paper walls and

illustrious words on

scratch-and-sniff pages,

wildly painting

wormholes into other

universes and twisting

fantastical towers into

origami homes.

ivy-grown dragons

and mismatched lovers,

both known and unknown,

loping through restless

nights and lamplight

armchairs and long

plane rides.

tokens of travel and

trophies of our own

unbridled intelligence.

worn, ingrained,

essential essences to

our bursting souls:

to read and also,

to be read again.

There's a siren

roaring in the

dimly lit heart

of the cold dark,

and in the morning

without a warning

the lovely tulip buds

by the flaking white

partial picket fence

are uncomfortably

pressed by a tall

imbalanced tower

of odds and ends

hurried to the curb,

hardly resembling

the ensemble of Life

that once was, busied,

behind closed curtains

where nice neighbors

didn't see it, all smiling

blindly and so politely

just the days before,

in name of brotherly

ever-loving-pro-gress

the now up 'n coming

East side would take

another L, for Today,

tacked upon the storm

fiberglass screen door

of seemingly Middle

class Threshold was

another very important

Public Notice with its

blood warming advert:

Occupants Evicted---

---By Order of Police.

03.11.2023

Clash of Culture challenge @markysparky

You've been to every tearoom,

you've dragged her out on the square...

Her cheeks are red as a rag-doll;

still blind you head for the glare

of bright lights, famine, and handshakes...

Your quick to pass her around...

She's dipped in shadows for seconds,

before she kisses the ground...

I keep my love out in the cold...

So discreet, underneath a stone...

I keep my love beyond where they will go...

I keep my love out in the rain...

You run 'round smashing windowpanes...

I keep my love tucked down beneath the loam...

There's not one face you would cling to...

You're always out on the run...

She's taught performance on impulse;

while you keep drawing the gun

on any flesh that you fancy...

A pliant and yielding array...

She's only mingled confections

to sample 'fore you'd amscray...

I keep my love out in the cold...

So discreet, underneath a stone...

I keep my love beyond where they will go...

I keep my love out in the rain...

You run 'round smashing windowpanes...

I keep my love tucked down beneath the loam...

©

12/18/21

Bunny Villaire

I hear the whispers from the sky

spores floating on winds of change

hems of oceans unraveled in foam

silver sprinkle of murmured breezes

I hear the whispers from the sky

gentle sweetness on lips like wine

peaceful silver waves in aqua sea

gulls swooping low to catch reflections

I hear the whispers from the sky

A thousand moons slipping into dawn

echoed seaweed strewn on carpeted sand

unhealed wounds washed clean by tides.

i emptied myself,

overwhelmed,

against my will

until,

i saw

the indescribable beauty,

of a pristine lake

take

my soul captive

to,

without fail,

capable still

to mesmerize

by majestic mountains

risen far beyond

horizon’s green,

of every hue

surrounding,

my hypnotized view

of this short lived scene

i wept inside,

at the thought,

of being here,

imprisoned,

unable to partake,

unable to,

but merely touch,

with my eye

reticent to wake,

much less able,

to keep,

even ’til forever,

of course,

due to,

ungodly stress

i am not even near,

being,

a being of forever

though,

i know,

some outcomes,

yield fear,

of a certainty

barging in

mixed with

a tantalizing brief,

spindly glimpse,

of utter beauty

unable to quench that,

utter torture

for in the mornings’ morrow,

i shall have to release,

what little of this,

mingled with much sorrow

for even the memory

of what i have

come to understand

will be shattered,

with the realization,

of the vanity,

to even think

that i should ever

even hope to keep,

and lose it all

in a sleep

forced to wake

to what is truth,

while i see

black vultures,

surrounding,

the decomposing carcass,

of a downed elephant

once majestic,

alive,

benevolent beast,

awesome creature

its tusks missing,

rotting,

in the african savanah

disturbing,

the swarms of morbid,

wild flies

feasting on death,

does impinge,

impales my wish,

for utter peace

I am submerged

below my flood of tears.

Can’t gaze

through murky vision.

My arms flail

trying to swim

through emotions

impeding my struggle.

I am drowning

I grit my teeth

to stay the flood

from sobs flowing

through my soul.

Perpetual grief

adding to my misery.

My despair darkens

like sky’s sorrow.

Fissures weep

spitting blood of angst.

Chaos speaks

through thunder’s hammer

and lightning’s smite

Please, lend me

your heart

to float on before

deep watered threat

conquers

and takes me under.

Expel my torrents

from body and breath

before I gulp

the cascading torment

and nothing remains

but muck and sludge.

Quench my need

engulf me

immerse me

inundate me

wrap me

in your warmth

quell my pain.

We wait by the water

& spy something thrashing in the sky

The boat is sick

I wait for a healing oar and know

I’m brewing watercress tea

But hope prepares a fire

& braves the water when it slept

& oils the engine

The boat walked

I am red clay

dissolving in puddles

from acid rain tears

forming frowns

from myriad struggles

molded by brittle fingers

creating new dawn

snippets of hope

fragments of life

shaped from splinters

I become

my own artist

forging my destiny

my brain bounces

on

off

and contemplates

the little things

your hand

mine

I wonder if I would feel something

deep down in this cursed heart of mine

or if it would be terror and nothing else

for the thing I fear is touch.

these hands weren’t made for holding

i know it

because of the disgust in your eyes

the surprise you try to hide

the shame behind my lies

does not disguise

my hand

yours

just too close

shocking

and unnatural

We stand in a sea of voices

--pushing, pulling, persuading--

the never-ending, flooding sounds

of a million opinions.

In the midst of so many,

I want to find the right words,

I want to be elegantly polite and

poetic and supportive and sincere.

But no matter the number of drafts,

I can't escape the truth.

To say something, you have to speak.

No matter the size of the sea,

or the direction of the current,

or the scent of the storm on the horizon:

Sail.

Shout the to the rainclouds and

sing your truth to the sky.

I don't have the perfect words,

but I have my own truth.

I won't stay silent.

Injustice is wrong.

Racism is wrong.

Hate is wrong.

The waters are rough here,

but maybe the sounds of our voices

--all of us--

can change the tide.