#MicropoetryMonday – July 3 – 9, 2017

Micropoems:

For me
the fireworks
are the last time
I had a coherent conversation
with my grandmother    She said
they weren’t any good


****


I was raised by strong women
shot through the heart
by repeated injustices
who still held true
with nothing touching the ground


****


On the cusp of complete disconnection,
I dust off runes before the voices of the ancients
get lost in all the new world fray


****


My dream is to wake up in a world where me and my people aren’t referred to as past tense while we’re sitting in a room breathing.


****


We’re dream people
listening for the whispers
behind the sound,
seeing the reflection of wind
in a curious eye,
feeling the visions in fire


****


The autumn leaf
at the turning point
before decomposition

Fights to stay vibrant
dances to stay beautiful
crushed under foot


****


Through the window
I see the length of the street
I imagine routines
in neighbors’ houses
& wonder how they
find strength to sleep


****


Nighttime downtown
with its electric taste

Bloodstreams glow
with stimulants

Synthetic strings & bass beats
fuel dimming hearts


****


My thoughts
with their own form
of feathered freedom
turning murky lately
All the bird chatter
I’m scattered
Waiting to take off


****


First ceremony, a revision,
revitalizing marrow in my bones

I was blessed to hear my very soul singing
in a language all its own


****


Twig snap
among the thistles
You’ve arrived,
our nestled place
where we hide
from hateful eyes
Fair moonlight!
Don’t give us away


****


Please,
shake me awake
before swirling specters
plunge me into pleading shadows
mercilessly begging to awaken
with me from dream


****


A kinda clairvoyant teacher
told me I’d be living
in two different worlds
my entire life

She laughs from the other side now
because she was so right


****


This morning
there is concern in the air

Baby pigeons cry
for their worried mother

Messengers
telling me I have reasons
to feel this way


****


A quickening
you’re hyper aware of
at the worst times

Life,
moving way too fast
while you scurry about to safety

                                           –Pulse


****


This edge is thinning

I’ve teetered,
walked fine lines,

skated thin ice
for too long,
and I’m ready to take that free fall


****


Leaning heavily
on independent thought,
life was lonely

A rebel of the hive mind,
the scale of relatability,
nonexistent


****





She hated
silk on skin
So synonymous
with his smooth lines, lies
Left behind,
lingering trace of incense,
smell of burnt regret


****


Did the plunderers sleep well
under stars stolen selfishly?
Their ground, their hatred
Wide eyes forever washing their filthy hands


****


An electric angel
with a day-glo palette

Neon artist
in the dark

Heaven is
the slate room

Blessed
by your spatterings


****


A few steps behind,
I cool in the shadow
of their flowing skirts

These sainted girls,
anointed in juniper breeze,
I follow with blind grace


****


Crawling along
fragile threads of forgiveness,
the turtle lost its shell
Too vulnerable without a home
At the mercy of patience


****


The painting
catches my eye,
ensnaring me
in beautiful colors of soul

The artist
captures my heart,
completing me,
making me whole


****


His face

Coiled smile
with the charm of a snake

Turning every table
Slithering in every secret space
Rattling the whole place


****


The stories of the ruby glow
in the basement kept me up

Thoughts of angels
sitting on the edge of my bed
kept me watching


****


“Is the desert lethargic?”

Is thirst not apparent
in my inflection?

  My croaking tone
  My day time yawning

My self loathing
& dry humor


****


The road to dreamland is paved in birdsong.


****


Bury silver streaks
like a hidden treasure

Wisdom with time
shines underneath

layers of cascading
chestnut waves


****


After dinner, in the summer,
indulging in whimsy outside
Uncle & I
dodging dragonflies
under an orange creamsicle dream sky


****


I walked about
on concrete fantasy

Reality was a shadow best ignored

Until I fell, scraping trembling knees
on the trusted floor


****


They missed the wasted wishes
outlining the sky

They were busy watching fireworks
burst in each other’s eyes


****


Jam sessions

My brother
would wait for
the nod of approval
or my dad’s 2-steppin’ toe tap

I imagine anyway
I was a hidden ghost
in his mind


****


Attacks
of loneliness
of frustration
of confinement
of anxiety
of flashes of memory
of depression

Counterattacks
of laughter
of love
of love


****





My medicine wheel,
my visual guide,
when I see
I connect,
look past,
step out into the sunlight,
breathe wonder,
walk the Red Road


****


Kids in bed
“You have so many”
Smokes in hand,
busy day, she hasn’t had any
My mother says so much
with cigarettes and silence


****


When I visit
I can see you
braiding sweet grass

I can smell cedar
and think of your spirit house
from all these years away


****


The world may be upside down,
but there is still the medicine

There is still the healing,
and the resilience of the people,
and our ways


****
The grill smell takes me back

My family gathers
for food & funerals

These three things
will always be
my foundation


****


In distress
Castaway
I drift
through hazy days

Blending
into backgrounds
Floating
on beauty and blaze

Of fires long
blown out
and away


****


Blood has its own climate
Struggling to maintain
a heart stranded in an environment
that seems to want to kill it
It flows for lost seasons


****
Reaching out
is the most difficult thing for me

I’d rather hide behind
“No, really, I’m fine”


****


Have no fear, we all have secrets

Who will carry the burden
of the barren when shackled arms
can’t hold up brittle frames
anymore?


****


Surprise knocking

You’re always leaving
the essence of your beauty behind

Open door
Shy hi

I drown in eyes of ocean blue


****


Muttering wisdom,
layered complaints

Our berry kissed
shaking fingertips
picked

Stuffing hungry mouths,
robbing the pie filling


****


You add so much to my
lavish description of my
mediocre existence & my
most humble insistence
is that you stick around


****


Sticking to the bubble
because when I dipped a toe outside
it shook with fear
Dangerous waters
Everyone who’s somewhere else is someone else


****


Under a translucent spell she remained opaque. Too many secrets were at stake. 


****


all I love
relevant to me
out of fashion
out of date

all I hold dear
becoming obsolete
out of modern times
out of the old days


****


Some nature
shows us how mortal we are

This is temporary,
this tangible body

The soul, eternal
24 hour life cycle

Seize the day


****


Chaos
is the seizure
or the moment before
when something’s
not quite right
and I’m pulled
to light

Serenity
is waking up alive


****


Skilled in the magical art of disappearing,
he bred us to be escape artists

Forever seeking a way out
and away from ourselves


****


We were open
Bleeding in desperation
practically
for experiences
Now we live with eyes closed
to not see our youth
burn & fade away

****





My favorite traveler
says he misses my earth tones

So I lay upon rust colored stones
& we bake in the vengeful sun


****


I was a moth,
not as beautiful as she,
a monarch, a butterfly
Attracted to her vague flame,
her way of telling me without saying a word


****


The blues musicians,
who sing their sorrows
while the crowds
swing their hips

The guitars sing too,
of the best ways to escape


****


We melt
in dire heat

Wind carries the wildfires
We smell distant smoke

Pray, sing, dance, breathe
for blessed rain


****


The unknown,
an obsession
The unexplained is so alluring
We plunge down rabbit holes, willingly
We trust in the search,
the escape


****


The gloaming brings
a deafening buzz of cicada symphony
Now is good
to put on the midnight coffee roast
With so much time
to think on ghosts


****


I’ll keep my face of stone
while you pelt me with a barbed militia
of outdated insults,
my teeth gritted in a firm hold on truth

****


Haiku:

****


plain truth palette hides
lies in coal shades, shadow play
artful deception 


****
VSS (Very Short Stories):


“Tradition”

Recipes of tradition. The kitchen
smells of savory childhood happiness.


****


She was my shimmering light brightening each lackluster moment and in this period of darkness I miss her.


****


It’s the time of day where the light is fading and I can feel my soul rejoice.


****


King Crab, we called him. Long car rides brought out his snappy side & the shade of his angered face was Michigan apple red.


****



WIP (Works in Progress):


–“There is no escape from that draining bastard known as my identity.”


****

–“I’m here. Harboring horror stories.”


****



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