Morgue

Grogginess pulled at my eyelids. 

Eyesight evaporating. 

Adrenaline rushed. 

Forgot. 

What was it? Sleep called to me, a powerful seductress easing me out of consciousness. 

Realization. 

It was cold. Why was it so cold? 

Where was I? 

I tried to think of the things that happened, but... 

Couldn't. 

She was whispering in my ear, "It's alright, just sleep." 

I almost gave in. 

So hard not to. 

I stood and shook my limbs, looking around, not knowing where I was. 

It was dark. 

Dark and cold, cold and dark. 

I wondered if I was still asleep, just dreaming. 

No. 

I was too awake to be asleep, if that made any sense. 

I touched the nearest wall, feeling for a switch, fear beginning to creep through my foggy barrier of sleep. 

I found instead a handle and pulled instinctively, reaching inside. 

Metal. 

Cold. 

Cold. 

Soft. Soft? 

It rose to a high peak and fell, flat lining and rising at a slow but steady pace. 

I froze, sleep forgotten as I realized what I touched. 

And screamed.

Jump

Cold air whipped at her legs, her hair, her eyes.
She stared at her toes hanging over the edge of the building. She counted them and laughed at how her second ones were longer than the rest.
She looked down at her hands.
Small and plump--always an insecurity to her.
Chemicals pushed through her brain. She was sad now.
People were starting to notice--starting to think she was something more than a sack of bones and meat, another animal they ignored as they walked past her on the sidewalks.
Sirens screamed.
Her head was aflame with feeling.
Sounds turned to colors--reds on the ground where anxious men paced and talked chatter to their little black boxes. Deep blue where a crowd had gathered to gossip in loud voices.
She shivered as a cold wind flew forward to caress her cheeks and whisper in her ear: "Jump... Jump and watch how they scream..."
She smiled and stepped into the embrace of the air and the emptiness it ensured-- falling, falling to the cacophonous sound of their wails, she landed.
The air from the cushion made an obnoxious screeching sound as her body crashed into it. She waited until the air was mostly gone to crawl off of it and make her way to the director as he looked up from the screen and said, "That's a wrap, folks."


  

Holiday

Water. My throat ached for it, my mind gasped it's name... Water... I felt every breath like a stampede of pain, wild elk pulling in shaky gulps of air... Water... I could feel my body breaking down, my brain turning itself inside out. Madness was the only nourishment I would receive in this hot, barren purgatory... Water... The only thing I knew for certain: this was one hell of a holiday.

Cold

Shivering breath
Glass with cold nature's kiss
Down insulating soft coats
Breathy tounges of
Smoke from rust colored chimneys
Braile dotting arms
Cold

War

It left the land scarred and barren
The sky bleeding profusely
The bodies on the ground
oozing death

One man lays with a picture of his rosy cheeked wife in his pocket
and a bullet in his head

Another stands
A cheap string 'round his neck with the words
"I miss you daddy" scribbled on the pendant
And a gun clutched between his fingers

Dance

Jagged shapes in motion
Smooth lines and fluid rhythm
Outlining boxes with outstretched hands
Watching the sunset at midnight

Dancing
Painting pictures and scenes with movement
Pulling onlookers into the beat with swaying arms
and warm eyes

Fool

They sway
Sharing hands and endless songs of life and death
Listless crescendo of the breeze flowing through their stems

I lay
Close my eyes and breathe through my mouth
Try to listen

But Nature's song eludes me
A stuttering, stumbling fool

The earth's children chortle in mockery of me
And I long to be one with the ground

Nonsense Poem

I paint
     Acrylics staining fingers and clothes
          Half moon faces glimmering
melancholy green

     Rosebud eyes bloom from
white-bleached skulls
          And horizons whisper serenity

Memoir

The edge of the cliff crumbles under my bare foot and gravity sucks at the debris, water reaching up and swallowing it ravenously.
The white waves slap at the rock below me in a low lion's roar--hungry for more.
Hard black crag shoots up in jagged forms, their soft, organic shapes sharpened by the ferocious onslaught of the sea.
Timid footsteps guide me from a warm, safe campfire. I look back at the dancing, crackling firelight.
It sings for me to stay--to come home, but the fire is just one voice--the sea chants a chorus--swaying to the harmony it produces.
I gaze back down to the monstrous breathing mass of water as it beckons to me--urging my drop.
Wet arms push up against the cliff and explode into millions of salty tear drops that sprinkle my face. Delightful feathers of excitement tingle down my spine and dissolve at the small of my back.
The sea sends up thousands more of these cold, undulating pearls of water before I finally succumb to its call, leaping from the cliff into the ocean's thirsting embrace.

The Burned Boy

Lidless eyes search for an end. The light at the end of the tunnel. But that was all there is... Light. Hungry, insatiable light licking with tongues of fear and pain at numb skin and bone. Hateful bites and nips on every inch. Fingers scratch at it, push it away, but it is all-consuming. Scorched terror and screams echo through the tunnel of flames, praying for death.

Inspired by
The Burned Boy: Anne Caston

Flash

Stuffed bears lean precariously against the plastic table.
Hand-painted tea cups lay waiting for little fingers to reenact intricate scenes of refinement and glamour.
Outside the air is gray and heavy.
Shrapnel is entombed in the ground and flesh.
There would be no little girl to play tea party today.  

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Note: This is my favorite poem of all time. I really appreciate the beautiful wording that Maya uses in her poetry and how it's used here and how the message behind the words is almost palpable.




I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

 

A free bird leaps

on the back of the wind   

and floats downstream   

till the current ends

and dips his wing

in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks

down his narrow cage

can seldom see through

his bars of rage

his wings are clipped and   

his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees

and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn

and he names the sky his own

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream   

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied   

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.

 

-Maya Angelou