Sunday Writing Prompt “Poem-Alone by Edgar Allen Poe”


What sort of dream continues

to weave its machinations throughout the day

and does not desist

though I have departed from sleep?

It is the residue of my tears left to coalesce.

I cannot distinguish myself

from the stars overheard

or from the streams

which are born each moment anew.

I am not like the others

and for this I am held distant.

I do not have the time or the gall

to care what other’s think.

I have but this life

and it is well and truly occupied

by the things that I love,

by the poetry that dwells deep within me.

been busy house painting


Sunday Whirl #364 and Music Challenge #33 “Hope in the Air” Sung by Laura Marling and Sunday Writing Prompt “Rorschach Test 3”

Wordle 364.jpgkisspng-rorschach-test-ink-blot-test-flowers-for-algernon-blot-5ad9186b33ea66.0973386315241770032127.png

The lilt of the rain echoes
the longing of a woman revoked.
I never made a ripple
not even when feeding your ego
hand over fist.
I rose to your defense,
scoffed the warnings
that could have freed me
from fate’s unforgiving grip.
Beware of blind faith,
a man that condemns reason
has something to hide.

You preyed on my hopes,
on my body which I gave
as proof of commitment.
My dreams were bigger in scope
than reality could ever realize.
Your heart was too cold
for the fires raging inside of me.

I was barely a woman when we met
but that did not stay your hands.
I remained long after you left,
I remained for the sake of the life
that grew within my trembling womb.
Never did you lift a finger in service
to the miracle our union evoked.

The sky above splits,
thin fingers erupt from the darkness
like a body breaking loose from its grave.
There is no quiet left to bestow,
my mind will not sleep
given the misery that it has sown.
Somewhere your broken body rests.
Does death still dream?
Because I can’t feel a goddamn thing.

I sat all night in my dusty clothes,
my white dress speckled with blood.
The moon as fine as a razor’s grin
and I knew with relief
that he would never see this terrible sight.
Our child was taken from me
and with him all that remained of my sanity.

What becomes of the living
when life has stolen everything?
We wanted only to be chosen,
to be brilliant through association
but you refused to yield.
I won’t be held accountable
for the loneliness
that your loveless smile provoked.


Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Of Poems

There is a poem inside of me.

It exists in the subdued sunsets

of my eyes when tightly pressed.

Every time I retreat inward

I feel it crawling, clawing

on the inside of my eyelids

like cat that wants to be let out.

That feverish third eye

that knows without knowing,

that stirs the primordial soup

and remakes itself each day

on the bones of my grief.

I feel everything to exhaustion,

you might say I am histrionic.

Perhaps you will think me a villain

for all the confession I have made.



Wordle #206

Week 200
I feel the steam rising in my throat.
My heart sighs like a locomotive,
if I open my mouth it will come rushing out.

I feel your fingers slide inside,
your misguided attempts to revitalize
our fizzling, featureless marriage.

I am not in favor of public opinion.
The road smells of pennies and petrichor,
I scatter red buttons with each lopsided step.

I find solace in your eurhythmia,
in the atemporal pause of a fall from great altitude.
A screenwriter could never embellish us.

You wrench my heart free with a loud pop
and sink your teeth into a rounded lobe.
I like seeing my blood in your mouth,
the knowledge that I have poisoned you.

I am really stuck right now but I had to finish this in order to move on!

Sunday Whirl #359 and 363



He speaks and I am diminished.

I dig my hand into my ribs

trying to muffle my heart’s entreaty.

Any minute now I will shed my skin,

my turbulent, brittle terror

and set off across the lawn with a quiet resolve.


I undress you every time we meet.

Your electric blue eyes lower in tandem.

I have no reason to define my lust.

From the cabinet you extract two long stem glasses.

The clock reads 2 minutes shy of midnight.


If I were a boat I would take to the sea,

my weight suspended in a skein of watercolors.

My bones remember your weight

and I know that I should refrain.

Why can’t I refrain?


The bend between your hip and waist, the perfect ratio.

Our bodies twine in greeting, the red wig is a nice touch.

Save your words for when you are face down,

pillow underneath your pelvis, body indecent.

There is no space for love in this equation.


Beneath you I am worn stone-smooth.

We dance across the floor,

eggshells shattering beneath our shoes

and you will not speak of sin or shame.

I know exactly what is in store for us,

what becomes of women who live too long in the shade.


The only promise I ever made

was that I would not be amended by you.

I am exactly the man that I said I was.

Could it be that you are someone else entirely?


Sunday Writing Prompt “Satire”

Shaking Hands With The Dark Parts Of My Thoughts

“You’re not special enough. We are looking for someone with distinction, someone with a strong but vacuous presence. How many labels have you acquired? Did you bring your personalized glossary? Do suffer from independent thought? We can’t have you thinking, that would never do.”

“You have not suffered enough. We can’t assist you. Come back when you’re dead, better wait until decomposition starts and you’ve gone a little sour.”

“Did you say that you were real? We don’t work with anyone who hasn’t been under the knife. You must be tailored specifically to our aesthetic. I can see from here that you are not a factory model. Your skin is too supple and did you know that your breasts are natural? The breast must not yield on contact and under absolutely no circumstances should the nipple point south of the horizon. And please tell me that you brought a syringe, heaven forbid you should emote during business hours.”

“Did you say that you train? No that can’t be. Why you don’t even have a thigh gap and where is your 6 pack? From the looks of it you eat at least twice a day. I hate to ask this but do you eat carbs? You’ve got that doughy look. Have you ever considered lipo? I happen to carry an airbrush in my bag I can touch you up before you leave, we’ll straighten those curves right out!”

“Did you say that you had a mental illness? No that can’t be everyone knows that depressed people live underground and that they never, under any circumstances, get out of bed. Therapy isn’t for your kind. Now if you’ve had mediocre vacation recently I might be able to get you a few days of sick leave.”

Accidentally posted my prompt here! The actual prompt is here


My heart falls forward, ribs buckling,

knees dropping to the ground in unison.

The sky looks thin and precarious from above.

Behind that great blue curtain, the puppeteer plucks his strings.

The sun tears at my flesh. Sweat slips into my tears,

I rub my eyes with a jet black sleeve.

Grass pokes at my fingertips like an accunpurist’s needles.

I peel back layers of earth but you are much too deep.

Human Kind

My eyelids sag like melting wax,

I can’t remember the last time we slept,

just the two of us, without any stress.

I listen to you struggling the whole night

and in your head I reckon there are battalions

ready to fire at the first sign of peace.

I am acquainted with departure.

From the ether I pull another thread

and cut it to the quick

with the hope that it will later calcify.

Nostalgia demands that I

surrender my blood in pursuit.

I am intimate with betrayal.

My heart is more bone than flesh.

For every truth I have told

there is a lie just as big.

I kick at stones with a broken shoe.

I wonder if I’ll die prematurely

and I wonder if there ever comes

a time when through is through.

The street is lined with my castoffs,

Masks for the weekends,

uniforms for the week.

There are more revenants here

than there are graves to express.

The world is always

10 steps ahead.

I take a cleansing breath

it stutters on the way out

like a dream that won’t relent.

How can I go on day after day

being human when I’ve lost my taste for it?

Little Poems

Options rescinded
Conservatism always wins
Nothing is achieved
Sinuses aggrieved
high levels of grass pollen
Can not stop sneezing
When I was a child
I was special but broken
Now that I have grown
I am one of multitudes
With scars deeper than the sea