RDP Thursday – DEEP
Her name is Amelia and she hangs upon my wall
trapped in a frame
from a five and ten cent store.
Her eyes are flat and cold
her cheeks are pale and slack
Her jaw is wired shut
there are metal hands upon her back.
The bow on top her head
has been tied with love and care
and someone long ago
curled her long brown hair.
Her dress was to big and her shoes didn’t fit
and every time
she saw them hanging in her closet
she closed her eyes and said;
” Ma, I’m just dying to wear this dress. ”
Before winter hit, she did.
I wanted to craft a story
with ink, with needles with thread
I wanted to craft a story about
monsters and graveyards and the living dead.
I wanted to carve a story on bone, on stone on the insides of
I wanted to write a story
but the words
are staying out of my head.
RDP Monday: SCREAM
There are no locks on the doors
in the rooms where nothing lives.
There isn’t a single sheet of glass
the window frames at the house where nothing comes in and nothing ever leaves.
Nothing is down in the basement
nothing lives in the walls
nothing is rotting in the attic
nothing was forgotten in the kitchen cupboards.
Nothing is in the dead house
at the end of the road
from where you live, from where I live.
And In that prison
nothing screams in it’s endless terror
without ever taking
a single breath.
In the Spring
in the woods
under a cool blanket of leaves
Amanita Verna waits for you
to find her, to pluck her
to raise her to your lips in blissful hunger
Close your eyes
taste her, bite her, open your mouth and swallow her
she won’t take you heart or break your heart
she’ll just shut it down
we can bury you in the Spring
in the woods
where you can be with
Inspired By: RDP Thursday – Fungus
There are buildings you’ve never seen before
cats lounging in windows, curled in improbable shapes around potted plants, snoozing with one eye open under wind chimes, their fuzzy cheeks pressed against half drunk cans of soda pop.
There are streets you’ve never walked down before
lined with pastel colored cars and brightly colored garbage cans parked on the curbs where they silently fight for space on sidewalks much smaller then the ones at home
squeezed between brick and wooden houses and markets with decals of dancing fruit and children eating ice cream on their glass doors
little diners named after Mothers and Grandfathers and sometimes dogs that have chickens and alligators or maybe fish painted on the windows.
Don’t pretend like you know where you’re going
as you stroll by the cats, the diners, the markets, the parked cars
don’t walk with the swagger and squint of a seasoned traveler, the wily explorer who has scaled the pyramids or cruised all of the Seven Seas years ago on a dare.
Put the phone away, delete the app, it’s okay
take a wrong turn
to not know where this road leads and that road ends
close your eyes,
don’t take a breath
Jump right on in
Na/GloPoWriMo :It Begins Day 2- For our first (optional) prompt, let’s take our cue from O’Neil’s poem, and write poems that provide the reader with instructions on how to do something.
Snow crunching like brittle bones
Ice snapping like lightning
on dark path
filled with shadows
waiting to follow you home
Inspired By The Rag Tag Daily Prompt: Recommend
Snow at midnight.
Phantom dogs, wraithlike cats and cemeteries
that never close.
freshly carved jack-o-lanterns.
Ghost stories, Mozart, D’jango Reinhart,
and my fireplace cackling merrily
at the darkness outside waiting to join us
for a spell.
Inspired By The Ragtag Daily Prompt: Grateful