Where are the crosses
In churchyards for the living
Children raped by priests
-a.r.
Hypocrites!
•October 18, 2014 • 1 CommentI Qui(l)t
•October 16, 2014 • 1 CommentSingle stitch holding
This patchwork peace together,
I found the scissors.
-a.r.
Painting: Fistful of Scissors by Charlie Spear
A (new) Choice
•October 15, 2014 • 6 CommentsI
Am the stray hair
Caught in my eyelash there
During silent sitting
I
Am the hot knot
Churning hungry in my gut
While I am sitting still
I
Am the bones
Inside my toes
Grinding
Into the ground
When I chose not to move
I
Am the decision
I will have to make
When I get up
And go through my day
I
For now
Am willing
To be
The tug and sting in my eye
The rot and rumble in my gut
The gristly grating in my bones
The desire to choose in my chest
I
Will sit with
Me
-a.r.
The Broken Column, Frida Kahlo
A reworking of a recent poem, because it made more sense this way…today.
Early Reaping (again)
•October 14, 2014 • Leave a CommentA crow carried my soul away
Too many years before I passed
Beyond my body breaking low
I parted gladly in his grasp
Not soon enough for saving though
I was no longer fit for that
Having been born savagely so
Ravaged quite well before this act
He flew in through the window
With winging swirling shattered glass
Swooping he scooped my spirit up
And gave me leave from living fast
But what to do with wispy me
Pitied much sooner than was tasked
We’re now each other’s chore forever
More with purgatory ticking past
-a.r.
Painting: Touch in the Mist by Ryta
Bare
•October 13, 2014 • Leave a CommentI wear the stink of a well-worn shoe
And its co-conspiring sock
I’m a fleshy foot
Framed and cushioned long
Now walking wild, bare beyond the wash
-a.r.
Painting by Edward G. Nilges
Gray Day (again)
•October 13, 2014 • 2 CommentsNothing
But rain dripping deep and hollow
On the roof a heartbeat
Irregular
Nothing
But cold coffee in my mug
Reheated and forgotten and reheated
Forgotten
Nothing
But churning in my stomach
Growling at me to be filled
Knotted
Nothing
But the smallest of blood flow reaching my toes
Unnoticed until standing, then
Collapsing
Nothing
Published, but drafts of poems
Edited and waiting
Delaying
Nothing
To do today but file away
The moments as they dribble past
Gray and drab
Nothing
-a.r.
Painting: Trees, Clouds, Gray Day by Tom Brown
Passing Storm (again)
•October 11, 2014 • Leave a CommentThis morning I blot out the sun
Low and heavy like the clouds
I took on too much of this rising world
And now it’s time to pour it out
A weighty threshold has been breached
These million drops of nothing full
Evaporated by the light and heat
And changing states inside my skull
So, I grumble and I crack the sky
I open up and let Hell loose
Slow down the plans you thought you made
Stand drenched in solvent truth
There is no way around this rain
It will be finished when I’m empty
Dissolved and waiting to be formed again
From earthly tears I’ll gather in me
-a.r.
Digital art: Raining in my mind, by ayvhan27, from deviantart.com
Trigger
•October 10, 2014 • 2 CommentsI am marked
But I do not notice
Yet
The slightest pressure
Triggers an explosion
And a hollow point projectile
Slices the atmosphere
Slamming into me
Shredding upon entry
I NEVER EVER see it coming
I am hit in my blind spot
So hard I swivel
My brain sloshing
In my fractured skull
I am disoriented
What the hell was that?
My vision narrows to tunnel
I am suddenly sweating
From all pores
Profusely frightened
Blood is pulled from my limbs
I am numb
Shaking and cooling
My resources pumped and pooling
Inside my middle, vital
Organs filling for survival
And then
I am angry
WHAT THE FUCK!
I am sick of this
Trigger-happy culture
And the concentric circles
Of my psyche
Available for target practice
Whenever and without warning
Until I am left riddled with holes
Shreds of me swaying
In this stale exhaling wind
I cannot patch them
Fast enough
Before another flash
BANG
And I am thrown back
Again
Entirely
To the exact moment when
I said no
But he
Didn’t listen
-a.r.
Painting: Tattooed Lady by Jennifer Davis
Quickening (again)
•October 10, 2014 • 2 CommentsIf I’m not consistent
At least I’m authentic
If I think it or feel it, it’s written
Even talentless drought
I still must let that out
So the next better one can be quickened
-a.r.
Painting: The Quickening by Marisa
Unashamed
•October 7, 2014 • 7 CommentsI will not apologize
For my sex
For my flesh
For the curves
Of my drive
Any more
Than I would
Be ashamed
Of my being alive
I will not be sorry
For my shy
For my discreet
For the tamed
Heartbeats
Any more
Than I would
Be ashamed
Of my becoming me
I will not conceal
All my sparks
All my steel
The molten me
That flames revealed
Any more
Than I would
Be ashamed
Of learning how to feel
I will not feign forlorn
For the buds
For the thorns
For the changes
I have worn
Any more
Than I would
Feel ashamed
For my having been born
Not Anymore.
-A.R.
Painting: The Unashamed by Pamela Wilson
