For S. Six months.
—
Beneath the light
of the autumn sun,
perched on the edge
of that seventh hill
we quivered in the
chill of the breeze,
basking in the delight
of a promise shared.
I walked away
with your name etched
on my skin, a weight
borne in my heart
like an anchor in
an uncertain storm.
Moons ago
there was trepidation
there,but now
like a once floundering
ship finally headed home,
there is a whole,
where a hole once was.
Month: April 2018
#NaPoWriMo18: Day24, An Elegy for the ‘Feeble-minded’
Image by M.E. Grenander Department of Special Collections and Archives, University at Albany, SUNY (via NPR’s Hidden Brain Podcast), for the Day 24 prompt. Inspired by Emma, Carrie and Vivian’s stories.
—
They branded them
the feeble minded,
when all they were
were the wronged ones.
Once a face begins
to fade into the fog
of otherness, doubt
begins to assail the
humanity of the other.
We wished we spoke
for you when they came –
before your lives
were stashed behind
that cordon of red brick
Emma, Carrie, Vivian
Emma, Carrie, Vivian
May your voices be eternal
#NaPoWriMo18: Day 19
After the sun, for the Day 19 prompt.
—
A lone man stands in front of the bus shelter, his bag slung across his shoulder, hands stuck deep in his pockets, staring out towards the square, at the space where the bus should be.
Behind him, four bicycles lie in various states of harness. Before him, the square lies suffused with light. The calm, strange for this time of the day, is broken when as though dumped from an arriving train, a flood of people begins to traverse the square. After that comes the rain, after which it becomes clear that the quiet that came before was only the calm before the storm.
Alone, his
bag slung across his shoulder
he stares.
The square lies
suffused with light. Calm, strange day.
Then the rain.
#NaPoWriMo18: Day 18
After Eduardo C. Corral’s Ceremonial, for the Day 18 prompt.
—
Here I am lord,
crouched behind the door
of this sanctuary,
wedding dress
crammed into a closet,
clenched fist
clutching a rosary
hoping the bite
of its ragged edges
will bring absolution
for this fleeing.
Like a dream hovering
just beyond the reach
of remembering
the taste of sugared
rancid sweat lingers.
This war within, between
the ghosts of things
once thought and things
now heard rages.
These thick thighs and belly fat
belie the assignation of beauty.
Prayer cannot assuage
this tumult, this self flagellation.
I pinch and pull, cry myself hoarse
In deliruim.
#NaPoWriMo18: Day 16, Springing
Photo by Ruxandra Mateiu on Unsplash, for the Day 16 prompt.
—
Where once we
Wrapped ourselves in heavy
Furs and coats
We now skip
Free, drawn by the warmth of the
Reborn sun.
The scent of
Daffodils, chirp of spring birds
Unfurls joy
Spring has sprung
And like children, giddy with
Joy, we play.
#NaPoWriMo18: Day 15, Cry
—
Cry for the riven country.
For the ones for whom doom
descended from the skies in Douma,
spreading death in the wake
of its yellow green tendrils.
Cry for the dead and the dying.
For the ones culled from the living,
whose blood, like a libation rejected
pools at the altar of the sixth fleet.
The whine of drones,
swish of tomahawks and boom of hellfires
pounding earth into tired dust
assail their ears, lighting up
the night sky.
Cry for the four horsemen loosed,
for the quickly forgotten
and the lost ones.
#NaPoWriMo18: Day 12
A Haibun, for the Day Twelve prompt.
—
The greyness subsumes everything, water filled skies allied to grey granite blocks defining the sky line. Sometimes, a mist will drift in from the sea, shrouding the city in a gloomy pall. The winds howl incessantly, its fingers reaching through every gap and every crack spreading chill and forcing a quickening of the footstep of all who brave the elements. The defining characteristic though is one of just getting on with it. Sometimes – for two days of summer as we say – the sun comes out.
After the
rain, sometimes the sun does shine
Cherished.
#NaPoWriMo18: Day 11
Image source: Huffington Post. For the Day 11 prompt.
—
Time tinges the
Future with death and demise
Certain end.
Each day is
A war won by birthing the
Self anew.
The claws of
Time etch themselves in our skin
Separating
Desire from
Response,bending will to
reality.
The world ends
Not with a bang but with a
Whimper*.
#NaPoWriMo18: Day 10, Transubstantiation
Photo by Josh Applegate on Unsplash, for the Day 8 prompt, revisited.
—
Sanctify
my body as I pray;
with clasped hands,
bowed head, kneeling
here, before this altar
of remembering.
I come
for the broken bread,
blessed, become
shredded body. And wine
in urn, become blood,
spilt forty times
but one.
Sin seethes
beneath the surface
of this body, this flesh
from earth descended,
unravelling like a thread
roughly yanked from
frayed yarn.
Verbum caro, panem verum
I seek the redemption
in your flayed flesh.
Sanctify this body
As I pray.
#NaPoWriMo18: Day 6, For The Ones The Genes Took
For the ones the genes took. Photo by Wendy Scofield on Unsplash.
—
We prayed the Jinns would not take you
That when the dust from your fighting feet, and the chill of the terror of the night would lift
you would return in peace.
With our knees we ground a hole
into the ground from constant supplication, in hope that you would be whole again
but the genes would not let up
And like a sapling cut down in its prime
you are becoming a fading memory.
A Geek's Life 