The Healing
Crossing into another time
They could finally be free
soak up the rays of the golden sun
Bathe in the hot springs
heal their scars
and forget the past
breathe
Unused and Untouched!!
Unwritten paper,
Unused quill lies on the grass,
Waiting for him,
Waiting for his thoughts,
Waiting for his words,
But he left,
Never to return,
Never to write,
And there lies the quill,
Unused and untouched!!!
Hour 22- Poem
Hour 22
Where intelligence goes to die
Words don’t make sense
What are words?
A poem? You want a poem?
You don’t want anything coherent I’m sure
I am here, I am typing
I am drifting in and out of consciousness
I cannot spell, I cannot think
I cannot conceive of why I agree to this
Year after year
I am older
Weaker
I have chemo brain
But I keep typing
One word after another
A sentence is our friend
Beat it brilliance
We can’t do that here
Disjointed
Disillusioned
Discombooberated
I am sleep deprived
Word weary
I speak gibberish now
Experiment — Hour 22
She surmised it was the feathers
that made birds fly
she searched and gathered
that first week
and headed for the dune
with a handful of white
Image Prompt (Hour 22)
Skyscraper shadows overcrowding one another
like weeds strangling flowers,
like undergrowth fighting to face the sun.
Mechanized arms plunge the soil,
scrape away at metallic skeletons of fallen buildings.
The city grows upon itself, the artificial forest,
where new structures grow
from the demolition of previous towers.
The people scurry beneath,
plastering covered underpass with their artists,
hieroglyphics of the modern culture,
cave paintings through canals along the forest floor.
My Palms
My palms are too soft
Too white.
Eighteen years into life
Yet they are like a newborn child’s,
Devoid of any callouses
No marks, no creases
Save the life line and such.
Haven’t I toiled?
Am I a stranger to life’s pain?
I know I ain’t.
I have worked,
Racked up my brain,
I have cried too many tears.
Yet my palms are too smooth,
Too happy to be mine.
8:00 p.m The harvest of the waiting
Under celebration of annual harvest and subsequent feast,
before the first frost the people put them on the list
of self-invited guests allowing to gobble up,
excessive drinking, spreading gossips and other stuff.
She felt enormously bored and pursued the way in neglection.
He was absent in this gloomy feast (is it an exception?)
What reason did not bring him to this careless brothel? (more…)
Hour 22: City Lines
Geometry is all about history
the crane speaks of recreation,
re-imagination, annihilation.
Palm reader, complimentary
angles of criss-crossed lines,
of life lines.
A window washer crosses the intersection.
Layer upon layer, the city is a code,
written and re-written,
A clock with endless corrections.
It can’t be started over from scratch
so they paste a new map over an old one.
I Entered Alone, And Like That I Will Leave
do not call me lonely,
i find sufficient company within myself,
i find sufficient happiness within myself,
i am not a clown,
t quote Ropa i am an entire circus,
born to live and change i came into the world alone,
and when i left my mother’s arms i felt the cold,
the riveting winds that would slit legs,
leaving you cold and called,
lazy,
i tried love and i’ve noticed love picks it’s favourites,
picks its friends and kills other feelings and is the cause of most betrayal,
i;’m not lonely,
don’t call me that,
i just find sufficient happiness in solitude,
barricading the dust that was once my heart in Area 51 type fortitude,
a heart that was broken to specks but the last one ran it over with a tar ram,
so i guarded what i thought was love and fed ut to the dust that is my heart,
it fed me back,
and gave birth to happiness,
i will forever find gratitude in solitude
-Ropa
Words #15
They terrify me
With their swirls and their curves and lines
Their battle positions in dictionaries and behind enemy lines
Some look like they will bite, make a flag and hoist it high
Others march out to shout, some to die and some to fight
Some still stay and plant gardens and trees
Some sleep inside pages, they never come in sight
Every war ever fought they began
Every truce ever made they designed
So, when they leave my home and walk into the night
I pray as I wait and hope they return
Without another war or blood on their hands
I could never disobey them with all the powers of the land.