"Once upon a time is such a cliche way to start a story, but here we are!"

"Woah, time out." Yelled the white, bearded, old man. He slapped his mud caked hands on his worn-out black Levi jeans. His one green, glossy eye stared down Parish Thompson as his pink tongue helped spit out tobacco chew between the only two teeth left in his rotten mouth. He stood up quickly nearly throwing his pork, beans, and cornbread on the cowboy beside him. The young man grumbled and pushed the old man's leg away from the tin coffee cup he held. Wiping the brown liquid from his hand, he grumbled and eyed the older man with disgust.

"Ye can't start a story out like some girly thing. Ye need to say 'Once upon a time, in the darkest of days, when the land was soiled by the folk with no shoes. When the West was wild and their was no rules on who lived or died.' Now that's how a story is started!" The old man sat down looking around at his partners and smiling.

Parish Thompson, a mid 20s, short brown haired, medium statured, well built young man sighed. He took the brim of his brown Stetson and brought it below his eyebrows, slightly hiding his eyes. He knelt beside the fire and picked up a smoldering stick, placed it between his teeth, on the non burning side and stared at his audience. The fire light flickered on his sunburnt skin, his green eyes reflected the stars. The moon slowly slid behind grey, dense clouds. He glared at his audience as they finished their supper. A coyote cried in the distance, echoing across the mountains.

"The blood dripped from my hand, but it didn't seem bother me much." The men ceased moving around, eating, and stared at the story teller. "Once not a long time ago, when war seemed to be all we thought about. When the rules of life and death was like playing cards with a loaded deck. A myth crept from the earth, into a legend, then into a man."

My mom has a scar, faint and fine

on her index knuckle - a long, raised line.

But I must be insane.

My brain's at it again.

Just now, I looked down. The scar's mine.

I imagine that

if I touched it

it would be softer

than the smoothest silk

or velvet

I have ever known

and if it touched

my cheek

it would be

more gentle

than a warm breeze

or the sun’s rays

caressing my cheek.

I imagine that

if I held it in my own

it would be softer

than a newborn’s foot

and sweeter than

a first kiss.

I steal covetous glances

and imagine

caresses that

will never be

and I feel the

forlorn absence of

something

I will never know.

I imagine that

if I pressed it

to my heart

you would feel

my thoughts

and laugh

or run.

i.

She was young.

She was dumb.

Life was so fun.

ii.

She was a teen.

Life was a dream

Bursting at the seams.

iii.

She was an adult.

Everything was her fault,

And her life was a bottomless vault.

iv.

She was older,

Crushed like a boulder

By the world on her shoulders

v.

She lie in a hospital bed

Regretting everything she said

As her heart slowly went dead.

I have this taste in my mouth

Bitter

Like lemon and dandelion but no color

Sometimes I get the taste of metal

Of old pennies under my tongue

Just before a cold

Like I put my money where your

Mouth was

Like I'm betting

But this one

I feel its heaviness

In the back of my throat

This one

I can’t swallow without

Suffocating

This one I can smell

Like dew

The rain abandoned last night

And it wants to know why

This one eats at me

And the more I salivate

The more twisted

My perspective

So I try to get it out

With whiskey and razorblades

With words

With poetry

But its one of those

Longer-Lasting

Flavors

This one

I get

When I know you’re leaving

So I keep spitting into the sink

I keep washing down the taste

But you keep leaving

notice the stillness

     of water

how it carries us along

its softened edges

     holds us in 

     its fragile depths

the lull of a lonely lake

& its blue mood

     wet with reasons

lah  4.3.17 ©

Tendency to bite 

when touched by

unfamiliar people. 

Don't give 

alcohol or your 

feelings WILL 

be hurt. 

RUN AWAY!!!

in order to create successful poetry

one must first write a poem

& then [in theory]

unbraid each sentence

divide and conquer each syllable

move them sideways away from any

illusion of sunlight
and continue due south, the

direction which words inhabit

even the unholiest

of curves

& fill the airpockets of

bare lungs

& pulse a bloodstream

like fifty-two shades

of red, or

perhaps poetry requires nothing

of us

      one part weather

      two parts living hands

      and a shadow the shape

      of a tree

you see, leaves will always remember

how to fall away when the

roots are too afraid to be

exposed

lah  1.29.13 ©®

The beautiful blue sky glowed behind the soft white clouds drifting aimlessly across the distance landscape. Shadows danced gracefully over the green restful plains, blending the gentle light of morning,— offering a reprieve of the darkness that follows all our lives. Sleep is how we hide from the depth of our trials when we are alone in our dreams, hiding from despair. But your love is the guiding light that awakens the spirit of hope within no matter the blackness of the night. My treasure shared as we walk through the glory of togetherness. Your soft green eyes,— like pools of emeralds, sparkling with life,— calm my weary soul when the anxieties are too hard to bear. The touch of your hand and caressing embrace,— your soft voice is the breeze that refreshes and brings tranquility, warmed in your arms. You are my peace in a life of pain,— the restful scenery of pleasure, offering life to the tired soul. You are my meaning in a reservoir of doubt, the dream I awaken to that is my reality. My sanctuary where I am never alone, because you are always with me; and peace is the blessing I have been granted because I’m yours.