Bus 58

The bus full of

blurred faceless creatures 

zombies without aim or

destination to hell

like an image of

dying, crying

while no death occurs

no tears are shed just

blurred faceless creatures

with mouths agape

as if ready to speak

of the crimes of mankind

but words fail them like

the rest of the world has, while

eyes ablaze with no fire

glare as if the very soul

had been usurped

from behind them

and a flicker of

hope escapes

into thin air like a

tree falling without

making a sound though

the bus continues to

crowd with blurred 

faceless creatures as

two stare into the abyss of

desperation, frustration

a mind full of screams

a voice empty of response

and though one stares

at the other none utters a

word as the bus makes its

routine stops

In and out they

come and go like

waves in a vast 

ocean of crimson

death no two alike

though each foams

at the mouth, rabid dogs

that don’t bark

that don’t bite, but

blurred

faceless

creatures alike

Hummingbird Artist

 (A Cinquain)

A

humming

bird in flight

is much too fast

to just watch and wait

while I collect

its nectar

for my

words 

 

 

4/1/21

This They Don’t Tell You

 (A Rondelet)

 

This they don’t tell you

Falling in love has its own thorns

This they don’t tell you

Smiles are stars with devilish horns

that bleed the heart but save so few

and mock a queen with a crown that scorns

This they don’t tell you

The Truth About Unspeakable Things

The dark quiet settles 

in the ridges of curves

and ravines, lightning

just passing through

tongue clamped between

teeth gnashing for release

but dull and neutral instead

tongue hanging - lolling -

the tip withered of venom,

Oleanders waiting to be kissed,

while poison collects just 

underneath the muscles

waiting to spit toxins

instead of dopamine

waiting to spit

unspeakable things

 

The Oleander shrub is the most poisonous plant in the world from root to petals 

Sea of Unforgetting

Crashing waves slap,

sharp,

relentless

pellets that remember

and accuse, sting

with “too lates,”

“goodbyes” lost,

a tempest of regrets

wrapped around my neck

squeezing,

muffling

my silenced grief,

regrets in a drowning sea

of ruthless unforgetting.

Ghost Kiss

Memories of you cling

to the tip of my tongue,

grappling hooks tearing 

at the tender flesh of my lips

where your smoky breath lingers

and the missing details of us

cast shadows along blurry edges

How Will You Remember This Time

We sit watching scary movies 

that make us laugh so hard

we lean on each other 

with careless disregard 

because you can’t squeeze

your heart 

into foolish small spaces

and I can 

just be myself. 

We laugh 

until I can’t breathe,

until you fill my lungs

with a whisper of your joy 

and I inhale 

the scent of happiness.

I lay beside you on your bed

as the hour grows late

and spoon you because I like it,

maybe more than you do, 

a warm snuggle

where I lay my head in loving you

because your days are too long 

and mine are stretched too thin 

to hold it all together. So 

I tickle you silly, 

my cold fingers reaching 

up to your armpits

because I told you 

that it’s the warmest part 

of your 8-year-old body,

and you fight me 

with giggles and squeals

in the arsenal of your love

while I smile because 

neither of us 

believes such silliness 

since the warmest part 

has always been your heart,

and I cleave to the vain hope 

that you’ll never outgrow

our nightly snuggles.

The world may have 

grown farther apart, 

threads in a tapestry

no longer tethered 

together and desperate 

for a normalcy

that’s already been replaced.

But I cling to my heartbeats,

each one pulsing with memories

that aren’t tainted with just fear.

 

** Poem inspired by Samantha Reynold's poem with the same name