I thought
and truly there is nothing
I would dash to rescue in the flames
my heart is intact
my hands can write
my eyes can fall on those I love
my arms can wrap around them
my mind is alive with joy and memories
brighter than the fire
and hotter still…
knowing this, I’d stand and watch
as the flames catch allIn response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Burning Down the House.”
Poetry
Cracked
The thing about walking on eggshells
is that there is no way to safely do so
without hearing the dreaded sound
of grinding underfoot
and feeling that inevitable feeling of failure besides…
looking back at the path and seeing
nothing but debris
the brokenness of us
I’d rather not do this today.
Home soil rain
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Free Association.”
I’m beginning to realize
how comfortably your fingers
twine with mine
hands like home
linger, mingle
such warmth I haven’t felt
a simple acceptance of me
with all my faults and alarming tendencies
that soil my beauty queen persona
we are simple together, you and me
we bring no complication
easy as the weather
sunshine, rain
and just as predictable
meaning, not at all
you have become my safety
my calm
Slumber
The frozen tears of winter fall
as white from clouds of gray
and coat the sleeping forest paths
before the break of day
A contrast ‘twixt the glistening bright
and trees to which it clings
give stark reminder of this life
and sadness that it brings
But in the silence of the wood
let not your heart despair
for not in death, but only sleep
does joy yet still breathe there
One summer
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Easy Fix.”
There was a girl, who met a boy
One summer day, by a country club pool
he was awkward and silly
and had a nervous way of chewing his fingers
that somehow endeared him to her, even in his tattered jeans
He was
not her usual “type”
but he had an easy way about him that
chained her
So every day after, when she visited the pool
while her father played 18 holes with his colleagues on the green
and her mother met with the wives in the tea room for brunch
she would look for him in the crowd of oxford shirts
and not finding him, feel her world suddenly fold in on itself
For you see, the day she met him, her world had suddenly and inexplicably opened up
and all at once, the sun shined through the clouds she only kept at bay with
precise concentration on her ivy league dreams and
painstakingly ordered way of life
her wall of protection he’d managed to scale with a coy smile
so she searched and prayed
and just as the summertime sun was beginning to fade
and along with it, her hopes
he was there
And all was right with the world.
Flight delay
birds don’t carry baggage
they leave it behind
and fly
perhaps that’s why we’re so different
because we carry with us
a pebble here, a twig there
baggage that bleeds
but never gets lighter
and keeps us earthbound
helplessly flapping
with our eyes skyward
exhausted by heavy weight
but still seeking ourselves
in the treetops
we are only sure to reach
if we let go
You, now
I carry you with me
like winter
cold and stark and bare
you are in my bones
Limbo
Presently I am alive
but I’m feeling rather dull
as happens when you shoot for the moon,
miss the mark and find yourself
crashing down without a safety
burned to the point of numbness
and wondering when the pain ended
and limbo began
then the epiphany…
there are bills to pay
and mouths to feed
an alarm clock shouting orders
and a bladder full of yesterday
screaming to be emptied
so with quiet, masterful care I
sit on the edge of my bed
forgetting to remember
what it means to really live
and with one great heave
propel myself into the routine
that keeps me here
Navigation: lost
Sometimes there’s just a hole
and sometimes it remains
no matter what you use
to try to fill it
to smooth out the road ahead
sometimes the sun won’t shine in
the dark spaces between
no matter your speed or
the size of the dust clouds
kicked up by road-worn tires
no matter how you try
to blink away the clouds
and the storms they bring
so you open the floodgates
let the roiling pain slip through
to light flash strips on the pavement and in morning find yourself a different being…mourning the lightness of what once was while trying to navigate the heaviness of what is
watching the mile markers go by
lost
Headspace
All I do is scream
Even my conversation
is a shout, unbearable
to my own ears
Who am I?
It seems anger has taken over
speaks for me in my dreams
and waking hours
In harsh tones and insults
An axe blade to chop down
Feelings of vulnerable me
that later show themselves as hot tears, salt poured on wounds too deep to heal
A headspace I want desperately
to leave…
Golifely 