Pomegranate

Hold her stare and promise you won’t be disappointed to find

That everyone holds secrets like mothers hold their children.

It’s a way we have with our words and we are angry when

Someone discovers our secret and takes it as their own.



Oh, how easy it is to be tangled in a writer’s web!

For it is here we weave our secrets like bright bulletins.

The more you pull the silver strings, the more our lives

Unravel before you, naked and cold, forced from the

Comfort of ink spattered pages.



Yesterday the stars glittered within the mass of people.

She plucked one and then

She pinched the ruby between her two fingers and

Watched the pigment run down her pale stems.

If you were to take her hand, I again promise you that

You won’t be disappointed to find you alone are her secret.

(Note, the format from the site this was original posted at is different than here. For original see: http://dfawrites.wordpress.com/tag/luckyduck08/)

Untitled

Two iron curtains fell over an ocean-

A sea of ink formed where they forgot about you.

The ice was broken and felt like glass

Crushed into soft skin.

Citizen America rejoices at the birth

Of another propaganda baby.

Round greedy cheeks and

Eyes not yet open to the inhumanity

Of Situation 24/7.

Spray paint an enigma about life

Onto brick walls and

They’ll be there to cover it up

Before someone solves the puzzle.

One piece is missing for

Every few hundred yellow ribbons

With sand in their wounds.

Pretend to be the brave, the proud, and

The few who survived by Semper Fi.

Falling headfirst into stone

As saline mixes with the acid and ashes of
Hollywood Heroes-

The next big cover story, or a hit in the face from God.

There’s a detour to heaven called oxygen-

Don’t waste it.

Disease-ridden knowledge fights for the cure of stupidity.

We are not alone, but no one will join us as we

Spread our toxins into empty space and

Shoot euphoria up bright red vines.

Give ‘em the ol’ one-two

Three-four suicides today and counting.

Lift off, and God’s Speed just isn’t enough anymore.

Selling yourself is the next big thing

One step backward from the KKK.

We live in a newspaper world-get over it.

Milk chocolate tastes better anyway.

Unwanted: unborn baby. Let’s play God

Bless America.

Tennessee

It was dusk when we used to climb those dewy hills.

The whole world was yawning after supper

Except for winking fireflies who guided our way and

Into the barn we’d go, climbing

Step

After

Step

Up the ladder to the wooden loft where we felt

One hundred feet high, looking past the train tracks

Across those sleepy mountains, and

Into the star studded ink above us.

Broken Children

Old cola cans and broken beer bottles

Litter the ground, nested in the pinestraw.

Candy wrappers slowly decay in the sun

As they rot away in the streets, their homes.

The yellow paint clings desperately to the walls

Like the milk bottles they used to hold,

Only milk was replaced so long ago.

Now Mary Jane is the only one cheap enough

To be their friend.

(There is a metaphor in this that may be considered inappropriate, let me know if I need to delete this reply).

Ode to Midas

So much grandeur does a goldfish hold;

Its alabaster mouth is haughtily upturned.

Watch its golden scales flicker in the light;

“I’m richer than you.”

But as riches come, they easily go,

And, alas, so do goldfish.

July

The sweet smell of southern jasmine

Crowds the hot summer air as

Yellow Georgia hopes for some

Sign of grey-toned skies to

Quench the Indian colored clay beds.

Gun Shot Wound


My words are bullets,

And you, dear, are my target.

The mind is a magazine

And in my case, it is very full.

Kiss me, honey, and I’ll make you swallow lead-

Fill your lungs with sulfur.

Your heart is nothing but a

Gun Shot Wound.