Quiet, now. For once your fears or discomfort are whistled to, he shall deny them. But they shan't dissolve. So whisper to the darkness that something's wrong and let it echo back. Or perhaps the abyss will swallow it. So hush. For if wrong's swallowed you'll want it too, you'll lean over. But should someone … Continue reading Whisper
Tag: Poetry
Winter Longing
Shelter me in fake leaves and fire, the smell of cider or cinnamon. I want the sky to mellow gray, to dream of feasts and coats and fleece. Pull down the growing sun to leave the nights open to lights and tinkle and indoor warmth. I've served my time to heat and watermelon. Hats, glove, … Continue reading Winter Longing
The Taste of Sky
Let me breathe somewhere deep. The scraggy mountains call to me, entreating why I do not run or leap, or bound or climb their limbs. Breathe. And taste the line where sky and stone meet. But my feet are soft, the mountains far and my body lax with care. For while I leap and dance … Continue reading The Taste of Sky
Stuck in the Deep
What options are left in times like these? When I have sunken down so deep the sunlight cannot reach and I can't see any rising bubbles. I go right, it's still black I go left, might as well turn back, and, perhaps, I hadn't turned at all. So, do I sink or do I float? … Continue reading Stuck in the Deep
A Green Hill Faraway
I seek a green place in a world claimed by everyone, and every speck of giving land already giving or given up. I seek a mountain far away, where no one seeks to climb. Except those who seek me out for me and me alone. I seek diamonds not for their worth but for their … Continue reading A Green Hill Faraway
Of Step-Dad the First
Down the worn carpet baby blue, but beloved to the door I was so familiar with touching My feet, small then led me to the bed where my father stood oddly haggard as he woved, peice by peice his strewn wardrobe. 'Father' asked I Little voice. 'Where are you going?" His answer was vague even … Continue reading Of Step-Dad the First
Of Mother
I remember two-year-old me bouncing on the ratty queen bed in my grandfather's basement throwing a rock at my mother's TV. She had found the rock who knows where, but she collected odd things like that. Whatever reminded her of vast open spaces where Indians ran free. She came out of the bathroom in … Continue reading Of Mother
His Black Bench
Sometimes I look back on this ex of mine who turned out to be a sociopath. I write more about him in my short-blurg of the passion confused boy. But on the sociopath stuff--for reals. Did the researched. He told me himself after such and such tests. Yep...but...I guess I'm still trying to make sense … Continue reading His Black Bench
Baby Barf
I remember that striped shirt. The one my father wears. My little baby had barfed all over mine, so he gave me one of his from the dirty laundry. It had smelled... of generic male deoderant. Not the most sentimental of shirts. And he's still wearing it. Maybe my baby should have barfed all over … Continue reading Baby Barf
I Am a Horrible Person
I am a horrible person. A 600 pound woman, with flesh hanging like veils past her limbs, gave birth to a 40 pound baby not too long ago. And all I could wonder was how it had gotten there in the first place. ...You're probably a horrible person too.
Author T.S. Lowe 