Progress

The sun laughs at the trees,

then skips beyond the horizon.

Love lies awaiting the darkness.


Heat clings to the air

as shadows seep into twilight.

Evening clouds lift the moon.


Night creaks to life

while peace infiltrates dreams.

Silence slips through fingers.


Light leaks over the mountains,

branching into tomorrow.

Stars sneak toward dawn.


Rays slip past curtains

as sunrise sifts the sky

searching for the morning.

"The Dare" a brief inner monologue from the Shopping List Writing Exercise

Shopping List

Black Fishnet Pantyhose

Razors and Shaving cream

Red Lipstick

Chocolate Syrup

Ice Cream

Wax (Hair removal)

18 rounds 9mm bullets

Duct Tape

Vodka

Handcuffs

Latex

The Dare

Oh, CRAP! Tonight’s the night. I did it on a dare and I want to back out. I can’t. They’ll know. They’ll check up on me. They know I want to cancel. I HATE dares!

I’m doing it. A couple Vodka shots will ease my anxiety. Right?

One shot. Two shots…

The red lipstick on the rim breaks my concentration. The anxiety is back.

I have an idea…

The chocolate syrup drizzles like blood seeping from a wound, lacing the ice cream in a viscous web. Mmmmm…

The anxiety diminishes with each bite of this creamy confection.

Step two, the preparation. I run my hands across my legs. Dang. My last wax job has warn off. I’ll have to resort to the old stand-by: shaving cream and razor. So archaic. The Vodka did nothing to steady the constant tremble in my hand. I just manage to avoid nicking my ankle. I’d hate to leave any obvious DNA traces.

Carefully I dress for success. My alabaster skin appears translucent through the black fishnet of my pantyhose. The waist rips so I secure it with a ring of duct-tape. I won’t need to remove them in a hurry.

I grab my bag and check its contents:

Gloves, check (Not latex, though, I have allergies.)

Handcuffs, check.

Bullets…missing.

I grab 18 rounds of 9mms from the dresser as I head to the door. The gun is tucked safely in the waistband of my skirt.

One last bite of ice cream and I’m gone. My mind is clear. I’m completing this dare.

(for my sister)

Temporality

It's difficult and troubling

And wonderful and rich.

It's heartbreaking and uplifting

This grand and worldly gift.

Through laughter and through sorrow,

'Midst realms of this abyss,

Indeed we must remember

How beautiful life is.

Turmoil

The flow of emotion

overwhelms the soul

as it struggles to rise above humanity.

It’s curious.

Silence festers in your boiling heart and blistering stomach.

You position your pawns in granite, only to abandon them in conceit.

Leave now.

Before the poisoned tips of your words pierce their innocuous mark.

Before you’re compelled to consider the obliteration you carelessly instigate.

Consider this.

Stay you the bearing of writhing fury allowing its noxious reign?

Unleash instead the demon in seclusion eradicating its depraved power?

In arrogance you challenge the Fates

as you choreograph

your victory dance.

A Situation Out of Time

A wave of disillusionment crashed over her, smothering the night’s euphoria. Gracie sat in glacial silence surrounded by the continual ebb and flow of conversation. Just as ocean waves pull at the shore, the sound waves continued to suck away any trace of happiness.

Indiscernible ice formed on the being next to her. It was clear the storm’s effects were felt there too. Realization brought the cold truth home. Nothing was as it seemed even five minutes prior. The idol on the pedestal leaped and ugly cracks clawed their way over the idol’s face.

The night’s festivities altered in her memory, leaving behind a sickness that spread from past to present nightmare. This moment, this storm, will alter the course of Gracie’s future.

Consumption

I’m tired now, but it’s a good tired.
The tired you feel after a hard day’s work
—like a day spent cleaning the house
—or a long day laboring in the yard.
The tired you allow to take over as you wallow in the aftermath.
I’ll enjoy it when I get home, but first—
First I’ll wash it off.
The backwash of my labor.

I do not select the subjects of my vocation.
A higher power unveils them to me.
I’m not claiming the call comes from on High,
Just that the revealing power overcomes my own desires.
I did not choose this path.
I chose to stop resisting.

They come to me in colors.
Subtle shades at first, not abrasive to my vision.
Until I ignore them. Then they deepen,
and bleed.
When it reaches the point where the color consumes my skin, devours it,
I react.

I do not enjoy my work, but the accomplishment
—you’ll laugh—completes me.
You wonder why I tell you this.
I find it necessary to purge my soul.
Bleed out the consuming darkness.
Will the confession endanger me, you ask.
Oh, no. For you see, it won’t reach the light of day.

I do wonder, though.
Can you feel it?
Does the drenching of sapphire seep into your pores?
That’s your color you know.
It began as a pale azure.
Then deepened to the limpid hue of a cavernous lake,
Darkened to sapphire as it bled.
Already it is fading.
I can feel it rise from my skin as a form of evaporation.
It will eventually bleach from your being.
You’ll have moved on by then.

Will you share your answer with me?
I see.
You seek to deny me as a punishment of sorts for my actions.
Perhaps you misunderstand.
I live each day in punishment.
Possibly this knowledge will give you a final thrill.
The satisfaction of knowing at least one soul will remember you.
And suffer for knowing you.

The chance has passed.
The question remains.
Farewell Indigo.
I leave in search of rest and denial
Until again consumed by shades.
It is done.

Path of Depression

A germ is generated. Begins to quicken,
Nourished by actions from surrounding forces.
Darkness consumes, rolls into oblivion.

Greedily it speeds down uncharted courses
Ignorant of ruins left in its wake,
Nourished by actions from surrounding forces.

Like ripples from pebbles thrown into a lake
Each change creates change
Ignorant of ruins left in its wake.

It continues toward a limitless range.
Once bright becomes umber,
Each change creates change.

Emotions explode leaving solitude somber
It seeks out and reaches each corner of existence.
Once bright becomes umber.

Fullness is leeched, then weighted with absence.
A germ is generated, begins to quicken.
It seeks out and reaches each corner of existence
Darkness consumes, rolls into oblivion.

Silent was the Night

My latest Villanelle. I thought I'd give you something to look over since I'm supposed to discuss this form of writing when next we meet--I think. So I wrote this.


Suddenly so soft, so silent was the night.
An abrupt and final ending to a harsh and bitter row.
Never will she turn her face toward the light.

What began with utter happiness, at last her future bright,
Unexpectedly to her became a haunting tale of woe
Suddenly. So soft, so silent was the night.

His words held every kindness, manners proper, deeds polite.
In no way could she dream the man would turn to greatest foe.
Never will she turn her face toward the light.

Not a soul to notice in her eyes the perilous plight.
Her silver voice extinguished by his presence ‘ere she go.
Suddenly, so soft, so silent was the night.

In the end her strength was beaten by his evil, pressing might.
Not allowed to disobey, she dared to tell him no.
Never will she turn her face toward the light.

Now she lies so still, eyes open without sight.
Her body slight adheres to the bloodstained rocks below.
Suddenly so soft. So silent was the night.
Never again to turn her face toward the light.

My Dad

I'm putting this poem on here because Rachel met my Dad today and had seen him previously. I told her I'd put this on for you all to read. I wrote it almost 3 years ago.

Thanks for coming Rachel and family!




My Dad

An old man strolls humbly through the market.
The seriousness of his face is belied by
The twinkling of his faded blue eyes.

Two young teenagers spy the old man.
His clothes of red and green, and beard of snowy white,
Cause them to change direction.

It’s July.

Walking with his grown daughter he sees them.
Their surreptitious whispers reach his searching ears.
His steps slow.

Their courage gained, they boldly approach.
Are you him? they ask hoping his answer will keep
Their dream alive.

Two young boys,
Too old to believe,
Young enough to desire its truth.

Have you been good? he questions,
Seeing the truth in their expressive eyes.
Wide-eyed faces nod their assent.

One gleaming eye winks as a gentle smile crosses his face.
Worn loving hands disappear inside seemingly empty pockets.
Two sweet, striped canes pass into eager young hands.

Be good! he exclaims, then turns and rejoins his proud knowing daughter.
Whistling merrily, he resumes his absent search down the aisle,
Leaving behind,

Two believers.

Can You Guess?

I sat down to write something profound...and of course nothing came to mind. So, I wrote this, but I can't decide how to end it. Any suggestions??? It really isn't finished, so any advice will be considered. I just wanted to post something so you guys don't think I'm a complete LOSER!!
Let me know if you guess the title.

I see him sometimes at the lake.

I once spied him picking flowers.

I wondered, at the time, who they were for.

I’ve seen him in town—numerous places.

I saw him once at a restaurant I frequent.

I thought he looked lonely at his table for one.

I find it interesting that he travels alone.

I’ve yet to see him with another.

I, myself, prefer the company of my thoughts.

I caught him watching me last night.

I was standing at the bar waiting to order a drink.

I’m working up the courage to talk to him.

I saw his smile this morning.

I glanced up from my coffee just as he looked up from his.

I smiled, and he smiled back.

I’ve decided today is the day.

I’ll look for him at my favorite restaurant.

I have a feeling he’ll be there.

I knew it, he’s here.

I think he’s talking to someone…though,

I don’t see anyone near.

I slowly walk toward him—

I see him begin to meet me halfway.

I feel nervous at the thought of greeting him.

I say “Hello.” He mirrors, as if our minds entwine.

I laugh nervously as he chuckles.

I’m delighted by his easy going manner.

I try to talk, and stop as he starts speaking. He stops.

I start again—as does he—we stop.

I’m embarrassed and a little confused.

I reach out to take his hand when he offers it.

Who is gidget29?