Ideas bubble and boil
through my mind
swirling thoughts, fragments of
dreams long forgotten
pop and flash
begging for attention
So many stories
So many words
to shape, to shift
what sings softly
in my heart
in my soul
Where do I go?
Out of the thousands of steps
in deep indigo mind
Which do I take?
How do I begin
the journey of a lifetime?
What do I write?
I do not know
But for now,
where to start
When I leave
A part of me
I relish our conversations
The wit, the wisdom, the truth
Our close friendship
So, so happy
When we part
Then move on
Lacking a part of myself
Smith’s Watches and Fine Jewelry sat deserted on Cherry St.
Its owner now living in the slums.
For the Depression was on - And with their money gone,
Folks had no interest in fancy time-keepers or brooches.
And though the store fought valiantly at first-
Offering payment plans, promotions - rebates too,
The sales dwindled from less to none.
Which forced Smith’s to close its doors,
For lack of money, much needed.
Its owner, now broke, and with a large family to feed,
Decided to kill two birds with one stone-
And go to the Unemployed Benefits Office and the soup kitchen
In one trip, and then go home.
For him to say this, without a moan or a groan,
Was quite something, don’t you think?
If you know that before the Depression set in,
He lived in a mansion with servants and so-
Do you not think it is remarkable, after living in luxury,
Drinking coffee with foam,
To call the slums “home”?
I miss you, mom, I miss you so, so much;
some days my heart near overflows with pain.
To most it may not always look as such;
I keep my sad thoughts locked up in my brain.
It’s like I lost my oldest, closest friend;
The one who lip synced in the car with me.
I hoped that time would heal, that it would mend;
but grief does not leave on the count of three.
Yet I have something I want to tell you:
I’m doing fine; please, please don’t be concerned.
I met girls who are sweet and kind and true;
I’ve loved and laughed and danced and read and learned.
Though sometimes I can’t help but shed a tear,
what gives me hope is knowing you’re still near.
She was sitting next to me.
Tears were streaming down her face.
I tried to convince her,
Convince her to let it out,
But she kept on crying.
She hid her face with her hair,
She hid everything in.
She didn’t say anything,
But her tears did.
She was stuck in the flood.
The pain was killing her from the inside.
It reminded me of who I used to be,
How I used to be like her.
I tried to fix her.
I tried to bring her out from the shadows,
But she just lied to me,
Lied that she was fine,
But I don’t blame her.
I blame the world that we are living in,
I blame the people around us.
It burns everything in it's path
Fire started them on this path
And once it touched them
It changed their life forever
For better or worse
It changed them
Changed their future
Fire started them on this path
Fire is what will end it
on the desk
a minute, beige pot painted with flowers
A small pot for a small plant
Or they might as well be
even getting to the next room presents significant challenges
when you are anchored to dirt to live
Scattered throughout the house
are its many siblings
most larger and healthier than it
it great mother is downstairs
living a life of sun and comfort
But this small plant
alone, lives with her
It only has four leaves
and three of them are bent
hunched as if they could not bear
its solitary existence
it is a pale parakeet green
What is wrong, little plant?
Even when she remembers to open the curtains
Do you not receive sun?
Have you been watered,
or are you now desperately draining your roots
for any fluid you can find?
Do you realize that you are alone
in this large world
and that you are merely
an unhealthy, parakeet-green plant
in a small, beige pot
On the desk
of a person
who is fighting their own battles
and has no time for yours?
Every day, at five o'clock, Finn and Isadora would wander the woods - together. They never held hands, didn’t kiss - merely spoke of intangible dreams they could never obtain; where they would go if given the chance.
In the solitude of the pines and willows, it didn’t seem to matter how his taut, muscled form towered over her small, gaunt one. No one whispered that she was a politician’s daughter, and he had never earned a full education… in the deep forest, it was simply the low rumble of his voice; the silver of her laugh, refugees of uncaring worlds.
Ten years after the tradition began, Finn’s boots crunched through dried leaves as he approached the path, bouquet of Venetian red roses in umber hand. She was waiting, mint-green eyes bright.
“I know, so sorry.” They set off down the path. A light wind rustled the creaking branches and tossed her long auburn hair.
“Do you remember….” he began, slowly. “That summer night, five years ago, when you appeared at my window, and I followed you here even though it was storming, in he dead of night?” She nodded.
“And you took me to the cliffs on the far side of the forest where we had never been before - and began to weep?” Again, she bobbed her head.
“And then you told me that your father planned for you to leave town and marry and move to the city? That he already had a candidate in mind?”
“And you refused to do it, you howled and pleaded, that you wanted to live here - but he was forcing you to leave at dawn, and you would never come back?”
“And then….. you kissed me goodbye… the first time, you kissed me… and told me that you would never leave, not when I was here. You looked so beautiful, like the moon…. and then -”
She stopped and turned to face him. She was still petite and pale, but flaming hair whipped around her face and her emerald eyes shone with the light of love.
“I will never leave - I took an oath that night, and I am still here. Do not doubt me. Until you leave, I will wait for you.” Finn’s breath came hissing out.
“They think me mad.”
“Do you care?”
In silence, they walked on. The dying trees swayed and whispered, leaves spiraling towards loamy earth below. After a quarter of an hour, the air grew cold and thin. Finn shivered, but his companion did not.
“I must leave.” she whispered. “You know that I cannot go there…”
He nodded, then vanished through a curtain of pines. The olive and umber seemed to swallow him.
“I just….” his voice echoed back, as though across eons. Finn stepped into the graveyard, meandered towards the very back, and knelt at a small, white stone.
ISADORA ROSE VERITY
He bowed his head.
“I wanted to lay flowers at your grave.”
“I’d love to live, but my parachute just exploded. No problem…. Oh, you can have my Shakespeare collection.”
Always look on the bright side of life, they say. Well, as I fall through the sky, I have a really nice view of the beautiful sunset. It almost makes up for it all - the chase through the Amazon Rainforest, the little Poison Dart Frog issue, and the fact that I’d been living off spam for two weeks. Ah, the life of an archeologist. And they say Indiana Jones had it bad!!
“Um, should I be worrying?” came the crackly voice of X through my flip phone. A word to the wise: Smartphones are overrated. Old-timers work just as fine.
“No, no big deal. Just, um, say I was protecting a village from invasion by flesh-eating swamp things, okay? Love you too. See you on the other side!” I shut the phone.
The sky is seashell pink, the sinking sun a blaze of pure gold. The cliffs above me cast shimmering shadows on the sparkling sea below. Waves splash playfully, as if applauding my approaching doom. The wind is cold on my face, but at least I can’t feel ocean spray yet.
I manage to flip myself on my back, and stare up at the sky above. Now would be a really great time to know how to fly…. but, I decide, a strange, heavy peace finally settling over my thrill-seeking heart, perhaps this isn’t so bad. After all, I’m going to die staring at the great open sky, doing what I love to do most - taking a chance. A line from Shakespeare drifts through my mind….
We are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our little life is rounded with a sleep…..
A sharp pain slams through my back - the golden sky flares, stars exploding in all the magnitude and magnificence of a dozen supernovae - and then, all is gone.
Flashing, flashing, blinking, stop.
Frowning, winking, stop.
Straight, left, right, stop.
Day, night, stop.
Fast, slow, up, down, stop.
Smile, frown, stop.
Subtract, add, stop.
Happy, sad, stop.
Calm, pain, stop.
Moving, staying the same, stop.
Pretentious, ugly, stop.
Nothing, nothing, see.