Crowded pairs of eyes, Seized in a locket, Distinct, vaguely familiar, Topaz tears on the faces Full of expectancy, But medicaments And nourishments, Denied. Polar relatives, Sink deep into hourly horror, Shred chamomile heads Clutched in quivering hands. Their oozing veins, Official word Tries to gauge the wounds With salt. Do condolences reimburse? Newscast broadcasts, A black hound, Caressing trigger, Aim AK-47, Obediently, Point blank At a wide eyed Foreign child. Sanctity justified by Avenging fallen sons. Ravishing the feeble, A temporary plug, For the abhor. Too stubborn to accord, Too cowardly to confront.
In a second, In a blink of an eye, We matured. With beards, Long rags, Chalky wigs. Put on eye patches, Sprayed cologne of hauteur, Smoked fat cigars. Decorated uniforms With witty ornaments, For a job well undone. Traded in tag, Hoops, toys, For machine guns And lemon grenades. Barked orders, Left and right Throwing tantrums, While thinking That flesh and bone soldiers Are made out of plastic.
When thinking, When unable to lift an index finger, To point out the fault. When you can’t do. When I’m conjugating verbs but Without visible outcome. I’m compressing air molecules Then launching them of Off my tongue platform. In a sealed tight, neat, stamped packages, Directed at no one, specifically. Complacent as I churn all the butter Out of common and uncommon sense. Babbling channels, Through all inconvenient pit falls And averted looks.
Lethal force, the future and children.... I have been feeling the suffering in Russia all day, yet, continue to offer smiles of hope and hugs of love with my eyes and heart.
KX, these last three from you.... wow... it truly is evident that your whole heart's in them. In "dead end" these lines... ...that just sums everything up so succinctly. Very powerful what you've pulled together here. "Playtime" is as powerful a commentary as I've read in a good while; and "Complacent" to me, oozes with inability, with stunned sentiment. Not sure about the title for that one though; and I would consider simply making these three different sections of one piece.
"Dead End" is an incredible, moving tribute....sculpted beautifully from empathic fear and bitterness ...as Fulmah said the last lines are very powerful....I commented on this and "Playtime" at DS....and envy your ability to write so well about external events, capturing fact, emotion and empathy...perfection.
Fly convulsed at the window. Beat itself to a bloody pulp, to no avail. Octagon vision Of something hypnotic, Magnetic, alive, Behind the screen of glass. On the other side, Unattainable, impossibility, Made the blood curl. Incessant frantic stutter. Caught off guard, By the seizure of Its cellophane wings.
I loved this stanza, "octagon vision" particularly. This one seemed hypnotic to me, and I thoroughly enjoyed it; thanks for sharing
Days no longer smelled of Fresh baked bread, They smelled of Alcohol and formaldehyde. Orange cracked On the playground bars, And rain idly Hung around the ceiling. Following footsteps, I slipped off the Brick edifice. Blinked, crouching On pile of jagged rocks. Blinked again, I was in white, Clutching a gnome. Unaware of time, But aware of existence Of beds, comic books, Window sky, bored girls, And my apprehension to talk. My age was a negative factor, My silence was positively ignored. So be it, they struck a match, Then produced a syringe That aimed into the Bend of my elbow. Anesthetic panic, Someone collected blood Onto a strip of glass Without my consent. And without my approval Stitched my eyelids shut. I flapped on the sheets, Wheezing through The lumps in my throat. Then pried open my eyes, bewildered and soaked.
All day, we munched on raisins and gooseberry, popped sunflower seeds. We sat on logs or hid in chestnut leaves, murmuring about private clutter. Sometimes we bounced, like manic pogo sticks. We played with dust, while the air buzzed and clouds rolled onto the sun. Yawning, we lounged in clovers, where casual fingers interlocked. Then we munched on cherry paste in stranger’s orchard kingdom, smiling when caught, we yelped and climbed over the fences. Furtively observed, through microscopes of neighbor windows. We hush hushed and tiptoed into the moldy pantry. Where we locked the door and lost the light switch.
I positively loved these two stanzas, Kitten! Strong, evocotive images they do create! And the flow throught this one was great. The last two lines seem a little jumbled to me, like some words need to be flipped around or something.... sorry, wish I could articulate something a little more concrete.... hangover, I curse thee!
spy, conflict, cosmos... so many excellent reflections from within your mind all so very well spoken. I must now re-evaluate how I write, myself, for I like how you write much better. You capture the reader with words and structure I've only dreamed of fabricating.
She is an innuendo. She wears a bottle top belt. Pins, bracelets, rings, anklets. Morose facial contours, bundled in smoky shades around the cobra eyes. She laughs, with the corners of the mouth. Bites hangnails and scowls, at languid, dazed silhouettes. Pierced the pallid dough flesh, tattooed touch on shoulder blades. She’s a cryptogram. A photomontage. A prima donna. A cunning mirage. Feigns her ennui, shivers with pessimism. Blinks through days of black and white film. Rigor mortis dreams, she muses of morgues. Thinks, ink mascara runs, through her corpse. Embalmed herself in pity, pointed fingers. Performed a bawling encore, then smashed the mirrors, put on a different face, and started all over.
