floating and leaving no trace
this summer evening
sees no stars
set into the night sky
perhaps an eagle took them
on silent wings to line her nest
this summer evening
or the man who cannot shut his eyes
buried them and now he
sees no stars
or rather than theft, is it the rippling
golden expanse of laughter
set into the night sky
——
for
Jane Dougherty Writes
Poetry challenge #33: Silent cascade
you are my paper
i dip my fingers
deep into black ink
write words
on your skin
new words no one
can pronounce
except as a low moan
at the back
of the throat
chasing after air
long since escaped
i can speak of anger
fluent in hard words
clenched jaw
balled up fist
tight-lipped mouth
that allows no human words
i can speak of anger
sudden blindness
urge to wrap your hands
around a throat
around the neck of a bat
and swing for the cheap seats
but instead
i will whisper to you
of forgiveness
that soft feather
brushing against your cheek
and beg for the same
——
pain paints a soft portrait in reds
subdued in whisper-light silk threads
(cover us in dark cocoon)
what will appear? we dare to ask
while tugging at the silken mask
(the texture ruptures much too soon)
flame emerges to clear the way
swept out like dancing sparks of day
(we shame the sun, we shame the moon)
with wings of midnight, ashen eyes
we make ascent to starless skies
(dancing again to pain’s red tune)
——
for
the secret keeper
Weekly Writing Prompt #39
| PAINT | CLEAR | DARE | COVER | DANCE |
three rings in a circus
with no one cracking the whip
three rings on three fingers
but who is steering this ship
the lion-tamer’s lost his head
he misjudged the lion’s maw
the clown should have stayed in his tiny car
he’s trapped beneath a weighty paw
i leave my seat and shuffle away
dragging my shoes through sawdust
these performances ended years ago
leaving nothing but haunted rust
——
your hand is covered in dream
wet protein
all a body needs
running down
your finger
to the curve of your wrist
i dream of tracing that line
with my tongue
licking it salty clean
but you’re already
washing clean
of the whole affair
on the blank line sign your name
trace over the letters
written before
with your hand
——
count the bones
twenty-one
white and glistening
polished and shining
these are private bones
these are bones
that have never seen a graveyard
they clack and rattle
they tick like a clock
squeezed out like blobs of toothpaste
our souls worm their way across
plains the color and texture
of spent charcoal briquettes
leaving slimy, intersecting trails
where they have touched other souls
all of us too heavy to lift off the ground
too much gravity or too much sin?
is there a difference?
what is the meaning of a whisper
purred by a lover?
the message cannot be heard
within the constraints
of normal conversation
consciousness must be forcibly shunned
the message a secret
to both life and death
you will have to step into that
shadow between them
the threshold of here and there
and even then you will only ever
repeat what you have learned
in a whisper
molten glass beautifully drawn
long glowing threads and soft blisters
that cool and shrink, now lifeless yawns
drop it–it lives again as shards
young love, stepping so like a fawn
upon new grass under new suns
how quickly shadows strike the dawn
drop it–it lives again as shards
my heart beat once strongly upon
your every glance, you resurrected
it, and you were careful not to
drop it–it lives again as shards
——
Jane Dougherty Writes
Poetry challenge #32:
Dreaming trees/Kyrielle
Words and Feathers 