Standing alone

in the cold onyx night,

sighing with wistful longing

in deep breath of my soul,

contemplating your wildness,

taunting and teasing.

Desire wells up

as you sashay by,

a swaying lure

with no backward glance.

While I patch

my empty vessel,

you grab life

between your teeth.

I listen to the wind,

fantasizing that we

are running rampantly

through meadows

of pure passion

before time

slips away,

praying for the moon

to share our table,

but our world

is colored with

forlorn farewells

on empty streets.

#Challenge #Contemplating You #OnEmptyStreets

My eyes don't work the way they used to see,

Straight lines as curves, I watch distorted views;

I cannot tell what's right in front of me.

I look ahead but can't make pole from tree,

The information gathered I can't use;

My eyes don't work the way they used to see.

I have to guess what shapes they ought to be,

From bits and pieces forced in place and glued;

I cannot tell what's right in front of me.

This is a blindness, all must now agree,

Though damage just to one small spot is true;

My eyes don't work the way they used to see.

I'm left to struggle with periphery,

Whose data into sight I cannot fuse;

I cannot tell what's right in front of me.

I was so scared when I first got the news,

To lose my sight my life it then did skew;

My eyes don't work the way they used to see,

I cannot tell what's right in front of me.

[For my mother, who struggles every day.]

#seeahead #challenge #poetry #villanelle #AMD

(c) 2017 Miriam Ruff

Remember when love was a dance in new light

with a careless sway on an endless night

and glances of heaven could be seen in two eyes

filled with the innocence of April skies

Remember that kiss, the making of days

the reasons for youth set clear in the haze

A waltz of two strangers learning to merge

on waves of confusion, this awkward converge

Remember the roar of spirits released

the knowledge misled as feelings increased

yet birthing dreams like never before

‘forever’ upon fingertips at the close of a door

Remember the plans, how they wrote themselves

like holidays’ overtime of fairies and elves

and the gardens of bliss on a summer’s eve

virgin hearts perched high atop sleeves

Remember then, now, this undying light

these chaotic days when sleepless at night

believing in love never losing its touch

     or…

          Remembering when we imagined such 

Random is the artist

when there's nothing else to say 

when no one seems to care 

or when there is no other way 

The quill or silk strokes comfort

white whispers it can wait 

like a friend with a blank stare 

without judgment and never late 

Therapy comes in silence

souls scream for all the good 

such strangeness within between us 

and the love's misunderstood  

Someone else's work works wonders 

and we know why, who we are 

we are the gifted with the magic touch 

touching hearts near or far 

So when you come here empty

beit to give or just from need

come with open arms and feeling free 

the place where good is greed  

I'll save you, you'll save me 

and we'll see right again by dawn  

you see, we are the world's beautiful 

the artists who pass the beauty on 

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

~ A tribute to artists everywhere. 

Thank you for creating & sharing. 

It's 11(-ish)AM and I somehow make it to the kitchen without remembering the journey there. Obviously coffee is in order so I make some glance at the morning news as thrown at me via the internet. Late morning? Not for people like me that often hit the mattress just in time to avoid the seemingly judgmental glance of that wise old sun. 

An NBA score and three web pages of article-glancing in, I see this headline:

ISIS REVEAL 6 REASONS WHY THEY DESPISE WESTERNERS  

Against any desires that might have thought of awakening to be curious, I read. 

ISIS: 

1. Because you are disbelievers

"We hate you, first and foremost, because you are disbelievers; you reject the oneness of Allah – whether you realize it or not – by making partners for Him in worship, you blaspheme against Him, claiming that He has a son, you fabricate lies against His prophets and messengers, and you indulge in all manner of devilish practices." 

2 . Because you are liberal

"We hate you because your secular, liberal societies permit the very things that Allah has prohibited while banning many of the things He has permitted, a matter that doesn’t concern you because you Christian disbelief and paganism 32 separate between religion and state, thereby granting supreme authority to your whims and desires via the legislators you vote into power." 

3. Because some of you are atheist

"In the case of the atheist fringe, we hate you and wage war against you because you disbelieve in the existence of your Lord and Creator."

4. For your crimes against Islam

"We hate you for your crimes against Islam and wage war against you to punish you for your transgressions against our religion." 

5. For your crimes against Muslims

"We hate you for your crimes against the Muslims; your drones and fighter jets bomb, kill, and maim our people around the world, and your puppets in the usurped lands of the Muslims oppress, torture, and wage war against anyone who calls to the truth."

6. For invading our lands

"We hate you for invading our lands and fight you to repel you and drive you out. As long as there is an inch of territory left for us to reclaim, jihad will continue to be a personal obligation on every single Muslim."

The article concludes that while foreign policy is an issue, the main reason they are hell bent on destruction is because they don't like the West very much. It reads: 

"What’s important to understand here is that although some might argue that your foreign policies are the extent of what drives our hatred, this particular reason for hating you is secondary, hence the reason we addressed it at the end of the above list. 

Briefly – and I do mean briefly – I found myself partially rereading the article. I felt that pesky inner-voice wanting to pick apart every one of those six reasons. I heard it whispering phrases like "jealous and insecure" and "childish schoolyard tantrum." I almost laughed at your unsuccessful distortion of the fact that most true Muslims despise you like you despise westerners. But then I noticed something kinda strange and eye-opening; it was that I wasn't mad, I wasn't afraid. I mean, AT ALL. Not one bit. In fact, I was barely phased beyond the measure of light morning entertainment. The fact is, I feel sad for your people. The people forced to be around you and people like you. So much hate, so much ignorance. Yes, this may exist even where I live on a lesser scale. However, you make it a point to credit your Allah with it, we don't. So yes, I felt sad, but not sad enough to let it ruin my day. Think I muttered something as I continued on with my day... 

"If you were made in your god's image, then damn..." 

A kiss of love in the dark

the last kiss before we sleep

to each other as one and to God

we give that our love will keep

More than adjoining airs and touch,

and all that may go unsaid

so much of us is revealed

in the home we know as our bed

This kiss should always say Love

and confirm at every day‘s end

you, my co-protector, my calming shores,

inspiration and strength, lover and friend

I love you, it should further attest,

as you exist most comfortably in your skin

and lips, when relearning a body well,

promising I would fall again and again

Our kiss in the night, a safe haven

for all that’s concealed in a day

The balance unshared by words alone

can be shared between two this way

Hearts of true love know not simple kisses

in each there is meaning to take

every last kiss is not an end, but beginning

and should last until the next, when we awake

~ Originally written 7/2004 

Silently, I had to give her credit. It had to take a great deal of self-restraint and composure for her to last as long as she did without asking the question. I was certain that she wanted to the very moment I entered her office. Rehearsed it in the mirror even, ahead of time. I sensed it instantly but it had now been a week since the act itself. I chose to keep my quiet comfort as long as possible. Down time. Besides, there was more ahead to do, then to prepare for.

Shrinks are sometimes at a disadvantage, I’ve always thought. Like the lily-white teachers I had in high school who wanted us to feel privileged for the grace of their presence without actually saying so. Like most of my past male employers, like my ex, the cops...They assume and/or believe that they are automatically smarter than others day 1 merely because of appearance or skin color. This, they fail more often than not to realize, sometimes clouds their judgment or hinders their ability to observe sharply. As I lay back in the moments before, she could not have known that I’d consider her royal blue business suit, especially over that bland grey blouse. Definitely not her to make the statement, TODAY I’M ALL BUSINESS. This woman was never all business and no style. And the missing bracelet made for her by her first grandchild that she gleamed about the day we met, a total giveaway. Even her desk, neater and lacking life now. I guess she figured I wouldn’t remember the faces of her family after two years. Yeah, she saw the local news over morning coffee and was afraid...but she had to come.

And the thought passed through me; it was nice of her to be available on her day off. She had always been considerate of my feelings, sensitive to my situations, as much as her pedigree would allow. When I was sick she sent me herbal teas, during the holidays she always mails a card, and when I can’t make the sessions I could expect a phone call even if I call in advance and leave a message saying why. As if she needs to approve.

Even now, before the inevitable meat and potatoes part of today’s session, and yes, I know it’s part fear, part psychology, small talk and such, she asks how my painting is coming along, about my daughter—if I’ve heard from her, how I am feeling overall. Sometimes we all simply need someone to pretend, y’know? The way we pretend for them. I once heard an ornery ol’ fart say, “The truth is like the proper medication: It’s effective as hell, but you can only take so much of it per day.”

* * *

There I stood at the foot of the bed yet again. Examining. This one I did not recognize so I assumed she was not an acquaintance of my daughter, Kira, but she could not have been much older. He looked so normal. Natural. Lovingly, he looked. I hadn’t seen this from him in quite some time. And spooning. A couple. Their skin matched. Ours did not. Maybe he grew tired of what that entails, or the experiment was now over, and peer pressure’s a bitch—I don’t know. Still, to someone without a sadistic daddy-does-daughter image in their head, they’d look good together. My husband, the financial advisor, was always so image-conscious, it was good to see him like this again; bare and uncensored. So I took a mental picture because...well, it’s what women do. Then I dug in where I stood and refocused. Revenge. We women are big on that, too.

Ah, the possibilities.

The ol’ pillow-covered bullet to the brain. Classic, but no, not on my new Sealy. Poisonous injection? Nah, that too screams of bloody murder. And by the way, this wasn’t my doing. Why should I concede my already-limited freedom so easily? Furthermore, this will affect Kira’s life forever. Bad enough to lose a father even if he wasn’t much of dad. More thought here is required. More creativity. I am, after all, an artist.

* * * 

“Mrs. Weisman—uh, Kelly...” 

Her slip-up slaps me back into real-time. She could never say my last name with the genuine belief that it’s mine. Weisman on darker skin, even if it’s caramel-colored. But I figure it’s the same as when I’m watching Mick Jagger sing and can’t get past the lips. 

Stones fan ’til I die. 

I glance at the clock on my phone. Lady doc’s done good; twenty whole minutes she’s lasted, small talk’n all to make me feel at ease when she’s the one that could use a tall stiff one, hold the rocks. In my thoughts I’m bettin’ her a million dollars she can’t go the usual sixty because her head’s starting to resemble pre-party balloon prep.

“The body found in Lake View Terrace...” she added this time, her tone urging me to identify it. I do and with much certainty. Hell, everyone in the city knows its name now. “Did you have anything to do with your husband’s death?”

POP! Brain matter all over her well-displayed credentials. Where’s my million, bitch?

Effortlessly, my gaze leaves hers and floats the length of the room — my last visit, surely— landing briefly on the strategically-placed voice-activated recorder. Ready to accept the consequences or not, it’s the delivery more than the answer I care about. That is where the truth lies in its proper dosage.

“I must have, don’t you think?”

She did not react but I had already noted that her body tightened for this.

“I don’t understand,” she replied, but do say more is what she meant.

“Why, I imagine I must have been killing him for years for him to do what he did to me as much as he had. Men aren’t perfect beings, I know, but would a man intentionally hurt a woman like me? A plain Jane homebody plucked from a small town who married him with the sole purpose of pleasing him and bearing his children?”

I look her in the eyes. Here, I’m supposed to. They are detail-oriented as always, inquisitive, analytical, and currently checking for sarcasm. Mine are filled with the passion of truth though I harness it carefully. Show passion but not rage, my imaginary future defense attorney has already firmly advised.

“Yes, I’m sure it must have been murder to live with such a woman. He was, after all, ‘a good man’ and ‘going places.’ ‘A great catch!’ I was ‘extremely lucky to have him.’ Just ask any of our acquaintances here or back home. Females, of course. They all tried or were trying to land him or fuck him and change his mind. I honestly can’t fully grasp why they failed. Natural blondes. Blue, hazel eyes. Porcelain skin, whatever that means. The right pedigree, the backing and demographics. I was a bank teller and all I had to offer was the perfect home-grown tan for the place he was headed. California. A new life in another world.”

A world too fast for me I suppose. I don’t fit in—couldn’t and didn’t want to. All his friends’ wives sound like screaming squirrels chasing golden nut sacks and reminded me of that game at the fair where you smack rodents with a hammer every time they’d appear. Oh, how I wish... 

I extend my anguish, real or otherwise, by whining about how the women in L.A. can be so indifferent regarding their self-worth. How I could never see myself gaining fifty-plus pounds in a depressed state. Nor could I turn cold, bitter or heartless and grow content to jump from man to man for dick or bank account without the emotional tie of souls. That closeness that says, Yes, there’s a god and he’s made us so much more than animals. Hell, I’m near shedding a tear when...  

“I remind you, anything we discuss in this office is guarded. Doctor-patient confidentiality—” blah, blah, blah.

She doesn’t sound like the woman I thought I knew, my preliminary assessment of how this would go was correct. She sounds a lot like detectives when questioning a murder suspect, trying to get the poor schmuck to do their work for them. She sounds better than—smarter than me...again.

“Have to go now, Doctor. Treatment today, remember?” I say with a quarter of the hour remaining and watch her body language go from quiet confidence to Flaming Chihuahua mode while she searches for that perfect day-saving thing to say. 

“Tell me,” I stop to say as I take in the entire lay of my chosen outlet one last time on the way out. “How’s that son of yours? No longer a rookie on the force, right?” One of the photos missing from her desk. Yes, it’s the delivery I care about and I deliver my perfect day-saving line with a look that I hoped would announce, SMART COMES IN EVERY COLOR. Junior will have to earn his shield at someone else’s expense. 

My husband, only because divorces have to take so much damn time, is a bit of a blur to me now. The last time I saw him I mean. I had things going on in my system. Like wars being fought and all sides were bad. Poisons, drugs and alcohol.  

What kind of man files divorce papers after being told his wife of nearly twenty years has cancer? What kind of a man hits on a young nurse’s assistant in the hospital where his wife is getting chemo? Fucks that little slut in the same bed at their home? Anyone? I’ll tell you. The kind that doesn’t deserve to outlive his victims. 

Did I kill him?

If it were you would you answer? Or...would you relish in the newfound power? People, not knowing how to act around you now or what to think when they always thought they had you figured out, suddenly somewhat afraid. Hell, it’s kinda like how some treat people with darker skin anyway, only with the arrogance in check. And why is it that the ones with big intrusive voices usually say the least worth listening to and the soft-spoken aren’t heard until you suspect them of something? It’s not the fear I need, it’s the need to be taken seriously—this nice girl from a small town. How much could I possibly have to say worth listening too? How could I really expect to land and keep a man like that in California? What was I thinking? Abstract, like some of my art. He could do whatever he wants—a man like that. How much harm can someone like me really cause? Seriously?

My ex-husband. Lady Doc. The delivery guy lately...Faces of change. Hmm. 

I don’t know what I ever did

or how bad I could be, this age

to make you say what you say

to make you feel such rage

was it the glass of milk I dropped

or the veggies I failed to finish

could it be I go to bed too late

perhaps, the time you can’t replenish

when you smack me, does it help

did the burning bring you relief

can the scars and bruises be my choice

over your words that give me grief

would you please just run the water

place me in the tub, hold me down

I’ll do my best not to kick and scream

grown-ups will understand if I am found

’cause moms and dads must be the same

I see so many yelling without control

is every kid as bad as me

that simply has to take its toll

I promise, if I live long enough

that I can grant your wishes true

I’ll hold a gun to my own head

for your joy, the silence, too

’cause beatings always come and go

but the words you say remain

they cut sharper than your bladed eyes

hurts more than razor’s pain

Yet, something in me says it’s wrong

sounds like a voice that can’t exist

maybe soon I’ll have all my answers

one faithful day when I’m not missed   

Yes, I know that special day has come and gone 

but I was thinking... 

How many fewer kisses can she use today? 

You know my wild imagination. 

See, I pictured you on your way home from your job, 

but I couldn't envision you any less glad to leave 

when the clock struck 5(PM) as opposed to yesterday. 

And it never dawned on me that your feet 

were any less tired and dying to get out of those heels 

than they might have been the day before. 

Oh yes, I know I'm running the risk of spoiling you  

but I was thinking... 

Do I really need someone else telling me which days are 

the best days to make my baby feel appreciated? 

And hey, didn't you confide in me 

things, when I was getting to know you, that 

would give anybody the impression that 

being let down when your hopes get high is the norm?  

I may have been the bad boy once, the rebel... 

and it's still true I don't follow, fall in line or conform 

very well, but it's this very part of me that loves truest 

and untamed. 

Yes, I know you don't expect special treatment every day 

this way but I was thinking... 

How tall a task is it really for a man to give a woman everything 

she gives him in return? 

And now that I think about it, it's a tall task indeed because 

I could never repay you for making me feel like the luckiest 

man in the world. All men, it's known, are a work in progress 

but there you were standing and waiting for the best of me 

when others walked away, telling me you're here to stay 

and shining like the sun in the darkness I called home. 

So yes, I'll gladly do the work. And no, I don't need any special 

days to outdo the neighbors when my fight is with every bad 

memory in your past, every scar that needs healing in your heart... 

See, I was just thinking... 

Someday, we'll wake up from this dream and find each other 

and you'll be my Forever Valentine. 

Sizzle and splatter

We filled up the platter

With our favorite delights

No chocolate you see

Could surpass it for me

A fresh serving of Bacon bites

Succulent crunching

The height of all munching

Please pass the platter again

I won't try to hide it

There goes my diet

But for Bacon, I'd do it again