Monthly Archives: April 2013

365 Days of Poetry: Day One-Hundred!

The floor felt unfamiliar,
too smooth, too free of hair.
Sara took Carrie by the hand.
Sally followed them down the stairs.

At the bottom were two doors,
and a tv blaring down the hall.
Sally turned left, bracing
for an evening of stupid sitcoms.

Instead, she found a little boy,
eating cereal and watching cartoons.
“Sara’s room’s first door,”
he mumbled through his food,
dribbling milk onto his chin.

Sally turned around,
and tried door number one.
Instead of finding the expected prize,
Sara’s brother stood, all chores done.

“I think you’re lost.”
He said, then picked up a tool.
“I know I am,”
said Sally,
“I’m always the fool.”

“Wanna see my project,”
he asked,
“My name’s Jack, by the way.”
Sally nodded her head,
didn’t know what to say.

They leaned over the counter,
Jack named all the parts.
Sally stared, fascinated,
at this new form of art.

“You better go,” Jack said,
breaking the spell.
“I love my sister,
but she’s possessive as hell.”

Sally nodded her head,
backed away from the scene.
Jack put a finger to her lips.
“Don’t tell anyone where you’ve been.”

The first door from the stairs.
It’s all so clear now.
Sally thought as she snuck into
a dress up party gone wild.

Carrie squealed:
“There’s Sally! Told ya she gets lost.
Now hand over that silk dress,
I don’t care what it cost.”

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365 Days of Poetry: Day Ninety-Nine

Sally clammed up.
Looked down to her toes.
She wanted her voice back.
She wanted to go home.

Sara nodded her head.
Carrie put a foot forward.
They both moved through the threshold.
Sally willed herself over.

“You know my mom has spies.”
Sara hissed as she closed the door,
being careful to keep the handle turned,
so the sealing wouldn’t show.

Carrie kept her face complacent,
as she told a blatant lie:
“Sally couldn’t wait to meet you,”
she exclaimed, then beamed with pride.

The brother shook his head and turned,
blond hair swishing in his eyes.
Sally caught his smirk and grinned,
saw an ally walk down the aisle.

Sara stalked the same direction.
Said: “I thought you were going outside.”
Her brother called from down the hall:
“Carrie’s trouble, I’m staying behind.”


365 Days of Poetry: Day Ninety-Eight

Carrie said to Sally:
“I’ve found us a new friend.”
So off they went,
across the road,
though her mother wouldn’t bend.

Sally felt so nervous.
She looked from side to side,
ten times, to left, to right, until
Carrie pulled her to the Drive–

which had always seemed to Sally,
a strange and useless Way.
Parallel to the only Road,
that mattered in her day.

They made it without incident,
across the blackened Street,
and walked up to a narrow house,
like any they’d seen.

“Knock, knock,”
Carrie’s knuckles caressed the door.
Soon came a small girl, a lighter version of her.

“Come in,” called the brother, standing behind.
Sally felt something snap in her mind.
Maybe it was breaking the rules she knew,
walking farther than she was allowed to do.

Carrie stepped forward, flashed her Steven Tyler smile:
“Hey Sara, meet Sally, can we come in for a while?”


365 Days of Poetry: Day Ninety-Seven

I haven’t been here in a week. Too much stress. Should have written but I didn’t. Catch up time tonight and tomorrow. Hope some are still listening.

depression is a beast.
eating from the inside out.
it remains unseen.
until it is too late–
too late for love.

the signs manifest themselves.
once the banner is reached.
and split with oversized scissors.
on opening day.

the flood comes.
natural disaster of the body.
shakes and quakes and
all mother bakes.
exploding across the skin.

control, control is found.
in pill, in bottle, in pipe.
in mind.
nothing built to end it.
but the will to live.


365 Days of Poetry: Day Ninety-Six

the end of Sunday.
the finale of the week.
a respite, a silence.
a time to think first.
filled this time–
by cold competition.
the deep quiet.
is not quite here.
the train growls through.
sounding the bells of sleep,
in this small town.

an old house.
also had the peace.
that signals the turn.
of another seven days.
it was not punctuated.
by even a rumble.
the city needs to die.
a small death.
to pulse another round.


Everyone Aspires to Something

An author I’ve been meaning to read.

Way Too Fantasy

Because I love Diana Wynne Jones.

fireandhemlock

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365 Days of Poetry: Day Ninety-Five

men only want one thing.
love is not a thing he wants.
or even knows.
in any real way.
taking attention.
from whoever can overlook.
a drunken smile.

for a while.
it’s a pretty dream.
something unseen, before.
or so we think.
another harsh drink down the drain.
of a soul strained by too much pain.

death becomes us.


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