Wistful

WISTFUL

 

She would never have a life of

Children, lawnmowers, storm windows with built-in screens.

No fertilized lawns.

No, infertility was not the problem.

It was the rock garden in her head.

Wistful, she envisioned the lost innocence of

Her youth. Her willingness and eagerness to

Trust others. The traumatic disappointments artfully

Concealed behind

Quiet smiles and politely folded hands.

About so much, she was obviously wrong. Especially when

She was certain she was absolutely

Right.

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Horizon

HORIZON

 

 

The jagged edge of lightning pricks the sky. The

Clouds explode with vociferous clapping as

Rain heaves on the torrid pavement.

Thunder groans as the

Roofs sigh from the sudden weight of the

Uneasy sky. The sluggish drains regurgitate.

Dragged indoors are the weary workers, incapable this

Evening of a summer stroll. The parking lots

Belch from overfeeding. Black tires

Plow asphalt fields. No dust settles.

There is none.

The sky gargles with electricity.

Horizon ran away.

 

Rage

Rage

Women are such pathetic creatures, always concerned about

Withering features. Forever seeking to please we are, looking around the

Corner…on par? Competition supersedes the Indy 500. Blondes and brunettes

Exude Chanel, number 600. We do compete with glistening teeth, with pubic

Hair sheared to impeccable wreath. Ah, God, we do try to please! We stalk the

Men and we appease. For all the laws in all the lands cannot forsake that

Man is Man and Woman, still, against her will, must comply, or sooner

Die, to the complexities of the Modern Age that inevitably terminate in

Rage.

Allure

ALLURE

Blood-red sky sits upon navy clouds. Splashes of charcoal-gray above one great celestial

Puddle pursued by lesser configurations. They do not mingle but maintain

Identities of individuality. Nature hovers over mankind’s electric bulbs.

Tonight, I see no stars. But the ground is stardust. Flickering, sparkling,

Enticing, alluring. Horizons far, far away—combined with fear and

Frequently dismay. The colors are the emotions of the soul. Always seeking

Construction of the whole. The sun and moon never have to choose; they simply

Follow courses. Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are up above

The world so high, you are a diamond in the sky, upon which dangle the

Dreams and drooling fantasies of those transgressed, seeking always to

Possess qualities never to exist, according to

Nature’s laws of existence.

Furrow

FURROW

We are detached hearts that

Flutter in the breeze.

One appeases, another pleases.

Sacrosanctity sought by both in wrinkled

Cloaks of naïveté and knowledge.

Pummeling, seeking more of both:

Intensity of love and hope.

And we impoverished mortals that

We are, no longer quote the raven

“Nevermore.” But furrow for sustenance in

Deeper realms where only the impenetrable

Dwells.

What joy is found is so translucent, always a

Conduit of confusion. The only

Answers do evaporate into a kingdom of

Almighty fate.

We wish we had control of all but slowly

Realize for the door of cruelest mortality,

Acceptance is the sole key to any kind of

Sanity.


Banked

BANKED

She had been faithful to no one for six years. 

Then she met the man who matched her

Brain and body.

All was well until she offered her greatest gift,

Fidelity.

He did not reciprocate.

Needed time to contemplate.

Three weeks, three months, six…

Time enough for lover’s tricks.

Love reduced to an installment plan.

She felt she was an organ donor.

Preferred that to perennial loner.

Her heart was proffered  but removed, to a

Jar of something crude.

He wanted the beats, but the connections were questionable.

Always another available soon—fresher, younger, more malleable.

Too much love smashing, supplies abundant organs. Always for him, the

Bank is full.