Archive for September, 2015


Anchor


Lovers in Chicago by Bill

The Clyde to my Bonny, he is unwavering protection.

Arms like The Hulk, hold me tight as salty tears flow.

His voice is my favorite song, an earworm in my consciousness,

He keeps the vile beasties at bay when the bile of fear rises.

My Plymouth Rock, always steady, as my knees crumble,

I try not to taste the abyss, the black bitter Nyquil that gags me.

Hopelessness threatens to overwhelm as I gasp for breath.

Clyde is there, he is warm sunshine on a summer day,

Invigorating me as strength recedes, water rushing out of a pool.

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Phoenix


Image by pageresource.com

Image by pageresource.com

Addiction is a bitter taste,

Recognizing failures and faltering.

Fifteen years; down, down I go,

Smoking away the things.

I feel the sun again,

My head high; the world has color.

How much I had missed,

Laughter, happiness, relief.

I breathe again, see light, hold sunshine,

I have wings and I am taking flight.

Sparse Trees


sparse trees by ninthcircle.net

Image by ninthcircle.net

They are graceful, stripped down soldiers,

Their arms bare, but strong.

Wind whipping at them,

They maintain their stance unphased.

Their slender branches and proud stance goes unnoticed,

People hurry by, taking their beauty for granted.

A few brown leaves still hold on to the branch,

Keeping from making the journey to the ground.

Looking lonely day in and day out,

Not feeling their beauty is appreciated.

Yet spring renews their beauty.

They become greener, fuller,

And they gently whisper in the breeze as we pass.

Always standing vigilant,

And becoming entirely brilliant.

The graceful soldiers remain.

Powerful, shielding us,

With their full branches

Of green splendor.

No longer sparse.

Looking Back


Scan_Pic0034

I’m a child with no cares in the world,
I run and play not mindful
Of my clumsy stumbles and messes.

No bills to pay,
No one to take care of.
Just me, George, and the open fields.

There are playgrounds and school,
New stories to hear
And friends to be made.

The classrooms smell of paint and glue,
And our lunch boxes and snow boots.
I want to be free like this all of the time.

It’s a shame I was in such a hurry
To grow up; be an adult.
What the fuck was I thinking?

City Strife


Image by William D. Wright

Too large to fit in your streets,

Listen to the slithering of the snakes

Shaped like squiggling s’s.

Listen to the cars amble by,

Horns sounding shrill and annoying,

Rushing into the streets.

Too large are your thoughts of troubles

Weighing you down like war-time mortar,

Sinking your hopes and dreams.

Listen to the streets,

Paying you no mind,

As if you never breathed

Or existed.


Image by little-endian from Deviant Art

There is a fairy princess,

Who is the keeper of the sun.

Whenever she feels sleepy,

She takes her great, black cloak

And drapes it around the sun.

The glittery, shimmery, gossamer

Material of her cloak is

What creates the stars.

When she wakes,

She pulls the cloak off of the sun

To bring back the daylight.

As a child,

I wanted to be that princess.

I wanted to be

The fairy to bring on the night

Because I loved the quietness

Of how the darkness felt.

The hushed tones,

The stars almost making

Twinkling sounds

Like windchimes.

Beautiful,

Powerful,

Mysterious.

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