14 octobre 2015

But I am so lucky...

(on the off chance anyone reads this, please be gentle, it's been a LONG break) 

But I am so lucky 

Obstreperous -- 
I was jejune and now
you are flummoxed at this 
I run, unmanageable, 
Devastating mondegreen dizzying. 
Spelentic and imperfect, 
bewildered by my own 
opprobrious comportment. 
I have no idea why you love me. 

19 janvier 2014


(The hope, of course, is that you would picture it yourself, but someday maybe I'll sketch up the geography of what I'm describing.  The Fort, you might say.) 

In the innermost, it is dark, 
it is quiet.  
Sometimes too quiet.  
I venture, and peer out the door.  
Dropping breadcrumbs, skipping over precarious bombs.  
Next circle. 
Some more things are stored here.  
Not all mine, 
but all important. 
Check them all to make sure; 
they are safe. 
Unchain the chains, unbolt the bolts, 
crack the door to sneak a peek.  
One eye peeks back.  
I am frozen; 
how did you... 
You never should have come through the hedge maze.  
You are not welcome here, go back.  
I close the door, 
And send you to the outermost circle. 
No other things.  
I run back, fleeing.  
It’s better this way.  
Safe and sound with my 

01 décembre 2013

So happy

(it's weird, because I can see the blog stats and it's all "6 pageviews today" and I'm like... uhm by whom?  I'm thinking it must be random spammers and internet traipsers and bots and things because I don't just give this page out to people and I'm pretty sure people gave up on it when I stopped writing for a year or so.  Or really people gave up because I'm terrible haha.  Still, in a weird way, I wish I knew what or who was tripping over my blog in their cyberspace adventures.  Whatever they are, this "poem" should disappoint them mwahaha)  

So happy 

Glitter falling all around 
glistening like my smile.  
Music notes tumble, 
Rocking in the corner, 
sparkles stream from my eyes. 
Shirking and shrinking, 
laugh laugh laugh.  
So happy for you.  

29 novembre 2013

Life Disconcerting

(Is happiness a choice?  Does it count if you are forcing yourself to be happy?  If you fake it for long enough does it become real?  How do we know who we are?  If you aren't yourself for long enough, does that actually become who you are?  You'd think eventually I'd have an answer or two, but mostly I just have more questions every day...)  

Life Disconcerting 
So zealous for this life, 
yet anxiously troubled 
as though fervent happiness 
must be quelled, 
lest it be overwhelmed by 
restless unease.  
Brimming with idealism, 
concerned by encroaching dejection -- 
life ever bemusing. 
Optimism battles the xanthous fears, 
while joyous elation concedes to 
worries, mindful of disappointment. 
Overwhelming yearning, 
kind and loving, 
resigned to a perplexed quiet. 

20 novembre 2013


(I used to have this rule that I couldn't write when I was super emotional because it was always just horrendous.  I'm breaking that rule right now, because I'm trying to clear my head.  I'm trying to convey something here, and perhaps next time I'll say what it is.  No one reads this blog, haha, but if someone stumbles upon it, perhaps he or she can tell me if I even remotely succeeded.  For now... more vodka.)  


What goes up must come down 
down down down... 
Fight it and cling, 
claw and dig deep.  
The fall is delayed, 
drags on... and on... 
Reaching up but 
it's no use.  
It never is.  
Slide down - 
bleeding along the way.  
The bottom - disconsolate, 
Shaken despairing sobs. 

03 novembre 2013

Hannah -- prose

(trying to write again I guess...) 

“It was a dark and stormy night-“

“No it’s not.” 

I suppressed a sigh.  “No sweetie, in the story.” 

Hannah looked out the window and turned to me sternly.  “Lying is wrong Daddy.” 

“No Hannah-belle, telling a story isn’t lying, it’s…”  Silence.  “Uhm, it’s making up a story…” 


When I was young I had thought it would be difficult to raise a child of average intelligence, but now, arguing with and being outsmarted by my three year old, I wondered.  How was I going to explain fiction for the purpose of entertainment? 

“You know, when I read you bedtime stories?  Those aren’t true stories-“

“What?!”  Shock and outrage. 

“Baby, those are just made up tales about happy, faraway lands and-“

“You lied to me?!”  It appeared the shock and outrage would continue.  If only I hadn’t been muttering to myself as I typed.  If only Rachel were still alive to help tame our offspring.  Rachel had always been the voice of reason to my dreamer tendencies. 

“I’m sorry sweetie.  Lots of people like to… peek into other people’s imaginations when their own imaginations get tired.” 

Hannah pondered this.  She sucked on the strap of her jumper, which she’d undone again, before finally saying, “Like if I let other people talk to Mr. Bears?  And be friends with him?” 

Of course my genius toddler could put my thoughts into words better than I.  “Yes, very much like that.” 

“I have to think about this Daddy.  I’ll get back to you.”  She walked out.  Great, have your people call my people, maybe we can have teatime with Mr. Bears and philosophize. 

I turned back to the computer and stared at it.  Heaving another melodramatic sigh, I erased the intro.  It was too cliché and my life was anything but.  Rachel’s picture smiled at me just above the right corner of the monitor.  “Rach… Rach… what am I doing?” 

“Daddy…”  Hannah reappeared sounding worried and I snapped back to reality.  “Daddy there’s someone at the door.”  And the doorbell rang. 

Mildly perturbed by Hannah’s premonition, maybe she had just seen him walk up, I set her on the couch in my office and instructed, “Daddy will be right back.  Don’t move.”  Hannah gave me the annoyed look she used anytime I referred to myself in the third person but gave me a short, curt nod in assent. 

I closed the door behind me before hurrying down the stairs to the front door.  I didn’t think to look through the window before I found myself staring at an impeccably dressed man in his mid-thirties.  Perfectly sculpted blonde hair, sunglasses, a tux, and bodyguards rendered the whole moment beyond surreal and I failed to speak. 

“Mr. Lancomb?”  The blond man spoke crisply, with such a pronounced lack of accent it was startling. 

“Who’s asking?” 

“It will not do to play games with me Mr. Lancomb.  Won’t you invite us in?” 

“I’m sorry, and you are…?” 

“You need money, Mr. Lancomb.  You’re a decent writer, but you aren’t making enough to fully support your beautiful daughter.”  He paused for dramatic effect, and it worked.  “Are you?” 

“Won’t you come in?”  I don’t know what overtook me, but within moments they were seated around my dining room table sipping ice water with lemon.  Rachel would have been proud – of the lemon, not the strangers sitting in our house. 

“Mr. Lancomb,” the blonde man had removed his sunglasses to reveal eyes that seemed falsely blue.  “I am Mr. Powers.  An amusing name to be certain, but do not let humour detract from the gravity of this situation.” 

“That’s not your real name anyway.”  We all whirled around to see Hannah, lips pursed, staring down the man in the tuxedo.  She held Mr. Bears in both arms, and even he looked defiant.
“You are correct small one.  My great-great grandfather changed it when he immigrated.” 

“Define immigrated.” 

“He came to America from another country.”  Hannah debated this briefly before climbing onto a chair at the table. 

“I told you not to move,” I reproached her.  She looked at me steadily and said nothing until I felt foolish losing the argument to a toddler. 

“Mr. Lancomb, I need you to deliver something for me.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Actually it’s someone.  I need you to ensure the safe travels of my niece across the country.” 

“That’s-  I-  what?” 

“Is she nice?”  Hannah was clearly less bothered by this than I. 

“I like to think so.”  Mr. Powers nodded to one of his bodyguards, who stood and exited.  He returned momentarily with a young girl around 13 who held her arms and hummed softly.  “Olivia, please sit.” 

“Six chairs.  I-s-x a-c-h-i-r-s.  Six people.  I-s-x e-e-l-o-p-p.”  Olivia sat. 

“Olivia enjoys putting the letters of her words in order.”  Mr. Powers smiled. 

“A-i-i-l-o-v.  My name is Aiilov.”  She pronounced it like I love.

“Olivia is autistic and like many autistics, she is brilliant.  Unlike most autistics, she is also connected to important people and therein a target.  I would like you, Mr. Lancomb, to help me transport her across the country to Stanford where I am assured her safety.” 

“Why Stanford?” 

“Mr. Lancomb, I will give you 1.5 million dollars as well as setting up a trust for Hannah’s college education should you carry out this task and not ask questions.” 

“Daddy, that’s 5 zeroes and 7 figures.” 

“I know that Hannah.”

“Daddy…”  Hannah stood on her chair and put her hands on my shoulders so she could look my directly in the eyes.  “What would Mommy say?” 

And then, in front of the three powerful men, in front of the genius autistic, in front of my own daughter, I started crying. 

Hannah put Mr. Bears on my lap and wiped my eyes with her chubby hands.  “Mommy helped everyone.”  It was true.  Rachel wouldn’t even have cared about the money.  If she really thought someone was in need, she just helped them.  She had been an absolute saint during her time and who was I to deny Olivia the right to safety. 


“An excellent decision Mr. Lancomb.” 

“A-b-c … l-m-n-o.  I like his name.”  Olivia seemed genuinely thrilled by the realization of the consonant clusters.  As usual though, she spoke only to her uncle. 

Mr. Powers rose, and his goonies stood with him.  “I will send you an electronic itinerary and some notes by e-mail this evening.  Olivia will arrive promptly at 0800 Friday morning along with her belongings, money for the trip, and anything else I deem necessary.” 

“Define itin- itinerary.”  I should never have taught Hannah the word define.

“It’s a schedule Hannah-belle.”  And turning to Mr. Powers, “That’s two days from now.” 

“Very good Mr. Lancomb.” 

As I stood silently, shocked, the party made their way to the door.  Mr. Powers stood aside to allow the bodyguards to escort Olivia first, but she turned and looked directly at Hannah.  “I hope you’ll tell me what Mr. Bears said when I came in.  I think we three shall be friends.”  Then she turned around and walked out. 

Mr. Powers looked at Hannah peculiarly.  “Olivia speaks only to me.  She has addressed no one else, not even her parents, since she was born.”  He stared harder at Hannah. 

“Mr. Bears is an excellent judge of people,” Hannah replied simply, as though that explained everything. 

“I have chosen well and I am pleased you have agreed to this, Mr. Lancomb.”  And then the door was closed. 

I looked at Hannah, at Mr. Bears, at the closed door, and back to Hannah. 

“Daddy, we need to pack,” she said before I could utter a word.  With that, we went upstairs to pack.  

01 novembre 2013

Curious Contentment

(curiously, someone recently suggested to me that I begin a blog. Of course, this person was likely thinking I would wax philosophical and, as such, I refrained from comment and clearly did not state, "Oh but I have one where I occasionally spew horrific nonsense that would make an actual writer and feasibly cry." In any case... this.) 

Curious Contentment (working title) 

It began so carefully, 
if unexpectedly. 
To pinpoint an origin 
Enshrouded in primaveral joy, 
enraptured by this new curiosity. 
All good things must end. 
Trading in the gleeful swivet, 
expecting a tumble into despondence. 
And yet… 
Comfortable resignation tinged with 
residuum of frivolity. 
Nigh confusing this 
serotinal fulfillment. 
No falderal sense of being jilted; 
rather, peculiar satisfaction in this 
contented unhappiness.

02 mars 2013

You are prohibited

(Either you understand or you don't.) 

You are prohibited

Forced denouncement

in the face of
growing affection. 
An anomaly,
this confidence
without reason.
This impediment
irrefrangible despite
endless wanting. 
To proscribe regulation –
pressing desire.
Forcibly en regle,
straining resistance –
Quell the flush --
coveting the verboten.
A hypnopompic state…
an anguish to relish.
Off limits –
painful brush with the

28 décembre 2012

Sparkling Reticence

(words words words.  Sorry it's not happier for the holidays and such...) 

Sparkling reticence

They act as though
my nonplussed speech slakes enthusiasm,
but truly my pontifications remain adiaphorous,
while their manner is a stinging fracas.
I recoil from the pain and
attempt to elucidate something – anything – else
besides my need for relief from the sharpness.
Sudden jokes and a constant whirl of whinge –
judging, leering, prying;
a dull effervescence in which I do not take part.
Shut my eyes, the tinny nebula presses in,
I am suffocating – haunted by yesterdays. 

30 mars 2012


I am so not pleased with how this ends. I just... don't like it..
The Journey
Stand at the bottom of the staircase,
No banister – tiptoe up trying not to make a sound.
Exhale at the top sounds like a hurricane; breath catches.
Standing at the bridgehead,
No railings – sneak across, don’t look down.
Collapse at the other side; making this journey alone.
Look up at the snowy peak.
No sherpa – scale this rocky face, heart pounds.
Behold, consider this journey; these accomplishments.
Trust or solitude? Questions remain unanswered.

16 janvier 2012

Talking in Circles

Sometimes you just can't tell someone how much they mean to you. In addition to living in a society that is not frank with emotions, I have my PhD in Fear of Rejection.

Talking in Circles

Another conversation – we talk.
I tell you so many things,
inside myself, while
little is said aloud.
Smiling, I reach out to touch your arm,
a simple gesture,
devoid of ulterior motive, but
I miss.
My hand rests on your side and
the disquietude inside me –
nauseating waves.
But I remain steadfast,
nigh drowning in hidden consternation.
Blinded by this clashing of
trepidation and desire,
I can’t tell if you figured it out.
A hug goodbye bordering on aggressive,
alone again – no relief from the
apprehensive proclivity to you.

11 janvier 2012

Pulling tails of Cheshire cats


Pulling tails of Cheshire cats

Grasping at sand and clinging to shadows,
living in a dream.
Wishing and hoping on stars that
have already died.
Living in a ghost town, deserted but
still wait at the window.
Wrapped up in bed, knowing
sleep will never come.
[shadow, mist, hallucination]
A dawning sense of clarity.
Let go of hopes and dreams,
set them free.
This grey is life – it is time to stop
pulling tails of Cheshire cats.

05 janvier 2012


(I can't decide if the last line should be more specific? "still searching for the right embrace" ???)


Enveloped in a cloud...
lean back -- anticipating soft.
Falling through cold, damp --
chills from brushing through the mist.
Wrapped in a blanket... snuggle down -- expecting warmth.
Struggling for air, smothered --
stifled in this entrapment.
Relaxed under the sun...
float on the water -- awaiting warmth.
Sinking in the dark, cold --
drowned in disorientation.
Still searching...

30 décembre 2011

Digital Addiction

(I had a different title for this originally and it's AWESOME, but it deserves a better poem, so here I go trying to write about feeling again. This feeling shit gets kind of old sometimes...)

Digital Addiction

Drumming fingers on my cell phone,

craving the vibration that tells me

you want to reach me.

Checking text messages,

yearning for validation of my emotions,

feeling barren, stark.

Brush away a single tear,

this languishing is ridiculous I know;

I deteriorate into a vacant ache.

Compose a message to tell you, but

eloquence is just out of reach,

I cannot send you amassed brooding.

Devoid of coherent thought,

I am hollowed out and cannot communicate.

Put the phone away.

26 décembre 2011


(thanks Sandy, it's almost what I want...)


Stinging, searing, blinding --
your hiemal moods bring snow,
my soul's adytum nearly ices over.
I patiently abrade the frost,
enduring, passive, hoping for a good one --
always altruistic.
I am no quean, just lavish with my canticles and
I am without fear.

25 décembre 2011

Word Nerd

(it doesn't make sense, I know, just enjoy the plays on words please)

Word Nerd, or: Ode to my Love for Language

I'd like to proposition you with this preposition,
but you're just too possessive, I'm driven to run-on.
Now we're tense; don't be such an oxymoron,
I dash from your conjunctions.
Modify this you homophone!
I feel so verb, which, by definition,
means I have vague etymology.
I can't leave you -- you're my palindrome.

24 décembre 2011


(mmm, I know... I know...)


Obscured footsteps,
mislaid laughter.
Wandering wayward without.
Lavish consumption,
bereaved wishes.
Feeble forgotten folly.
Blurred direction,
hidden tears.
Astray absorbed abstraction.

09 août 2011


Finally got rid of those pesky crushes! Merci Dieu!


Camouflaged in abstruse…

you cannot see the ensconced slivers.
Ambiguously fragmented,
tucked away in shrouds of obscurity.
Locked up lying low,
you don’t ever need to know.
Furtively defective, but
disguising the marred dull spots.
Stifling the cracks and
harboring poorly disguised mutilations,
you try to peek through the curtain
straining to see how I’m mangled behind this veil.
Riven… fractured… hidden enigmatically,
it is all suppressed, reticent.
Smiling facades.

02 août 2011


Anytime I have a crush it irritates me beyond belief. I honestly loathe this state of being so having three crushes just annoys me to no end. I was trying to write about the stupidity I feel regarding aforementioned inanity but I wrote this so late at night that I don't have any idea if it makes much sense.

Quelling Crushes
I am an imbecile,
Self scurrilous due to my
Possibly pusillanimous nature.
I regain my deadpan, nigh dudgeon, and
Based on principle, deny the plangency
You cannot inveigle my usufruct,
The mere idea of taction is
torrefying (somatic)
And I slip into imbroglio –
Preposterous tardiloquous…
You seem ignorant of my deviations,
remain steadfast and sapient,
everything uniformly in its place.
Despite my incommodious lifestyle,
I find myself the ullage, unable to be the desideratum,
I leave you wanting.
Uneath and trustful, but I will never let you know.

31 juillet 2011

Sometimes I like Rhymes

(get it? get it? "sometimes" rhymes with "rhymes". I'm so clever I know...)

I assert that life is hurt(ing).
I’m alone but I don’t bemoan this fate,
I brought it to my own plate.
Independent no defendant I stand up
For what I believe and unfortunately…
Believing is leaving is grieving.
I know you misconceive what I perceive to be true.
What is truth? Even the best sleuth cannot find –
Shhhh. Don’t talk about it.

06 juillet 2011



She pulls at the frills on her dress,
wondering when he’ll come.
Raindrops pelt the window –
she looks through them.
What is this emotional trickery?
She refuses to beg for this,
chasing sugar to no avail.
Costumed in her nonchalance,
she is so clever…
He’ll never know.
She pulls at the frills on her dress,
and cries silently behind the drapes.

Extirpation of my Guise

This happened once... right before the person left. I doubt he'll ever read it, so I'm not that concerned about it sucking ;)

Extirpation of my Guise
You bury your face in my right shoulder,
the second hand ticks, but fails to tock…
time has stopped for us.
With this one gesture,
you have completely devastated my façade…
I surrender.
Rest my head against your chest,
thinking about absolutely nothing –
a feat never before possible.

27 juin 2011

Who's to say

Writin' during lunch break -- what what?

Who's to say...

Who’s to say…
what family means?
Bound by blood, bound by heart.
Who’s to say…
where I am to place my affections?
Emotions are not subject to rules and regulations.
Who’s to say…
how I express my fervor and ardour?
Paper thin greetings cards and empty sentiments.
Who’s to say…
who I love?
What is love?

26 juin 2011

I had a title for this just a second ago...

And now I can't remember. This is why I shouldn't write in my head while I'm trying to go to sleep. --
Addendum 27 June: oh now I remember...

A Lot Goes Unsaid

I meet you at the gate,
converse over the fence.
You drum your fingers on the latch,
I smile and bid you farewell.
Go back in the house – days pass.
I see you go by the gate,
run outside and you just wave.
I drum my fingers on the fence,
stare into the distance and pretend.
Go back in the house – weeks pass.
You slip through the gate,
pull me into you.
Our fingers cannot pull us closer,
the world melts around us.
Run back in the house – you are gone.

25 décembre 2010


I know, it's been a really long time. So I'm just getting back in the groove... I'm rusty, try not to be overly judgmental.

Oh what a tangled web we weave-
it’s not so much a lie just…
Meticulous and careful these forgeries;
what’s in a lie? Deceit by any other name.
I present to you this fabrication of self, and
my guile is so precise.
Every façade a mirror, reflected in a pool,
reality is long lost.
Mendacious cunning so entirely complete,
even I am now a believer of my deception.

22 août 2010

Saying Goodbye

(I was humming a tune I made up and started putting words to it. I seem to be in a song mood lately???)

Saying Goodbye

You always want what you can’t have…
Just brush me off without a thought.
Trust me honey, there is no wrath,
Maybe just a nagging sense of loss.

Say goodbye, say goodbye,
Can’t let go.
Say goodbye, say goodbye,
Learn to say no.

If you didn’t know I was going to leave…
If you didn’t know that we'd be apart…
Don’t do that, don’t try to please me,
I’ve already seen what’s on your heart.

Say goodbye, say goodbye,
It’s time to let go.
Say goodbye, say goodbye,
I can say no.

Maybe you’ll find, some time from now,
You should’ve said now, what you’ll know then.
But as it stands, you don’t seem to know how,
To make the leap, or simply be friends.

Say goodbye, say goodbye,
I have let go.
Say goodbye, say goodbye,
Darling… no.

17 août 2010


Red is a colour... Bittersweet is a colour... No actually I just needed to shake of some stress before I can sleep so I wrote this nonsense:


Just hold on to me,
don’t let go.
The touch of your hands,
I breathe you in.
Brush my lips by your hair,
exhilaration and torment.
Push you away only
to pull you back.
Just hold onto me,
don’t let go.
Muscles tense,
your breath on my neck.
Mind shattering agony,
too invasive to
shrug away.
Just hold onto me,
don’t let go.


This is like song format, but it's not a song because I am not a musician. So there.


It’s been so long since I’ve seen you
I wasn’t expecting to feel so high…
Rushes of emotion hit anew.
And I just stare into your eyes.
You’re a vision to behold,
Still touch me with your magic…
But can’t escape this pressing cold.
Our story so tragic.

I admit my heart’s defeat,
Burning so bittersweet.
Overwhelmingly replete,
Burning so bittersweet.

I will never stop loving you,
Whatever may occur,
It will always be true,
It’s not something I can deter.
We’re crushed together by the dark,
Falling into a blinding mist.
And then it’s there – our spark,
Simplicity in your kiss.

I admit my heart’s defeat,
Burning so bittersweet.
Overwhelmingly replete,
Burning so bittersweet.

Not incomplete,
Just bittersweet.
No deceit,
Only bittersweet.

I admit my heart’s defeat,
Burning so bittersweet.
Overwhelmingly replete,
Burning so bittersweet.


(2 months... well, it's been worse before. Here's some lousy crap I wrote! Yay!)


I did not mean to make you

into something you are not.

Imagined improvements projected,

forced dematerialisation of truth.

It was unfair;

an abuse you suffered unknowingly...

As I formed you into an ideal,

falsely diminishing your inconvenient traits.

But my edification came in due time,

impossible to dismiss your ineptitudes,

pretending no longer...

Demolition. End.

I supposed there would be torment

once the picture shattered.

But there is only silence,

serenity more than torpor.

Still, I steal glances, wondering why

the absence of amity.

Yet I feel only peace.

Everything dissipates.

12 juin 2010

More vomit

IDK why I can't stop rhyming. Don't ask. Something good will appear here in this blog... EVENTUALLY???


Don’t postpone the unknown…
Better to atone right now.
In the zone my little drone,
oh I’m sorry, are you prone
to throw stones?
Your cover’s blown,
this glass house… postpone
your outrage you know I’m
right as rain … homegrown.
Shown and well known, no hiding.
I don’t condone your tone
of voice. Overblown and
unbeknownst… I cry. Bemoan
these tears goddamn!
I’ve outgrown this charade,
disown and dethrone you…
I’m on my own,
self-inflicted… alone.

11 juin 2010

Brain Vomit

Okay so first of all, sorry about the new layout/background/whatever, I got bored and I don't think I care much for this, but it'll do for now because I need to pack!!! Second, here is some serious word vomit. I, uhm, yeah I have no idea. Seriously, just vomited from my brain onto my word doc... it's reallllllly bad, but I feel like I need to post at least weekly or it'll end up being another month break or something. So here you go!

Plain Jane

Abstain from the pain;
oh plain Jane -
block the main shower of
your acid rain. I attain
a vein of pleasure from…
Insane … try to ascertain,
to explain, your disdain.
Wax and wane…
I entertain my main
idea- you are the bane..
my existence… strain to
contain this addiction to you,
and to remain inside my refrain.
Feign strong and obtain
calm away from this cocaine –
a chain draining.
Instead I retain, the
sustaining of pain.

04 juin 2010

Words Words Words

Yep... yehhhhp...

Words Words Words

Door slams and heart breaks…
walking away from you is the hardest
thing I must do.
Bitter agony tears at me,
heartsick is an understatement.
I’m trying to explain it to you.
Words falling everywhere, piling…
banks of descriptive nouns in the corner;
grief, remorse, affliction, desolation
swirl softly at your feet.
Kick at them trying to understand.
Love drifts by your shoulder,
trying to sweep upward towards your lips.
Bittersweet and kiss beat it down,
love falls… falls… runs away to hide.
Tears run backwards up my cheeks,
conceal themselves in my eyes.
“Get out, all of you!” –
they race out; the room a void.
For the first time,
words are inadequate.

01 juin 2010

The Scrap of Paper

I guess this is more descriptive prose than poetry... Sometimes that line blurs for me. =/ But anyway, here you go!

The Scrap of Paper

A scrap of paper blowing down the street,
she catches it in her mitten.
“Dear Victoria, I love-”
Dismay, a lost love note!
Glancing up and down the abandoned street.
The wind rips the paper away to tumble around the corner.
He steps on the scrap with his shoe.
Damn people littering, he mutters and stoops for it.
“Dear Victoria, I love-”
He snorts, a break up letter;
crumples it up and tosses it vaguely at the dumpster.
It misses and rolls down the avenue,
stops at dirty bare feet.
“Dear Victoria, I love-”
“Look Mama, a letter!”
She reads it and sighs,
love and loss, seemingly inextricable.
She tosses it to the wind for fate and wipes a silent tear.