…there was nothing between us. playing cards for years we both read and judged our plays beyond the snapping sound of brain transmissions. we’d start by sharing a casual drink in the safety of comfort and find an anchor sledding about in the candlelight of nightfall. too soon caught, the quiet mist comes. we first heard the loud hush hiding about in the fluid corners of fire light. a signal our journey would begin.
turning back around he wanted some gesture
something immediate that would cause
a sting she would never forget
opening a valve his heart exploded
smudging her soft hard trembling lips
abruptly destroying their last link
he watched in sorrow satisfaction
as her face unexpectedly unraveled
regret glistening, water dripping
her body falling carelessly
he now had a treasure he could keep
big tent poetry: write something opposite of your usual style. something that feels a little awkward, kind of like writing with your “other” hand; three word wednesday: drink, feeble, predict; photo: Style Splash, Drippy2009, flickr
the look of long drinkable sentences taste foreign and bitter. already i am distracted by the talkative slithering length. the challenge is an attempt to write in other than my ordinary way. stretching backward through pervious poems a cacophony of voices in the 1st, 2nd and 3rd person hound me fast intent with purpose. i am soon apprehended and together we shriek and snort at the existential existence of letters mimicking sounds similar to mad rushing waters propelled downward in huge splashes racing to nowhere.
not a note of metaphor nor anything to do with abstract. i now have this entertaining expectation of a solid concrete touch. A LITTLE LATER. this cool creepy feeble feeling of attempt surfaces, bobbing about caught in the undertoe disappears and then reappears entangled in crazy currents. a distraction of sorts. notice the 2 am offbeat blinking of a rusty neon sign screaming no vacancy move on!
i’ve captured the erasable and wrote it down. it is nothing not predictable. like an early morning mist moving along the low hidden gullys soon to disappear
… i finally gave up and wrote outside the zone of usual lines that are never there anyway, but i will keep this lesson in mind while writing left handed in a right handed world.
3 word wednesday: caustic, hunch, sacrifice
read write poem: napowrimo day 2: write a poem inspired in any way by one or more of the resulting phrases from the acronym RWP. I used Reading White Palms
photo: magicaldp, flickr
without reserve or caution
i read his hand from palm to palm
the master gambler
casually he makes my move
we never discuss our future
nor personal perfect plans
intimacy knows no limit
the sword is drawn
he slays the sacrifice dealt
forgoes our hand and draws
caustic calamity, i face and fold
calmly he shuffles my senses
we always share the odds
in a mind numbing
we give up two
pause and play another
with a whiff of wonder
the way he moves
he nuzzles so near
his kiss sublime, i call
hardly negotiable she stared at the blank eyes staring back. it was gonna be a tough card game tonight. placing each card in a delicate design of mysterious femininity the evening began in a familiar tone of subtle silence. usually it was winning and that was all that mattered. this evening it was altogether something different. sipping whiskey, nostrils flaring, restless jaw jamming the signs were all there.
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some great stories over at 6S…six sentences… do stop by it is delightful..