#MicropoetryMonday – February 13 – 19, 2017

I’ve been running a little behind today, but better late than never! Here’s all my micropoems for last week.

I hope you all have a good one. I’m going to be spending time with my cousin who’s visiting this week. It’ll be a nice break.

See you all soon!

Photo Courtesy of Pixabay

Knocks on doors
With no expected visitors
Eye contact aversion
Longing for invisibility
I’m tired of
This way
Master magician
Walks on water
Turns hate into love
Releases fluffy peace doves
Conjures cumulus clouds
Smiles rain from above
The artist hums as he works,
   -no, he creates-
He’s a Masterpiece Machine
Bleeding on canvasses
Brush of beautiful bone
Mind of its own
My weary arms cry
 How much more burden can we carry?
My eyes beg to be blind
 How much horror can one see?
My heart, it’s buried
 How deep?
I listened to those
great podium men,
whose smiles masked their lizard eyes,
with my hands folded
on my pleated 
plaid skirt lap
The night he became vapor
we were all too preoccupied
with our own storm clouds
to hear his heart pound like thunder
He’s a mist in our minds now
To my aunt who cradled me like a baby
as I wept when Gram left the Earth plane,
chi-miigwech inzigos
I still feel your 
willow trunk arms
We all shush up
during that one scene
We cry along,
we can’t help it
We wonder later what
the actor was thinking
Does he know
what tears mean?
Ice blue twinkle 
in your eye
in front of this 
snow covered palace
is why I
would travel
to see you
I’d take
your beauty
Come & see
the forests’ true depth
from a raven’s eye
Obsidian night
A cloak hangs over treetops
No slight scuffle
goes unnoticed
The days
in the underground
with gauze-filled throats
air of defeat
The broken hearts
through the shaking
& falling foundations
Bathe in ashes
to cover
the baptismal
I never asked for
Too many years
By fire flame he passed on
his lost love tales of woe
Misty eyed,
he’d fantasize
His sighs
& ruddy
tear stained cheeks
told us so
Roller coasting
We sang pop punk songs
at the top of our clove filled lungs
Youth was running away from us
Our wheels
were jumping off track
Rays of sunshine
pour over breakfast nook
Cloudy out,
but that smile
lights up the
scratched surface
“Pancakes?” asks the
flour covered face
Phantoms in the hall
The eyes of the portraits follow you
If you stick close to the wall
Their sneers won’t reach
or devour you
Photo Courtesy of Favim
A tye-dyed deer in headlights
When streetlights are so bright I squint
& wish to imagine myself out of existence
Cars just pass by
In the Spring of her dying
I caught Lu crying
Tears that could save
Limestone angel guards the grave
Cherry blossom petals float to the pave
When you disappeared
The river ran dark, 
Moon became haze,
Sun stopped shining.
I was your storm cloud,
You said.
I was the silver lining.
She equates true healing
to the pain
of giving birth
“When you finally forgive
all the old wounds hurt
But your new life
has more worth”
I can see her
in her pink windbreaker
Rose of Tuscany Street
I can’t feel her hold me now tho
I can barely feel
the frozen tear on my cheek
Remember us
Feet dangling
over the dock’s edge
before the fireworks
I’ll never forget
you fidgeting in your corduroys
naming stars
“We lost”
The warriors cried
“Defeated by what we fought
so hard against
What to do now?”
“We fight forward &
for everyone mourning
with us”
Better off not knowing
Bitterly it’s revealed
What really happened that fateful day
could have stayed concealed
Buried in a forgotten field
Sandy toes
Crabs scatter
Lonesome low tide
Journey toward sunset
Waves kissing goodbye
After sundown
Dull beach town
Comes alive
Close up
on the smiles
in the photos
Just see
   not through them
into them
Years of tears
not captured
to remember
happier times
Plum diadem
boogie woogies
on the dance floor
Iguana man
on his stone throne
watches, winks
Purple cheeks blossom
An indigo eyeshadow tango
I looked up to the heavens
through the glare of the parking lot lights
Trashmosphere, it was
Plastic billowing in the breeze,
ghostly white
Watching history over the years,
the older generation told us,
“Don’t worry. These things will never happen here.”
They were wrong, I fear.
dalliant & dainty
the bluebells,
bashful, bending
mixed messages
accused of sending
frail & fainting
pushing, pulling,
ripe for the culling
Rushing tide nears
Hear it ringing? Buzzing?
Pain in my ears
Pressure popping
Released reservoirs
Flooding, drowning in lies
Sum of my fears
I miss the bird calls,
The sun splattered lake in the morning
The otter & the geese chasing each other Playfully
No need for fight or flight
I miss the night frogs
the low hum of the
electric moon
Glass shards in onyx
The Call of the Loon
“Dreamland come soon”
It’s always in the middle of the night
These homesick blues upon me
That I long for freshwater scented breeze
The old lake & the pine trees
Mazzy Star trickles from somewhere,
I fade; I’m there
6th grade dance
wobbling in pink lace
You towering over me
look of terror
on your face
Guilt churns in the stomach
A side effect of being informed
We’ll never know if it’s better
to know the truth
or lies
about something
or not
The worst
is heart pain,
wrenching me
when you flash across my screen
It’s the staring, for hours
because I just don’t want to get into it

The Young Pope- HBO 

Would he bleed for that
miracle? Be a martyr?
Sacrificial lamb?
Don’t fight against the
river, my dear, for the river
always fights back
His kiss inscribed sonnets
on my lips, breathed life
into my poetry
My notebook is strong
It can hold all this fire &
not burn the pages
Saying yes to you
is still the best decision
of my entire life
If poetry is
so dead then please tell me, how
am I still here? How?
Value the stranger
who shows you their whole heart. The
world needs more of them.
VSS (Very Short Stories):

You were the one I
was glad flew so quickly.
My dad knows about simple pleasures.
An eagle soared over his head on a canoe trip once.
He described the experience as being an honor.
We played the game carefully.
Still lost in the end.
As a creative
I was often accused
of having no logic
I’m a big picture person
I stop, step back, see all angles
What’s illogical
about that?
My Auntie lived next door
& would chase us kids off her lawn,
hollering to the tune of tiny mouths
chomping on delicious crimson apples.
It’s not wasted breath if
a willing ear will listen.
“Jagged Claws”
The game called Dead Man’s Float was simple.
How long can you hold your breath?
How long til jagged claws graze your chest?
I can feel Mother Earth in my bones today.
Seasons come. Seasons go. 
Change is in the air. On the wind. 
Spring vibes.
Survival is desperately praying you
live through the next hour.
Raindrops bring newness to the stagnant scene.
Heavy downpour turns second story balconies into waterfalls.
Turns sidewalks into streams.
WIP (Works in Progress):

You can never be too careful while loving the charismatic. You never know when they’ll turn, become rabid dogs, and attack.
We carry our earthly fathers on our backs. Earthly children bear the weight of them long after they’ve become wind & blow away.

2 thoughts on “#MicropoetryMonday – February 13 – 19, 2017

  1. This:
    She equates true healing
    to the pain
    of giving birth

    “When you finally forgive
    all the old wounds hurt

    But your new life
    has more worth”

    THIS!!! Absolutely wonderful, it speaks so much to me


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