I mourn the loss of a life not fully led,

Of opportunities not seized at the time;

From some situations I panicked and fled,

From the pit of my despair I could not climb.

What can I do now except to look ahead?

To seek new experiences without dread;

Show me the way and I promise I will go,

In the end, love of life I hope I will know.

#poetry #rispetto

[A hendecasyllabic rispetto on a topic I've been contemplating a lot recently.]

When I sat alone 

I looked around

And observed a darkness so deep

I could not see any shapes or shadows before me.

There were no voices

And no sounds.

The eerie silence

Was very alarming at first.

But then I decided to relax 

So I could listen and look a little closer.

I heard a voice and

Begin to see a small light.

It was nothing I had experienced before.

So I felt I was imagining it.

I decided to follow the dream

And walked toward the light.

I realized the voice was coming

From the light.

The voice was my own

Saying words I did not recognize.

As I got closer I realized

There were no shadows.

But there was a barrier 

Between I and the light.

My voice was telling me

That in order to break the barrier

And free myself

I must get to know myself.

It told me of a wonderful journey

I could take to discover my talents and desires.

That this would happen when

I became intimately aware of my own darkness. 

It invited me to explore

The depths of my inner soul.

It told me I would never

Be lonely again.

For when there is no barrier

There is only balance.

A whole new world opens before me

With unlimited journeys.

in the wake of our discussion,

we hurl insults like grenades,

like bomb vessels bursting, a

face-off at opposite corners

of the room, and rage rends

the air, lends the atmosphere

a note of storms clawing at

our beached bodies, a volley

of venomous spray, when you

tell me that everything i do is

mediocre and i retaliate with

the observation that nobody

likes you, you are friendless

and alone, always, then you

scream, you stupid cunt! and

the windows shudder with the

volume of our passing—please,

love, don't remember this, i

walk

towards you now,

closer and closer

with my mouth hanging open,

my mouth is a black hole

growing,

a maelstrom that

shatters my face apart, 

a hole from

which

my howl

emerges

coming up to

find you,

grind you, it rises

from the crouched ladder of

my skeleton,

a furious noise

obliterating everything,

it swallows up

     your voice

                     and erases

                                     your words 

ask me again

why the wounds

hold me here

like clots

& bruises

of another

ruined sky

with its

sharp edges

& its palette

of blackbirds

its long reach

of darkness

ask me again

why I cling

to the thunder

rioting the night

why I cling on

the edge of tremble

as ghosts look

straight through

the page where

this poem breaks

another mirror

because I will

write you seven

years in a language 

of stolen phrases

& forget-me-nots

as I tally fourteen

years of warning

signs in the way

knuckles & needles

have drawn a clef

of scars on

my bluing skin

in this space

between clouds

where I measure

the air & the

falling rain

as I plant my

suffering like

a promise in

a thicket that

waits to sprout

its roots in snow

to bristle the nest

in a branching pine

& crawl through

the wind stealing

my breath so

you can climb

the ladder of

my fractured ribs

wiggle like a worm

to a soft red apple

& fill the pretty

little holes in my

heart with wet matches

& hand-rolled

cigarettes

because you hate

everything you love

& my eyes taste

what we've broken

peppered with

salt to melt

the frost on

my bare feet

standing in

this puddle of ink

staining just beneath

my freckled flesh

with veins collapsed

from the sludge

with a throat

so full of hunger

lah  6.11.17 ○

Dull sounds of silence

breed its seeds

of apathy, caught

in downpour

of smog, veiling

absence of light,

weeping echoes

left behind,

hardened clay

without center,

dead trek

to nowhere,

hunting for hope.

Awe extinguished

as sun beats down.

I stare at her and she stares at me.

The clock ticks. My stomach growls.

And still we stare at each other.

Finally, something breaks.

       "Why the fuck won't you talk to me, dammit?!" I scream at her in despair.

She says nothing.

       "I've read alot, a LOT, of interviews with authors who say their characters talk to them! Some authors even say their characters talk so much, they have to scream at them to shut up!...But not you. No! You stay silent!"

I look her in the eyes and she looks back, but her face conveys no emotion.

       "WHY?! Do you not like how I started your story? Did I do something wrong? Tell me! Tell me so I can fix it! I'm all ears!"

Still nothing.

Now I'm really angry and the threats come,

       "You fucking bitch! How about I just say 'fuck you' and write you out of the damn story, huh? How would you like that, Miss High and Mighty?...Huh?...If you won't freakin' talk, I bet someone else will!"

She's nonplussed. Her mouth doesn't so much as twitch.

I try a different tact,

       "Please," I cry, tears starting to fall, "just say SOMEthing. Give me ANYthing. One small nugget and I'll go from there...Please?...Please?... Whyyyyyyyyyyyyy?"

Still, she is unmoved. I stare at her, again, thinking of all the high hopes I had for a successful collaboration. I think of all the books we could sell together. I think of all the money we could have. I think of all the fun we should be having, drinking coffee and putting words to screen. Alas, my protagonist apparently has other plans.

Mutely, she sits. Staring at me, but not moving otherwise. Her mouth doesn't move. Her nose doesn't twitch. Her hands stay folded in her lap, ever so ladylike. She neither crosses nor uncrosses her legs. She doesn't straighten her unkempt hair. She does nothing but stare.

The clock ticks. My stomach growls.

       "Talk to me before I beat the dog shit out of you!" I put my face right up to hers, but not even a hair does she move, to back away from me. "I SAID you better. fucking. talk. to. me. now, dammit!"

Out of control, I grab her and start shaking her, back and forth, screaming, then slapping her, then screaming more. I've lost myself. Never ever before have I been abusive and now here I am, bloodying the one person I need most at the moment.

I somehow manage to get hold of myself. Walking over to the wall, I beat on it with my fist until it's bloodied and the wall is smeared with red, hoping to get my anger and frustration and torment out without hurting HER any more than I already have.

Finally collected, I go back and stare at her again. 

I stare. She stares. The clock ticks. My stomach growls.

I sigh. And I cry and I cry and I cry, while my protagonist sits, silent, unmoving, unhelpful.

In the face of danger, I said,

I don't care. 

In the face of excitement, I said,

This is so much fun. 

But in the face of sorrow, I never said, 

I'm sorry. 

I am

     the soothing tide

     drifting on back strokes,

     footprints left as treasure

     in dawning foam

     of lapping teal waves.

I am

     watching weeping

     white diamond wind

     tossing oceans in

     salt of briny breeze,

     kissing azure ocean

     of white capped dreams.

I am

     skin of the sea rising

     to frothed crescents,

     canopy of waves

     sheltering my soul,

     alone, holding ocean

     in my sieved fingers

I am

     rich cobalt view

     of serene passion,

     floating above surface

     before diving into depth,

     sunlit smile and silence.

I am

     uncharted waters waiting

     for you to decipher

     blush of shell-toned sky,

     a soaring seagull

     at cusp of cerulean sea.

I am

     sailing my ship

     to unknown horizons

     in destiny of ballads,

     strolling endless shore

     of no regrets.

The curve of your ear

Round and luscious

The lobe dropping slightly

The pinna rising gracefully

Curving fluidly around the canal

Feeling the skin, taught, the cartilage pliant

As I run my tongue over its length

Naked and vulnerable

I whisper sweet nothings

Into it

Promising of things to come

#davidaintgotnothingonyou #sweetnothings #ear #challenge #micropoetry

Noun(?) 

[1] The stuff at the bottom of one's grill, after one has finished cooking; a mix of coal, grease, wood chips, etc.

[2]  The stream of curse words, numbering three or more, that fall out of one's mouth after stubbing one's toe on something.

*[3] Cousin to Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious