no warning (20171023)

a bone will creak
before it breaks
much like a dried branch
stepped on in summer
that makes the birds
go silent

but muscle

say
–a heart, for example–

will make no sound before
shattering like glass

or perhaps it is beyond
human hearing

——

for
dVerse ~ Poets Pub
Quadrille #43: creak

breaking point (20170909)

i am a stained glass saint
and you are a high-pitched
tuning fork pressed against
my flattened multiple colors

you ring
i respond
with crack and shatter
fake gems from a pirate
souvenir shop scattered on
the floor

the red ones are my hearts
the blue ones whatever resolve
i kept in check

more hot lead
and patience
will be required

untitled villanelle (20170622)

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

pieces (20170501)

silent tracks this morning

but so much glass
glittering on the ground
were the wind to pick up
the air would cut me
to pieces

i follow the rails in shoes
with soles so thin
i feel every facet of every stone
trying to pierce my feet

though empty, i have seen the trains

not the romantic locomotives
with porters and bewatched conductors
crowded dining cars
mysterious liaisons
but industrial bulk behemoths
the color of rust
the odor of old burned oil
delivering invisibles
in closed cars

i walk the middle of the track
wood
gravel
wood
gravel
iron on either side

a shirtless jogger approaches
loping toward me
glistening in the sun
i imagine myself
in a coat hanging past the knee
a dusty, wide-brimmed hat
arm relaxed but ready
to draw at my side

another poet’s words
write themselves nearby
first in soot
then in blood:
inspired by beauty
betrayed by lust
abandon[ed] by greed
enslaved by guilt

the jogger turns
the wind rises
and i am cut to pieces

the uncertainty of singing glass (20160718)

light catches it
like morning sun
on a single spiderweb strand

blown glass stretched so thin
it sings every time we breathe

connecting us
more frail than
sun-bleached bird bones

sudden movements
scare you like a nervous cat
so i mirror you
match your speed
and keep this thin tendril
from bending
from shattering

today the trend is all
self-healing polymers
but these inevitable shards–
will they go back together
get stronger
more flexible with mending

or will we just end up
with bloodied fingers

——

for
The Daily Post
Daily Prompt: Frail

shattered voices (Poem 20160503)

the angel unfurls its wings
wings of a thousand thousand feathers
each a razor black with blood

they beat
space is cut
voices of shattered glass
fill the air

it turns my way and i am pierced
lacerated by its message
its wings seek my heart
it flays the living flesh
from my bones
leaving no human trace
not even
my name