I was once her (for one Shot Wednesday)

who sits on the couch in the music room
lost in autumn hair, violins on a CD player
wafting smiles not hers, smiles of a piquant woman
her lover lost on the river walk that evening
briar roses crumbled on their steps shredded
foliage cushioned.

She sits on vacant clouds, eyes
hinting wakefulness on pools
the sun once mirrored
then drowned. The geese left no sign
that evening of the walk not even a note
to hold up to a sun sinking on the barge:
logs swayed on the water, old men rasped
scraping brawns the tide whittled,

bumping to the rhythm. She hears
her lover hum the tune,
a river whistling in the runes, flowing
infinitely like words in
a vow: in this and that state
no breath in between
but death. Not geese but iron flies
buzzing into her heart shattered

the pool that afternoon, shards of water
blinding her her lover saying good-bye, to fly
on blades that whirl not wings that beat
on air, to return an angel, breast beribboned
to preen to count those fallen
from his fingers.
She peers through her cloud this afternoon:
a river ebbing at her feet, touching

her wiggling toes, she giggles over
silly notes as violins rise, twirling
allegro on the river bank where she once sat
mourning over geese that afternoon
her lover returned a name
in a note unsigned, the lover

who once was mine.

Posted for One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry, the gathering place of poets and artists yet unmatched in calibre and talent. I’m a follower here. Do check us out!

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enraged (for One Shoot Sunday)

Darth Vader by Jack AZ

we go on, wagging
forefingers at skies,
resenting seasons
that fall on us in clumps
of such rhythmic
regularity we just can’t
play our black violins
raging against or else

against the grind
we feel a heartless hand
its fingers like iron
claws so tight in grip we find
our waggling a senseless
attempt at being freed—if
but one beat one note

one breath that does not
fall in rhythmic rhyme
skids from fingers that slide
from point to point to
point, interminable
points, infinitesimal bits,
that had so imprisoned us
raging—

one breath that stops and
we can’t, we won’t find out
we haven’t moved away
from seasons we resented,
music we played, beats
we raged against

Posted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry from a photo prompt titled, “Darth Vader” by Jack AZ. Join us, a community of poets and artists who share the art they so love and nurture reach other.

who can believe (one Shoot Sunday)

the glitz, but a masquerade
a sheer veil behind the haze
for all I hear

slush scrunched underfoot–
what pain in my heart a thousand
baubles thrown on ground

dripping rain slowing down
to creep on eaves so agonizingly glassy–
the dirt shows

heaving trains on stops rumbling as herds
stomping into dreams of slumbering
seeds, mine

how to halt
some hundred puffs of violins ascending
infinity cannot but be an illusion of hearing

a whimper skittering on air, mine
crinkling the silence no one hears–
beneath the blinders

the blinding lights–
who can save me disbelieving
I in masquerade

am searching for a prayer

Photo by Mike Roemer

Posted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry blog from a photograph of Mike Roemer. Join other poets and artists who love what they do.