Tag: creative writing

go-round (20170623)

crow14 Comments

riding the merry-go-round
not the kind with horses
but the one on the playground
in your neighborhood
before the safety police
decided everybody was made of glass
and pulled them out
putting down recycled tire rubber mats
before that though
riding and riding
around around around around
hanging onto the outside bars
being thrown off by the repulsive
magnetic force of a centrifuge
peeling off like an old skin

everything whirls past
a top
you’re the top
but the whole world revolves
around you fast
because motion is relative
until some bigger kid
grabs the wheel
mid-spin
stops it suddenly, completely with
bigger kid brute strength
and you fly off into the sand
because this is before we were made of glass
and our bones didn’t break inside
but our skin peeled off
and blossomed

untitled villanelle (20170622)

crow32 Comments

move along, there’s nothing here to see
broken bits like discarded crystal spheres
you should know i don’t care if you agree

my workings loosen, all at once set free
while you tell me, beg me, to persevere
move along, there’s nothing here to see

i’m no clock to wind with a secret key
much more like a badly hung chandelier
you should know i don’t care if you agree

the chain creaks and strains–then just debris
against the curling, faded veneer
move along, there’s nothing here to see

time reduces to rust these moons in apogee
an irritating hum of the inner ear
you should know i don’t care if you agree

i’ve had much practice as an absentee
all too soon this sorry shade’ll disappear
move along, there’s nothing here to see
you should know i don’t care if you agree

——

for
dVerse ~ Poets Pub
MTB–How to Write a Villanelle

rule observation (20170620)

crow15 Comments

danger-2222967_640
image from Pixabay.

i catch fire and burn for you
but the flames scare you
and you retreat a safe distance
afraid to lose your eyebrows
though all the kids are doing it

you’ll be back when it gets cold
i’m certain of that fact
you were never one to enjoy suffering
you’ll be grateful for my radiance
and that I ignored the no smoking sign

——

for
dVerse ~ Poets Pub
Poetics: And the sign said…

process (20170619)

crow12 Comments

keep your eyes open
forget to breathe
focus on the tingling
in your fingertips
that fluttering
in your chest
imagine the worst possible
outcome
start biting your nails again
take up smoking
take up drinking
ruminate over your regrets
stare at the oncoming traffic
count your pills
learn to hate
learn to judge
stop moving
stop

found under a rock in the garden (20170618)

crow7 Comments

i can’t scrub this feeling
from my skin
sticks to me
like saran wrap in those
auto-erotic asphyxiation
pics from the coroner’s office

i stretch and stretch
pushing the fatigue out
until my joints separate
one by one
the pockets between bones
pop with gas or separation
anxiety
as if there were a difference

the sky has hit that summer blue
shade too soon for me
and tomorrow the sun will hang
white in the sky
a judgment on all of us

smoke gets in your eyes (20170616)

crow5 Comments

douse me in accelerants
use a word as effective
as a zippo shielded from the wind
to ignite me

shall we count, then?

see how fast i burn
almost as if I were made
of dry, bundled grasses
whispering, shushing

what number did you reach
before there was nothing left of me?
i hope you were not distracted
by all that smoke

the illusion of memory (20170614)

crow9 Comments

what is this place–
some kind of dorm
prep school, college?

filled with debris of an old life
this place is unfamiliar in ways that
reveal the lie
of the illusion of memory

here, a set of tibetan prayer flags
piles of books without titles
and so many toys
all things i have never
specifically handled
touched or
loved

the room buzzes with people
a handful of them long dead
every one interested
in helping me clean
scavenging things they want
from my old life
in a rush to get this room ready
for the next inhabitant
dragging objects packed or not
down concrete stairs
to where a moving truck
already stuffed full
awaits

shoppers draw near the scene
–a cosmic garage sale–
offering money
or just taking what they want

impossibly in the room
and on the ground
at the same time
the more i pack the more i discover
items still unclaimed
a box full of glass eyes
coins from foreign lands
an old handheld game

i should feel some kind
of attachment
yet only the dead give me pause

an overwhelming sense
of futility mixed with exhaustion
washes over me

i peel back carpet
and find a rotted wood floor
i have never seen