prosepiece - forever

totally torn, tattered broken in two
sick and destroyed at the thought of losing you
just want to honor, respect you and stay
in good graces, in love, not detract or betray.
take me for my word, in our actions display
my heart would be smashed if you walked away
i will do anything in my power to prove
you and me, every time, i forever will choose.

prosepiece - every

every person is so quick
to tell you what they think
say what's right and wrong
or impress it til it sticks

but then, 'you do what you want!'
as if super nonchalant
then seep silent, seething, seven
until blood beings to haunt

likely bond as thick as water
unlike Mother, or Daughter,
understandably unbroken
predisposed to be martyr

no one's even asked
what i want or what's best
such a simplified suspicion
could put all of it to rest

embers of some things

somethings are better left unsaid
as they fall fast and flickering from the mouth
quick and familiarly absorbing each other
puddling a hot, festering pool
that, in an instant,
could be set ablaze.
yup.
some things are better to swallow
dully and reliably heating the core
reluctant to be fully digested
affixing solely to sense of self.

prosepiece - wrote

i wrote it down, i felt it leak
from hand to pen, just paper and ink
now vanished someplace I can't recover
maybe symbol or sign, not to share with another
but once dispelled can't be reimagined
no effort to find words from this disadvantage.

prosepiece - bright

prosepiece - better read aloud

prosepiece - excited

excited, so heightened, for what's down the road
can see the horizon, it's starting to bloom
new land a new life a fresh start for us both
exhilarated, thrilled, and embracing the growth.

642 things to write about

compiled by The San Francisco Writers' Grotto
a storm destroys your uncle's shed and kills his six year old son.  the color of the sky right before the storm hit.

The sky was an ominous green.  A gut-turning, putrid garbage green.  It loomed, still and heavy, about to hurl its wretchedness all over this place.  all over all of us.  Its pressure weighed down on us, as we battened down the hatches and took cover...

642 things to write about

compiled by The San Francisco Writers' Grotto
the long-lost roommate

She disappeared without a word, but I knew she was gone forever.  The swift slam of the screen door pushed a gust of cool air in my face, encouraging inhalation, yet stealing my breath all at once.  Sometimes abandonment can be freeing.  I had been involuntarily discharged... or was it, emancipated? A friend who flees so freely is better company unkept.

prosepiece - luckiest

so *charmed a life we've now begun
us two, into one whole become
in better luck & health & love
we rise & float & bask in awe of
the luckiest leap we could take up til now
til the next one, comes swiftly, with love to avow.

prosepiece - contain

feels as hard to contain myself
seems spilling out, this source of wealth
of ardor, zeal, this fervency
of keenness, passion to let free.
wells up, brims over, let it go
slips deftly from lips, or fingers to show,
affection for living and sealing it in, as it showers
right through me & heart so begins,
pumping & breathing & swallowing life,
as to keep & to feed from,
on it's swelling we thrive.
but more meant to be graced with - luxuriate in,
when it floats down upon me
and peace can set in.

Love After Love

By Derek Wolcott

The time will come 

when, with elation 

you will greet yourself arriving 

at your own door, in your own mirror 

and each will smile at the other's welcome, 

and say, sit here. Eat. 

You will love again the stranger who was your self.

Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart 

to itself, to the stranger who has loved you 

all your life, whom you ignored 

for another, who knows you by heart. 

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, 

the photographs, the desperate notes, 

peel your own image from the mirror. 

Sit. Feast on your life.

prosepiece - slip

days slip past
the axis shifts,
from this to that
an orbit twist,
what's right-side-up,
now up-side-down,
the tilt & pitch
inverts around
a life lived less on
where or when,
but why & how
we choose to spend
the treasured clip
of fleeting time,
that stirs & sways
as stars align.