Memory spiders twirling thoughts.
Nurse-white whisper shoes
sidle by. Clocks in freezer
stopped time when I knew me.
Thawed too fast, so they came
in loud tapping shoes.
And we danced ourselves into lucidity,
spotlight shining bright.
I remember tomorrow
like it was yesterday.
Quadrile 1 for dVerse Pub for Poets. Word count 44, using a form of the word dance – as in dance into a condition.
aunt, uncle, cousin
vanished from the lexicon
and boys longed for girls
Having travelled to China three times when I led a Global MBA, I found a beautiful country, people and culture. China recently rescinded their one child policy, recognizing the various problems it ultimately created. Photo Credit: Bobby McGill.
Incompetent words.
Faucet drips incessantly,
how can we ignore?
Future world leader?
Embarrassed by his tantrums
playground empties fast.
photo credit: Guillermo Gallege Written for Open Link Night at the Poets’ Pub at dversepoets…..afterall, politics is often a conversation at the bar!
He sat upright
surrounded by canes, walkers
tv guides, checkerboard games,
and the people that accompany them
in a place like this.
He waited patiently
for the last strands of that age-old song,
some high pitched warblers
hunched over the tinny piano
pulled out for occasions like this.
Balloons hovered above his head
as candles dripped life-time moments
onto fondant flowers.
Festive paper plates too thin
for the thick slab he desired.
And so I asked the centenarian
for the secret of his longevity.
Well sonny, I always say,
close your eyes to dream.
Just make sure you open them wide
to watch where you step.
Balloons soar skyward 
writhe, twist, pitching in the wind.
Freedom has its price.
Fireworks explode
colors flash then fall blending.
Lessons in the sky.
photo credits: balloons by Niels Timmer; fireworks by Albert Lazcano
News on reels, envelopes sealed with spit
new was last month or a week gone by.
Today it interrupts my present,
becomes a never ending loop.
Sunday drives with i spy and the license game
morphed into get-me-there robots.
Talking heads decapitated
into monotone maps.
Family restaurants turned mausoleums.
Mommy, daddy, Ashley and Drake
eyes down and mouths shut.
Thumbs talk…with imaginary friends.
Paris in Paducah and Chicago too,
a world of twitter and bird shit.
Color me shrink wrapped
and struggling to breathe.
In response to dVerse Poets Pub, December 17 prompt. Write about the times we have lived in – describe the life of the decades you have gone through. Free-write whatever comes to mind and then create your poem around those ideas. Cut it down but keep that raw feeling from your initial free-write.
Happy in her new digs,
plywood and metal scraps,
original resident dead.
A step up from cardboard,
if she could eradicate the smell.
Comic strips, the colored ones,
wallpaper of choice.
Condoms stored in knock-off bag,
Pick your flavor, pick your place.
But no, not here. Not in my space.
Golden locket round her neck
broken knotted chain.
Daddy’s picture kept within,
missing god knows where
always hangng near.
Mama’s image burned one day.
Albatross memories
seared in heart.
Flailing arms and slurred tongue,
bottle thrown. Crashed into her soul.
YOU. GET. OUT.
And so she did,
grabbed the locket and ran.
Happy sweet sixteen.
Birthday promise made that day
always kept, these many years.
Sobriety.
Eyes tired, never shut.
She saw their faces, every john.
Every thrust she felt,
every punch and hunger pain.
But slurring, oblivious sot?
She would NEVER be her.
Photo credit: Linda Lacerna. Somehow, in this holiday season, my heart is drawn to those who have not – the Lorettas of this world.
Grocery cart near, she sits
tattered book in lap,
mutters, sometimes yells
talks aloud to no one.
Page eight, crawl through,
into that letter E, straight lines.
They won’t follow, can’t see me.
I fit in this book! FLAT SPINE!
Invisible. I hide in air,
melt on pages with big letters.
Home is no where. Go ahead.
Jump into the story. Whatever it is.
Show them. I AM SOMETHING!
She stands up, unsteady,
lands on top of book,
face first in torn pica print.
And she disappears
from your corner,
into a pauper’s grave.
Photo credit: Wikipedia
He watched in amazement from the fifth floor window. He told Melinda it would never work. Her eyes damp, remembering.
But they were coming in droves. From the subway stop. Riding bicycles. Pushed in strollers. In school uniforms and ragged jeans. All colors. All sizes. Children of hope, many with handmade signs.
Hundreds bowed their heads in prayer, and then began to walk from the old Transportation Building to City Hall. Melinda held the banner high. No More Hurting People. Peace Now. Her locket caught the sun and gleamed at him. Their son’s picture within the small gold heart.
98 words. Written for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. Photo by Roger Bultot.
They boil in hatred,
witness disregard of life
violence erupts.
She simmers in pain,
cancer invades her body,
prayer uplifts her soul.
December Poetry Challenge, Day 1: Write a two phrase poem: begin by looking out and away from yourself. What do you see, hear, find? Then narrow your gaze, almost as if you were tightening the focus on a movie camera. What’s close at hand? Make these two elements speak as one poem. Employ brevity. Dedicated to a dear friend.
lillian the home poet 