Aftermath

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

Behind the Smile

Behind the Smile~
 
Words bled out across the pages
of an unforgotten past
past frayed edges of heaven’s gate
where butterflies and angels wait
and it’s never too late.
 
[Chorus]
she’ll smile, so you can’t see her
it’s part of a greater plan
not that you’d understand
but you think you can.
 
Painted message on the mirror
“make this day a better day”
doesn’t matter how you get there
Just as long as you stay
until that day
when worn out pages
become kindling for a fire
bet you didn’t know
but you think you know
 
[Chorus repeat]
…she’ll smile so you can’t see her

Bittersweet~

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

Asphalt Remembers

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

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~

He Said it With His Hands

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~

Children on their Own

Children on their Own

We walked along that old brick wall,
Too young to be afraid to fall
That’s when we played,
Built a cemetery in between our homes
Where the bugs that died could stay
That’s when we would play
Up and down a busy highway
Locked between there and the byway
Of a treasure only known
To children on their own

Cardboard boxes lined the carports
In our world they were our own forts
Could be grocery store, maybe what we went there for
Sometimes a laundry mat, we’d say
That’s when we played.
Up and down a busy highway
Locked between there and the byway
Treasures only known
To children on their own

Der Weinerschnitzel right across the street
Where we could earn a frozen treat
Suckin’ on sour grass, had no clue it wouldn’t last
It was just another day
That’s when we played
Where all those memories stay
Yeah that’s where we played
Up and down a busy highway
Locked between there and the byway
With treasures only known
To children on their own.

© k~