere else destination
Are we there yet?
As the windshield wipers
Brush away the
teardrop reminders
Of the time spent on the journey
As restless children
Are we there yet?
Rhetorical as we change
Seats with our parents
Now content in the back
Wondering how long
The road they chose
To travel
Oh, Lord, forgive such hubris
as would sum up the quotient
of an immortal soul……
I have…
spared the dandelions,
forgiven the birds,
washed the car,
parked again in the same spot…..
prayed for a different result
consoled a crying child
stifling my tears….
ego’s vain attempt at being strong
wasted in the trembling of my heart
cried alone, enmeshed in….. regretting
deeds that cannot be undone
words that cannot be recalled
faces….faded…. forgotten……faces
held the banner through the storms
of doubt filled angst….unbuckled
stood alone atop the chasm walls
raged against the shadows of dark canyons
shielding from my eyes an endless love
For Lord, if I be
but bone, and flesh, and sinew
what use have I
for dandelions unwept tears.
©6/2/2019
Soul IQ Poetry Contest
Chantelle Anne Cooke sponsor
He had her just where he wanted her
Naked and helpless
Her lips were quivering
He could smell her fear
It smelled like “prey”
He could smell himself
He smelled like “lust”
Stunk like sin!
But he didn’t care
He saw her lying on the floor
She was begging
Begging for freedom
Her words were quiet and weak
His punches and blows had weakened her
His kicks had paralyzed her
Her full lips were now bruised
Well, he didn’t need them!
He looked at her swollen eyes
She was crying but he felt no mercy
He had one mission
He had one goal
To devour and be satisfied
He was the predator
And she was the perfect prey
As he unbuckled his pants to fulfill his lust
He felt a blow from behind…HIS HEAD!!!
He froze!
He felt the heat spread from his head
Right down to his toes
Something warm trickled down his back
And, just before the pain enveloped his entire being
He blacked out!
By Sylvia Chika
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© 2017 Sylvia Chika
You could see the lone figure in the pale, fading light,
Bedding down the doggies for a restful night.
He had been in the saddle since early morn',
Now feeling the aches of the drive that made him feel "worn".
The three other horses he had taken from the remuda that day,
Were now being tied and fed, as they whinnied and neighed.
"Woh, cattle...Woh, cattle", he sang softly to the steers,
Another six weeks on the trail and he would be filling his night with beers.
When the herd was quiet, the first 'Nighthawks' came,
He sighed with relief, as he tugged on the reins.
In just a few minutes he was putting his saddle and bedroll aright,
the grub made...biscuits, beans, and salt pork for tonight.
Then he unbuckled his gunbelt and laid down in his place,
Knowing full well, he'd be up before dawn to relieve the man on the trace.
It was hard work but he loved it, or so he said,
More of the Chisolm waited for them up ahead.
Yet it was the cows, the horses, the danger, and freedom he dared,
And those few other comrades whose journey he shared.
Yes, it was this "Cowboy Life" full of its highs and lows,
It was all that he needed, and was the life he chose.
Into the Blue
Pain faded into the blue
purplish clots
pooling beneath welted skin
interstitial fluids coalescing,
coagulating, collecting
swallowed tears.
Day had broken the grasp
opened the ever-locked door
taunted the terrified
incited the torment
of acquiescence -
silenced anger.
No locks barred open doors
chains hobbled only memory,
fear’s straight jacket unbuckled.
The blue faded, hidden beneath
old lies, blanketed in the warmth
of more colorful promises
Destined to fade
into the blue
of pain.
John G. Lawless
1/12/2016
Her fingers trace the stab-wound,
Like water circles the drain. Though she may
Clean the rind and grime from under her nails,
She will never wash the bloodstains from her dress.
Her hair drapes her face like a black tapestry,
An opaque shade, like midnight
That conceals her auburn eyes.
But the shame she claimed in preceding days
Has left her as quickly as the blood flows
Now from his newly carved cavity.
His fingers lay cold, silent, and curled;
He will never again feel the pleasure
Of that nymphalid elegance he craved so
Cruelly. Tonight his skin spun toward the pale,
His horror, confusion, frozen in his expression
Flaccid, limp, unsatisfied.
With his belt unbuckled, jeans crumpled,
His bloated face unshaven, and his gaze
Fixated on the ceiling, she cannot help but notice
He makes for quite an ugly corpse.
Her eyes are widened in languor,
With no tears to waste upon this husk.
Sitting barefoot on the white kitchen tile,
As if waiting for the daisies to sprout.
What is it about seatbelts,
That cowboys find so bad,
And the worst offender of them all,
Would have to be my dad;
He leaves his belt unbuckled,
And it makes an awful ding,
What is so dang hard about,
Buckling the up the thing;
It dings and dings the whole dang drive,
Music can’t drown it out,
If you’ve heard that annoying buzz,
You’ll know what I’m talking about;
All it takes is a second,
Just buckle it and it’s through,
So pray that horrible annoyance,
Never happens to you!
A special November day
for children, laughter and play.
To others, a day full of loved ones.
A meal too big for all, plates ladened with love.
Amazing how we relate love to stuffing.
Father and son eye the sport,
belts unbuckled, bare bellies rubbed.
Saving the dishes for later,
joyful colors adorn humble abodes,
sprucing up dreary days.
Day one of the rejoicing era
is soon to follow.
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