tethered
frozen
the one moment
kept real
never fading
like a painting
not a photo
not quite a memory
even with closed eyes
a glimpse
breath stolen
locked in a jar
disoriented
hollowed
try crying out
holding close
always grasping
like a tree branch
not a flower
not quite easy to reach
even holding too close
alone
tears dry
pressed between pages
Not One Step Ahead
He kept the pace, stole her breath
He had to keep one step ahead
The only thought he tried to keep
There was no place so safe, so deep.
They chased old ghosts as best they could
Forgot awhile as if they should
It felt so raw and yet so old
He burned within yet was so cold
He took a breath and failed to see
There was no road or way to peace
If fire takes the air away
There won’t be time to hear or say
If time is fixed and sadness moves
Where are the fates we have to prove
He tried to take each day to heart
But it was over so soon to part
Bereft and empty was the shell
Few stories could be found to tell
To travel is to leave your thought
Only then will be the road you sought.
Testing
Really trying here
Think I may burst
I’ve never been patient
But this is too much
The waiting
Hurts to breathe
I can wait the half hour for the cake to bake
I can wait for the show to be continued
I can wait for him to take his coat off before I grab and hug and greet him
The minutes in the waiting room are intolerable
The magazines suck
The rug is ugly
The people are all trying too hard to be silent and avoid eye contact
And some are waiting to hear if they’re dying
I don’t know how I can sit here waiting to be poked and prodded
When I’m screaming so loudly
My head is pounding
They may have to pick me up off the floor
Really trying to be mindful and joyful
But this blows
The waiting
The ugliness
The choking back fear and trying to look normal
Ah, now it’s my turn.
Thanks!
I wish to heartily thank my supporters and friends and followers! I have had words stuck in my head all my life and it’s taken me to my middle age to write them down.
I’m working on a book of poetry to hopefully be published this year; up to six months ago, I would laughed at that idea.
I am particularly proud of the connections I’ve made with other writers. We should revel and share in our journeys and support each other as we have chosen similar modes of expression.
“We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful pour out.” – Ray Bradbury
Lingering Goodbye
It wasn’t the first goodbye
They’d both been battered by the waves
So many times they had come close
“I love you” was just too hard
And not nearly enough
Youth was long gone
More than innocence had been lost
Too many questions would be left behind
Regret only for why not what once was
That was too simple
This goodbye would linger
Longer than other memories
The gaping holes in each of their days
Would never quite close up enough
To keep cold thoughts at bay
Rereading old letters
Was too dangerous
Though it helped to remember
All they had left
Were words
The Word Rummager 