Dawn.

a war of minds is
never fought alone.
if I only knew
that I was an army.

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Fury, framed.

like a b-movie, you linger
in the back of my closet
not yet ready to be disposed of –
for there is still
ReD
in my peripheral vision,
flickering violently.

Digital Demon

black-and-white-wall-art-60

there is a demon in digits
neon-lit or
elegant chrome,

tick

tick

ticks

me off the night away &
melts my liquorice eyeballs
to blistering plastic puddles

there is a demon in digits
& a strangling vine
in those metallic hands,
milking my corpse for yet another hour

when all i want to be
is gone.

______________________________
photo credits: greatbigcanvas.com

Road to Nowhere

a fairytale of broken wings
where wishes soar and plummet, deep
where maybe rains down from the sky
and destiny’s not ours to keep.

those faded pictures hold our hearts
remind us of what could have been;
smiles, meant for us, will pass us by ~
will never thrive beneath our skin.

our lives go on, but we don’t live
and we hold on, too weak to try;
another dawn appears, still grey
trapped in the past, our hearts shall die.

What We Fail To Learn…

Two households, both alike in dignity
nemesis, blood feud of old
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
in our mother’s womb we battle
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
prejudice, evil’s spawn blurs our sight
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
forces hands to do its bidding.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
we are equal; our hearts all follow the creator’s drums
A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life,
but fall victim to hatred, passed on through the ages
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
unmoved; set in crumbling stone
Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife.
a thousand deaths won’t make the frenzied eye see ~
The fearful passage of their death-marked love
so we tread; siblings’ blood drowns sacred ground
And the continuance of their parents’ rage,
wrath and envy still on the march;
Which, but their children’s end, naught could remove,
deaths have no meaning, but to grace the news
Is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage—
stupidity’s tragedy limps through the ages
The which, if you with patient ears attend,
and we remain deaf, dumb and blind ~
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
what Shakespeare uncovered, our deeds still antagonize in blood. 

_________________________________________________________________
Today, Anna over at dVerse Poets Pub invites us to write Postmodern Poetry. She provided this wonderful list of Bernadette Mayer’s Writing Experiments which we are allowed to choose from. I chose: “Type out a Shakespeare sonnet or other poem you would like to learn about/imitate double-spaced on a page. Rewrite it in between the lines.”
I’ve always been fascinated by Shakespeare’s Prologue to Romeo & Juliet… so I took it, fiddled with it a bit and the above is what came out of me (by now you know that I did not end up imitating it.). Hope you enjoy… Come meet us at the Bar!

She. (Rebellious Portrait)

she isn’t sorry.

tap tap tap
she attacks the tabletop
relentlessly;
blue-painted missiles target
oiled hazelnut craftsmanship
in staccato rhythms.

she isn’t sorry.

she looks at me, a pink bubble
growing
between cherry lips ~
growing, Growing;
defiance in her stare,
challenge extended;
(GROWING)
tap tap tap

POP

the pink-smeared smile
doesn’t touch her
(tap tap tap)
eyes.
her tongue snakes out,
gathers
the sticky, playful rebellion.
teeth start chomping again.

she leans back with a huff,
old chair complaining
at the sudden movement.

she isn’t sorry.

tap tap tap
i wait.

____________________________________________________________________
Brian Miller over at dVerse Poets Pub invites us to focus on the details today… an interesting challenge.
Come join us at the bar!

Hope, After All

bound to the grave of
mystery’s debt
glistening tears
of creeping mold
on the freshly stained body;
the sun lingers
to cook up the corpse; lurid
and lift its spirit
to innocent meadows beyond.

Outside/Shell-Shocked

the doormat
doesn’t say “Welcome”,
not anymore.

as if i
would be able to look
through the windows ~
now fogged up and dark.
i try,
but even squinting,
i fail miserably.
the brick wall
grows thicker
every day
and i wonder…
why now?

somebody help
the transformation to start
and bring
gray flesh
back to life.

Reviving the Heart

and then you came
and took
my heart
into your care

how shriveled it was
broken and blue
frayed at the edges
and patched, more than once

you took it
with careful hands
and did not shy away
from its battered look
but trickled
the sweet liquid
of patience
onto its rough surface
and watched it
slowly but surely
come alive again

beat
for
beat.

Waiting for the Storm

can you feel it in the air?
the delicious tension
making the hairs on your arms
stand up
the eerie and yet enticing
quiet
fateful colors
moving
in the sky

can you smell the rains yet?
long before they arrive?
driven to stimulate your senses
by teasing winds
slowly increasing
in intensity

you are awed
ensnared
awaiting.

for you know
no matter the outcome
it will be
one hell of a show.

Anticipation

and there it is
this feeling
in your stomach
that makes you
tap your foot
look at the clock
pace
and pace some more
you know
you cannot change the outcome
but you always hope
for the best…
hoping
is all you can do.
you should not,
for fear you’d get crushed,
but it’s just
too tempting
and too hard
not to
for you see
the joy
it could bring
if your hope
was fulfilled.

Time Travel -or- the Act of Waiting

you and me.
it is a dream
countless hours
countless days
clock is ticking
it’s so loud in my ears
and i stare at the wall
painting pictures of you.

time is our fate
words, all we have left.
naked hunger
cannot be sated.

come back to me
back to my side
i don’t see you anymore
where did you go?

craving you.

clock is ticking
days feel like years
and all i think about is
you and me.
you and me.

You and Me.