….why paisley???

Sometimes the poorest man leaves his children the richest inheritance.
~Ruth E. Renkel

photo by: me 5/18/2008

she sits demurely
on the first rise of the ridge,
surrounded on all sides
by the modern day
equivalent of beauty..
in silence,, she watches
as they adorn themselves
in strings of pearl white light,
exuding the electrical exuberance
of life,, as it courses thru their veins..
they flash glassy toothed smiles
from behind their freshly painted lips
and dangle their million dollar birthrights,
like golden charms
around the unlined throats
of their youth…

she sits demurely
on the first rise of the ridge,
long past the vigor of her youth-
draped,, as she is
in natures own finery
lit only by the slender rays
of the at best,, beguiling
morning sun.. yet
knowing all the while
that they share with her
their only true inheritance..
that of rotting flesh and rusting bone
and the eventual return
to the womb of mother nature
that which has rightfully been hers,,
all along….

authors side note: i took this piece and printied it (photo and all) and thumbtacked it to the structure in the photo, a bit of guerrilla poetry, if you will.. don’t know if it will be read or in the case that it is, be understood… but i just felt it was the right thing to do…. if anything comes of it,, i will let you know….

for cafe writing

i read a post the other day on looking beyond the cracked window, called , “what are you?”... and i immediately remembered a moment in my life,, that spoke to me,, and still does about this subject.. i have decided that this poem also falls nicely within the confines of option five of cafe writing,, which is to write a poem that comes full circle…..

many years ago
sitting on a bed
in a sleazy motel room
on the access road
just off 635
in dallas
me, tony (my pimp),
and someone else
(i can’t remember who she was,
and it doesn’t matter much
as we were high
and talking bullshit
and anyone can play that part)

so, anyway,, this girl
who ever she was
said something to me,
something like-
“you don’t have any idea,
who you are..”
and i replied
“no, your right,,
i don’t…
i have no idea who i am.
but i know what i am.
i am a whore.
i am a drunk.
i am a crack head.
and i am the best
i can possibly be
at all of those things…”
and i was…

now many years into the future
in a very different place
under a very different
set of circumstances
i sit,, alone,, on a bed
in a little house
in a big canyon
far, far, away
from any access road
just off 635 in dallas,,
and the thought occurs to me,
that despite the fact
that i am no longer
a whore
a drunk
or a crack head
i am still,,
very much unsure
of who i am….

photo:

http://mad-brilliant.deviantart.com/art/Who-Am-I-39570300

courtesy of cafe writing, which provided me with the following photo by: l. h. prior, as my inspiration

i went back to the bar
where i met you
been so long
i just couldn’t forget
how much i loved you
back in the beginning
in that smoky old bar
where we met

i went back to the bar
just to find you
but neither you
nor the bar was still there
i felt so damn old
as i stood there all alone
then i realized
“i no longer belong here.”

so i left the part of you
i’ve hung on to
on the one leftover
red pleather chair
and i said adios
to both you, and the bar
blew a kiss, and
got the hell outta there….

this month,, cafe writing had two excellent prompts that i decided to combine and use here as inspiration for the following poem… option 2 suggested the use of these words: breathless, change, elusive, pensive, reflect, surge, tide, vibrant…

and option four gave this lovely quote as inspiration for poetry…..

“In silence and movement you can show the reflection of people.”
— Marcel Marceau

staring pensively into the blue white glow
as if she, herself, would just miraculously appear
from some elusive source, hidden just the other side
of the 19 inch LCD screen

breathless,, listening for voices, from somewhere inside,,
but never really hearing anything they had to say
as the sound of her own dirges drown them out..
steadily,, methodical,, surges of breaking tide
crashing wave after wave, on the fragmented shores
of her once vibrant mind..

knowing something has changed, but not really being able to
put her finger on that which has come,, or gone,,
or stayed the same,, so long it has become unrecognizable…
she has become silent

her fingers on the keys, the flashes of blue white light,
and the way it reflects in her eyes…

photo:

http://mole-incarnate.deviantart.com/art/3d-monitor-12410996

i found a new writing challenge at cafe writing… i was asked to pick one or more of the six options for the month of december… here is my response to option one:

kindle, memory, spark, shattered, effulgent, joyful, softly, glistening

devoid the phosphorescent glow
yet emanating the same acidic stench
the effulgent glistening of youth
sputtered softly and then died

like a sparkler lit
with kindle last
on a rainy forth of july

sanctioning shattered chimera
vanquished joyful verse
forever muted memory
silently surrendered

senescence…..

photo:

http://fc02.deviantart.com/fs6/i/2005/117/c/7/

whirlwind_full_of_heads_by_swinck.jpg