Photo Challenge #67 “See-Saw” and Wordle #156

Seesaw Alexa Houghton

Alexa Houghton

My porcelain heart

Swears beneath the strain

Of an oppressive balance.

The ground is never long

From the sky and limbo

Is intrinsic to doubt.

A decision by default

Is the heaviest to bare.

Scars feed my wrists

Tumbling from moonlit flesh

As a chant and no one

Can absolve my pain

However, gaudy

However, brief

Their concern

Though I am grateful

Just the same.

I shuffle the papers

Of countless diaries

The timeline slipping

From earth’s turnings.

As deep as the ocean

It cannot taste

The saline it ensnares.



Wordle #67

Week 67

Your silent cantillations foam

At the gorge between your lips.

Body a rocking horse

Broken across the saddle.

Fistulas rendezvous

In your purloined heart.

Grief is hideous

Underneath your skin.

I enter the bazaar,

Inching my way

Across the diameter

Grappling my way

Through your foreboding.

Wracked and loaded with pain,

The shadow beneath you

Comes off in flakes

As if it too were incinerated.

No one hurts as fiercely as you do.

I shift the junk

In my pocket book

Passing out tissues to all

Who will take them.

Your dwindling eyes spilling

Fruitlessly over the asphalt

There is nothing here, no one

To haul away your sadness

And I am a pitiful excuse.


Not back yet


Though mentioned in passing to a number of you I thought it best to make it official. My mom is coming to visit me so I will be on hiatus for 1-2 weeks. For those of you who participate at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie the group will continue. I have scheduled my challenges in advance though I will not be able to read the submissions until my return (same with blogs).

Wordle #158


I chew the cancer beading

In your branches,

The beastly sycophant,

The unbecoming cheat.

I channel release

In proximity to fire,

An unrepentant muse

Leaves, scattering regret

As a giant spills lightening

From the flare of a nostril.

I contemplate poverty

The grisly depths,

The unspeakable choices

The compromises imposed

By her compromised identities.

The weight of impotence

In this stillborn catastrophe.

I choke the keys

With ungainly fingers

Tiny panthers pawing

Blossoming, alien flesh

Ferocious in exile,

I lick the browning blood,

The fragile existentials

Of a thousand useless clowns.

I do not write but burn

A host of infinite poisons

And potentials that in sum

Amount to nothing at all

Wordle # 161


I twist the plastic baptizing

Your impending disaster.

Bread or wine people

Rarely change but given

Enough altitude any man,

Whatever his station, can fly.

I lick your alabaster wrists

The graphic pulse sublimating

To a chaos that I will never

Comprehend through force.

I could devour you but the hunger

Would overpower my senses.

You are not mine

But only mine will suffice.

Photo Challenge #66 “The Waiting” and Wordle #160

The Waiting_ZemotionZemotion

I press the water

From my veins

These unshed tears

Will not dilute me.

Mourning settles into

Vanishing dreams.

Though clumsy

The swing is true,

An axe falling helter-skelter

Through a glass moon.

Whenever your ghost lands

I will listen.

Your name shatters

At my diaries’ precipice.

Though your utter mention

Rubs me raw,

I will not relinquish the sky,

These consequences,

The price of breathing

In a room ten sizes too small.



Wordle #66

Week 66

With each poultice my heart intenerates

A messiah, a fistful of nettles tender with heat.

I burrow through tendons and well-laid bones

Prodding the depths of your generous soul.

The peroxide in my hair reeks of desperation

My gagging cleavage, my limitless legs

Eager for the heady musk of convergence.

Eager for substance despite vacuous means.



Wordle #162



Underneath your laughter

A pigeon squeaks.

Wings flutter furiously,

A pregnant meeting stuck

To its leathery ankle.

It rolls through your smile

Barely breaking free

Your dozing mandible.

What does it all mean?

I follow your eyes

To her north-pointing breasts

Surveying her physics

Her incomprehensible beauty.

That face which needs

No introduction and those sweet

Pollinating lips which mate

Eagerly with yours;

A welcome deeper than warranted.

I treat her with careful hands

And shades of awe-inspiring envy.

My heart unwilling to report

To its more cumbersome brain.

Whatever I feel, whatever I lack

I carry with me, bracketed inside

A withering pump. Silently,

Stewing in my contagion and hers.

Wordle #163


Paving stones

Undulate beneath

A jovial launch.

We collide slowly

In an open field,

Sturdy hearts victim

To a primordial chase.

Terrain, notwithstanding,

I wrestle your lean body

To the ground,

A blanket woven

Of countless filaments.

We play at games

Of flesh and metaphor,

Our frames fluid and scented

With the spice of propulsion.


A bit of silliness from me when I saw the words I just could not shake that classic and cliched scene of a young couple running slowly toward one another in an open field.

Wordle #164


Your lips, though muffled, sizzle.

Every enunciated hello burns

With a singular commitment

A desire for addition,

For language both raw and organic.

I will not be a number, however,

Profitable I have a right to more

Than my ill-placed existence.

The sun stomps malignantly

Through a fair-weather sky.

I empty my hollow leg

Into your ripped stockings.

The background seethes

Deities of necessity and invention

With scratch and sniff powers

And interminable reach.

It takes a lifetime

To forge one’s desires

And several more

To elicit them.


Not such a good day for writing I have a serious case of sleepiness despite having already slept long and deep!