Recitationechoes unwiseundone aloneabaloneunknown pinkestsurges crestingnot best but most
You can feelthe bumpy rhythmof the carousel horsein your teethher low moanin your clavicleGiddyap sisterlet’s bust these poles& skedaddleOut beyondthe grassy sighsof hometo wide open hollerssprinkled with a fewfrustrated heartsYou areso deliciousget along, little--
50 words for Mama Zen on the subject of HUNGER
The mailmanbroughtyour letterShut the dooragainstwinterday blueContainthe inevitable greyof your wordsWind sharpensblack iceto cleave my breastYou sayyou don’t love meanymore
For Fireblossom Friday in the Imaginary Garden: WINTER
Hang on to Sunday’smysteries woven in the blueof night sky and golden honey,ablutions like speckssuspended in beamsof gauze-filtered sunlight,just floating there.And Monday’s workaday ache.Hold on to every day,because ghosts come fasternow, waving your immortalitylike gauzy flags, or shrouds.Everything could change--today’s melody quaint and tinny,if you remember it at all.
Late entry for Grace’s challenge to the Real Toads, inspired by the poetry of David Huerta. Thank you, Grace.
Sharing on the Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden!
On the whole, heated seatsfor manual transmissionseems an even trade. But my footstill reaches for the clutchwhen Charlie Chesterman singsabout that shabby dress,when turning right on East Street,when I drive in heels, when I feelthe heat on the back of my thighsand allow myselfto think of you.
For Corey’s prompt to the Real Toads: ROAD TRIP
You’d like to run offbut objectively compelling reasonsmake you stay. Kids, for one thing.They seem to need a stoopfrom which you holler for themthat it’s time for dinnerso get your ass home and wash up.They seem to need home base.Otherwise you’d be outta here.Also, the cat.
Flash 55 for Real Toads, in memory of the G-Man, Galen Haynes.
Give up seasonal mirthfor a cheap approximationif it’s all you have.A parking lot brawl will do.Reduce your loverto a shadow of what you hadlike last week’s recyclingleft curbsidefor someone else to pick up.Already you’ve forgottennights when the bottles were full,when you got drunkon her,how it felt to be seen.She’s last week.Tomorrow you’ll go invisible,park your car the next street over,walk the extra block.
Susie prompted the Real Toads with this quote by Alfred Lord Tennyson, from whence this poem sprang: "Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come, whispering, It will be happier." Best wishes for the New Year!
Rain on the roof.Water strumming down eaves,ants strutting single-file,snap of nitrile gloves,steam rising from black coffee.Skyward maples,shadows pattering on glass,entering and embracing.Not a small amount of terror,over-loud laughter rising.Come to bed.
Grapeling’s final Get Listed for 2014 included these words: music, fall, water, glove, steam, shadow, embrace, rise, bed
It’s a quarter till dawnand the sky above the nativityglows iridescent black-bluelike the backdropof The Sonny & Cher Comedy HourHere they are, the first familyBaby Chastityplayed by a studded tire(because the baby Jesus was stolen)Here they come a-carolingI Got You, Babe.
Snorting their astralsaxophones, exhorting usto bend in supplicationlike solemn boughs ladenwith adoration, bowedbut not breaking, we singtheir glorious refrainin starry harmony, cowedand waiting for the coda.
Late entry for Kerry’s word substitution challenge, Christmas Special Edition!
Fold the year’s paininto renzuru--everything you lost lockedin the heart,head full of yearning,embarrassmentslike showy tailfeathers,all your melodies memorizedin the wings.Keep your crane of ghostsand minor chordscreased in your notebook,carry it with you,stashed in your pillow for dreaming.
For my Real Toads, inspired by Kevn Kinney’s Broken Hearts and Auto Parts
I remember a septic tankrequiring pumping every month,wide wooden floorboardspainted grey,a hot-air balloon spottedin the skylight above the bed,the 30-inches-of-snow dayand the subsequent river rush.If I wrote the story of my life,this chapter would belong on nature, short on humanity.But there would be skinnydipping,kingfishers ratcheting downstream,and peonies.
Forgot coffeeon counter applesin drainer feverishlynavigating roads slickwith worry concerningapples of your cheeksflushed fever-rednever noticing red lightrode late night onlycounteringyour argument perfectlytoo late to respondhaving forgotten black icenight-drainedconcertedjust how slick you can be.
For Mama Zen’s prompt to the Real Toads: HOMOPHONES
Write every day for a month,then stop. Don’t write for one day,two days, then a week. Take a break,all the while admonishing yourselffor lacking productivity. Curse,but colorfully: Jesus Christon a bike, I am lazy as shit,and even less talented. I give up.Then start writing all over again.
True confessions for Flash Fiction 55 at Real Toads!