Category Archives: poet

Demise On Old Blackwash Road

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Candle

Julie and Steve
In teenage lust angst
Lantern lit, hidden nook
Atrocities attacked ere consummation
Sending them heedlessly running along
On Old Blackwash Road

Julie was screaming
Until her voice decayed
Steve pulled ahead
No thought of her pumping away
Julie tried to catch up
Down Old Blackwash Road

If words could take aim
Steve would have heard her pleas
Curses tossed through him
Voiceless, running still
Left alone under moonlight
Fever pitch dashing on Old Blackwash Road

Steve's mind was blanker
Except for grinding terror
Pushing himself faster on
It was primal, fierce 
As his lungs began to seize
Slowing on Old Blackwash Road

Julie haven found above
Crawling up an ancient oak
She saw Steve plunge to the ground
Closed her eyes ridigidly shut
Prayed, then dug her nails into the wood
Surrounding Old Blackwash Road

Steve's wails turned raw
Before they abruptly terminated
Julie clung for more than her worth
Tree sap glued her to her spot
Unaware of it till morning light
Dawn awakening Old Blackwash Road

Time moved through Julie
Frozen to the spot
Heat of the day came fiercely 
Freeing her from tree secretion
Setting her down upon
Empty Old Blackwash Road

She fled the scene half naked
The ground was bare of Steve
Her throat hurt as she sobbed aloud
No tears were left inside her
As she stumbled upon Route 40
Connected to Old Blackwash Road

Julie withdrew and hid inside
While the Sheriff did his best
Steve was never found, even a tiny bit
"It's happened before," they all knew for true
Julie shrugged. What could she say or do
About Old Blackwash Road?







Mind Full Dismantled

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MIND FULL DISMANTLED

 

 

 

A lifetime of perceived perseverance is draining

Far too many called it stubbornness

Negative and judgmental in any context

Sending one on a downward spiral

Until germination of persevering takes root again

Dismissal of

Having one’s voice heard

Acceptance of differing viewpoints

Acknowledgment that the now of you

Has surpassed the images of your past self

That others have held onto

It is a Sisyphusian task you live

Beginning anew, evermore

Almost reaching the goal

Believing that this is your path

Your purpose exposed

Yet derision erodes the journey

Brings you to your knees

Eternal punishment

Or so it seems

Cursed to continue evermore

Perseverance

Translated as stubbornness

Which sets off dismissal

The you that is now.

Persevere.

Stay stubborn.

 

Waiting to Perceive

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Nova

Look to the stars

Is almost a useless statement

For the trash eating machinery

The near-dead walking the streets.

Radiated metropolises obliterate the stars

Rendering their brilliance moot.

 

Look to the stars

In calm surroundings, still

Distant are the pollutions obscuring the sky

From obsidian to the deepest black

Stars are the show we can take in

Clouds endeavor to mimic city contaminations

Triumphant when they densely gather

One’s heart and mind should know

Time passes; change follows.

 

Look to the stars

What we see are their deaths

Or nearly so

White Dwarfs, Red Giants, Black Dwarfs

One, two, three

The brilliance of their passing’s

Are the pinpricks in our night.

The Earth rotates around

Our darkness meets others

Other’s eyes partake of their deathly light.

 

Look at the skies

Five billion years from now

Or so

Who will view our Sol’s death throes

As we blink out of sight?

 

 

 

Time, Particles

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A star

Time, Particles

Time.

Time is.

Time is a concept.

Time is a concept created by and for us.

There was light or darkness.

Labels made to fit.

Labels to fracture light and darkness.

Labels created—our concepts.

Our concept of what Time is, is meaningless.

We have taken Time and let it control.

Schedules. Start times.

End times.

When to show up. When to leave.

When to take the train.

When Time runs out, the train is gone.

 

What has Time done to us?

Being free of Time would be a blessing.

 

Time is our illusion.

We’ve dusted our eyes to the instability of such a structured thing.

Our structure.

Our Time.

The giant Metropolis clock needs winding.

We strive not to have Time run out.

Is it Time to let Time decompose?

Can we exist without the burden of Time?

 

Being free of Time,

We wait.

 

Supernovae.

All the stars reach critical points

Obliterating everything

Everything

Gone in a blaze

Is there passing of Time?

Or is it just an end.

Time will have no meaning then.

Time has no meaning now.

Tick Tock.

RevitalWriters: Critique. Done. Write.

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REVITALWRITERS

A WEEKLY COHORT FOR WRITERS

This is what has kept me very busy over the last couple of weeks. Michael Grant, Artie Ohanian, and I have put together a Virtual Writer’s Group. RevitalWriters is for writers of any style or genre (poetry; fiction; non-fiction; memoir/biography; etc.) who want/need support for their WIP (Work(s) In Progress). All this leading to achieving a finished manuscript to send off to agents and/or publishers.

The sessions will run every Friday night, from 7:00 pm to 9:00 pm, EST. If you are in any other time zone, if you’d like to become part of the cohort, let us know.

Our Goal: To offer support, encouragement, and constructive critique in a safe space.

We are not a prompt/generative writing group that you join when the planets align. Our intention is that writers serious about their craft get what they need to to finish and submit.

For full details of how each session will be run, visit RevitalWriters.  You’ll find our guidelines, About page, contact information, and upcoming Resource For Writers and Blog pages.

I hope you can join us in our first group meeting at RevitalWriters Session.  Friday, July 10, 2020, from 7:00 pm to 9:00 pm, EST.

PLEASE DO NOT HESITATE TO CONTACT US FOR MORE INFORMATION:

RevitalWriters@gmail.com

I hope to see you there.

 

City Song, My

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Fuck the city

Overblown, hyperactive concrete and stone

Greasy street food; greasier people

Racing around, step on or over

Searching for the bright lights

Eclipsed by the shadows




To hell with the city

Nearly everyone’s oppressed

In some misguided way

Bend your neck, never knees,

As the fight to make it

Truth ends in buckets of the kill.




Screw the city

As it screws with you

Power, status, held in slimy claws

There’s heartache in the streets

Trod upon with running shoes.

You deserve what you get




Obliterate the city

Turn off the lights

You can’t see the stars shine

Blinded eyes obfuscate

Nothing to see here; move along

Dwindle yourself; something is wrong.




Fuck the city

Obsessiveness and greed

Hatred and fear

Isolated in ignorance

Shriek your outrage

Bellow your unscripted song.

 

Promises of People

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Darksit

Do I think living is a waste of time?

Depending on the day, I usually do

What stays with me in a world of No’s

Doesn’t make the future really glow. 

 

There’s sadness on a constant basis

There is no day that I don’t hurt

Even isolated from the isolated

The noises outside breaks into the room

 

Look at all you’ve got to live for

Imagine all the people who’d hurt

It is easy to get so distracted

By promises of people who say

 

Each day there’s awakening

Going through routines

Then you fall into that circle

Of repeating the same old things

 

What makes joy bleed away?

Why does nothing stick

Push away the best you can

But the pain is always there

The pain is always here

 

Look at all you’ve got to live for

Imagine all the people who’d hurt

It is easy to get so distracted

By promises of people who say

 

By the emotions they express

Or hide away in their own ways

When reaching out is near impossible

When no one wants to cope with you

 

So, scream your essence to pieces

Locked in your muddy head

Stop playing that you want to go on

I’m fine, I’m fine, fine.

 

Look at all you’ve got to live for

Imagine all the people who’d hurt

It is easy to get so distracted

By promises of people who say

 

I’m tired

I’m so tired

I wish I wasn’t here

Why am I wasting time?

 

Sonnet: For

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It suits you, the radiance that you glow

More comfortable in being alive

Overcoming hurdles released in rows

Each day will move surpassed helping you to grow.

 

Each year, every passing one you may dread

Detach those thoughts! Appreciate your self

For who you are; soul has been lifted, fed

Love blooms all around; take into thyself.

 

Yet, the mind does a terrible misdeed

Challenges of past can still rule your head

Doubt comes charging, inside the heart does bleed

Fighting inner wars, fears you may concede.

 

Gladly forward, face every single day

Strength you have always had will lead the way.

Screeching Fury

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(Credit: Pavelk/Shutterstock)

Screeching Fury

 

Everything is darkness.

Raging fires, flaring high above our heads

Distant light snuffed out by the night.

Wounds never heal; we ooze out of ourselves

Stuffing gauze pads, cover with bandages

Not closing, not lessening, never clotting

Infectious nature saturate places uncrossed

There is beauty in moments

When the glare inside is strong

But it fades, it fades

As more darkness surrounds.

 

For some, existence changes

Opening senses, letting them coexist

Abstract perceiving demands explanations

Or relief.

What should and what should not be

Or, hide from it all

Behind flickering words

On flickering screens

On flickering pen on paper

Being part, while apart

Everything is darkness.

Still, for some

Brightness endures.

 

 

 

Sonnet: With You

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SONNET: WITH YOU

Sleeping woman

Sir Frederic Leighton Flaming, June 1895
My hope for you is restful sleep tonight
Your curls I moved; gazing upon beauty
My wish is for your dreams, wild with delight
Watching o’er your rest, my loving duty.

Curtains blow in; a cool summer night’s air
Eyes closed, lips pursed, a notion of a purr
Lying beside you, this comfort we share
I kiss at your neck’s nape; you barely stir

But, how would you sleep if I blew away?
No longer in your life, would nightmares sing?
Could emptiness consume; so love decay?
Tears would worry angels.  A bitter sting.

My heart is yours always; our love aligned
In sleep you take my hand, fingers entwined.

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What makes this a Sonnet?

I am using the traditional English pattern/Shakespeare’s sonnet sequencing. 14 lines. Three quatrains followed by a couplet. Ten syllables on each line. The rhyme scheme is abab cdcd efef gg. There are other variations: the first and second quatrain, joining the two into an eight-line stanza(the octave), in eight-syllable lines. The third quatrain and the couplet together are a sestet, with only six syllables used per line. I prefer the Shakespearean or Elizabethan style.  The first two stanzas are the setup. The third stanza presents a possible conflict or hurdle to overcome. The couplet resolves the tone of the first two quatrains. Or they may not. A poet purist will see it only set up that way. Other “dabblers” have the artistic choice.

Just write.