Frosted
Hands
A complex system of phalanges, muscles and nerves
Graceful, dexterous, strong
Brittle, fragile, frozen
Basted with invisible snowflakes
These fingers have pinched flames
But fall prey to frostbite
I do not want this manicure.
Secret Lover (Poem #17)
Peace
It’s all I feel with you
It’s like going to the beach
Listening to the waves crash
The wind blowing through the trees
How did I get here?
How did I deserve you?
What did I do to earn this?
What do I have to do to guarantee you staying?
Peace
You’re my secret lover
Things go wrong
It’s ok
I have peace
Someone does something against me
I forgive you
I have peace
When I am with you
Peace is there also
Yet peace is not only my secret lover
But she is yours as well
Hour eighteen: Portrait of the Tinman in love
I know that our drunk slowdancing
to the rent soundtrack does not mean
that you will leave your boyfriend,
but the wizard said it would stop the echo.
You are a parcel of sawdust I keep
inside the tin can of my chest, an empty
weight to remind me that I know how
to fall in love. maybe the only story we get
is the way your forehead leaned
against the flat place on my collarbone,
the way we almost kissed, but you
pulled back at the last moment. I could have
burst into tears right then, but didn’t want
you to know that I’m a little less than human
these days. I’ve been cleaved in half & left
to rebuild from the scraps I could find, but I know
you are just a placeholder, the one
who really could have loved me if timing
had been better, if your sawdust heart
weren’t lodged in somebody else’s chest.
The Dandelion Seeds
The Dandelion Seeds
Ready to fly, to be carried away by the wind
The white fireworks of seeds
Selflessly sway to the dance of the divine
Happy to be there, happy to be here
To allow wind to softly blow a touch
They know not their destination or survival
There’s no sorrow or joy of parting
The dandelion seeds revel being carried away like brides
Gracious in their moment of reckoning
Bold and immortal
Hour 17
A Journey to find yourself
In this journey
You may lose some people
But you will find better ones
The ones who trust you, believe in you
And know your worth
You maybe seen as someone arrogant
But know that what they call arrogance
Is nothing more than your self esteem
They may consider you selfish
But it is self love instead
And when you know you are right
Believe me your are halfway your journey of finding yourself
17 – l go on
l gaze into the red hot sun
wishing to be by your side
my eyes forced closed
light flickers behind my lids
a rainbow bouquet in your hair
my lips move into a gentle smile
my eyes remain dry
l will always miss you
but l can go on now
a new life, isn’t what l wanted
but it is what,l have to live.
Puffs
As kids we would hold dandelions
beneath each others chins
somehow fascinated by learning
who liked butter
dandelions going to seed were
fun to pick, blow on
scattering their fluffy countenance
to the winds until some
adult said to stop it because
all they were were weeds
then dandelion wine was
all the rage
for a time
neighborhood restaurants
feature them
in salads
holdout hippies and
art fair merchants
weave them into headgear
elevating the dandelion to
victors laurel status
times were simpler
when we were younger
though now the simplicity
lies in seeing what
has always been, letting go
with a poof of breath
on downy seed
prompt 19: the end
the end
The farther away we get from our Mother,
the more of Her we break
dirty
heap with hatred.
We demand our desires be filled
at Her expense
at our peril.
Our wounded egos filled with all manner of things
to feed our starving souls
made obese on all manner of images made to make us blind,
hate our neighbor,
deaf to the weeping willows begging us to remember our beginnings
when love made us all.
When love made us all,
we could not know our destruction did not hide in darkness or hate
but in greedy indifference.
(c) r.l.elke
Monthly Pass
The best and the worst of humanity comes out on the bus
A microcosm of camaraderie, solidarity, cultural exchange, ethnic strife
Whether the people up front move out of the way and help fasten down an old woman in a wheelchair
or everyone yells to the driver if someone is running up about to miss their ride
or some tom clancy looking dickbag decides to chime in when a black woman smacks her kid- boy that was a loud one
besides them it was just me and the driver and neither of us were getting involved in that shit
But it’s more good than bad, we’re all locals
we’re all stuck here
we all sort of get along
Like when the whole bus was roused in a discordant chorus of ‘that’s what’s up’ when we passed the construction site of a new Popeye’s popping up in town
I said nothing but I did nod knowingly
Popeyes is the bomb, screw KFC
New warning signs were put up; now in English, Spanish and Hanzi
Since the population from mainland China has exploded in recent years
they’re foreign students and they’re locals too
it’s almost like we live in a real city
an oasis of Tech Money in the middle of Nothing Nowhere USA
almost makes me proud to live in Illinois
almost
My car broke down, it needs a new starter
and some medical emergencies prevented me from ponying up the cash
so I’ve become one of the bus regulars and I’m starting to blend with the rest of the weirdos
I wonder if everyone learns everyone elses’ schedule or it’s just me.
A group of guys file on every day, all kind of gimpy and weird looking,
I think they all stay together in assisted living, they’re a riot.
The other day they piled on board from the park and they had gas station hot dogs, and they lead a chant, stomping their feet, singing some song that I didn’t understand
as badly as I wanted to join in
Some old man stepped on and said one thing to the driver:
“cubs are looking good this year”
the driver replied, “mm hm”
I think that exchange sums up the bus.
Hour 17, Mystified
I peer over the shoulders
of strangers, a tourist
in my own body.
Am I here?
I ask myself,
nonexistent until noticed.
No one turns back,
meets my gaze,
and sheepishly glances away.
Their attention is focused
forward, to a future
misted and glazed
into indistinctness,
a mesmerizing smear of colors,
pierced at times
by muted headlights
swimming toward me
and veering away,
repelled.