Aftermath
What whispers did the wind lie down
on half open porcelain eyes
careful to admonish the outside world?
Sand cracklers move about
beneath the surface
hiding in plain sight, while giving life
to an otherwise inanimate object.
Shape shifters of the soul
move about freely
collecting their tithing on their way home.
©k~ 2013
The bitter is not so sweet
without expectation there would be no twinge
of undoing, or fear of becoming.
If we love, we must expect something,
at some point, demand something of someone,
and yet the bitter is not so sweet
to taste of rancor at the crossroads
of expectation and acceptance.
© k~
Asphalt remembers hopscotch ghosts
and cracked four-square windows
where pasty-faced children played
until the last bell rang.
“Tommy, throw it over here.”
One of a dozen red balls bouncing
in and out of the lines
while the rhythm is kept
by little girl skirts
as the rope hits the ground.
Asphalt remembers tear-stained cheeks,
scraped knee skids
and the sound of gathered laughter,
of years tied together
with broken shoestrings
and French fried potatoes.
Playground voices etched in cracks
on abandoned school grounds.
Asphalt remembers.
© k~
Xavier Street
Round corners bend smoothly,
meld walls into side stone archways
Zen touched.
Colours muted by winter’s touch
sail dreamlike carriages
clippity – clopping in midday
through quiet streets
with mums for sale.
He watches through scarf wrapped eyes
wearing fingerless gloves.
The world of those who live
on Xavier Street.
© k~
Ripped from the archives to share a turning point. When pain becomes the pen that lowers itself to paper and tears no longer make the ink bleed, it is time to heal.
He Said it With His Hands~
Summer was hot,
scorched in memories
of kisses in the shade
in back of
Granny’s place
where lemons hung
like swollen testicles
from sagging branches
of an ancient tree.
Love and pain met
became one
breath,
one measure
of a song that plays
where fingertips
dance,
and hearts remember.
“Love compliments,
it doesn’t critisiZe”
She said it
with deliberation
as though they
were the most
important words
ever heard.
Draped them over
a bruised shoulder
and deaf ears
with tears in her eyes.
He loved her.
Confused it with
fingers
that found their way
around her neck
to choke out
truth he didn’t want
to hear.
He needed her.
With rules
that would ensure
she never left
…. alive.
When he wanted her.
He said it with his hands.
2000 ©k~
Meet me at the green house
in the alley
that changes to suit you in spring.
There we can dance
between poppy dot playgrounds
and eat hot raspberries
with bare feet
on sprigs of soft new grass
in dappled sunshine
that begs
to be pleasured.
© k~
Screaming into an empty field
of wayward wheat
though, no one hears the sound.
Dissolved against a backdrop
of skies bigger than
life,
she breathes in
moments, like star dust
to begin again
refreshed.
© k~
Cafe' Midnight 