wounds for harvest.

words inspired from events transpired.
Recent Tweets @

you’re a mind invader
every time I close my eyes.
a thought provoking entity,
a seamstress spinning lies.

You weave by the spindles,
all the cons you had me on.
You can call me gullible,
it’s faith for the forlorn.

You’re a witch of crafts,
casting vicious spells,
of severed aortas and arteries,
stealing any heart that sells.

The best intentions are,
the worst wasted on you.
Your penny cheap smiles,
bartered for the gold of fools.

they say they’re just fruits,
banana and peach.
yet amidst the greens,
without dressing, 
find them tossing, 
as salad under wraps.

What a surprise
to see you again
I am so sorry
to grimace in pain
You showed up 
out of the blue
and entered
without my cue

It is cold;
you twist and turn
to find a place
where fires burn
but dearest blade
stay your anger
my heart is just a little late 
in rolling out the red carpet

oh
hello.
familiar face.
what a coincidence!
of time and place.
how are you?
uh huh uh huh that’s cool.
what are you doing?
ya ya ya, so true.
where are you going?
ah, I’ve heard it too.

oh yes, oh yes.
it would be good
absolutely terrific
insanely wonderful
majestically splendid
to catch up over food

I’ll call
or text
or something,
we’ll see.
we’ll meet,
with the rest
we’ve not seen.
when we cross
our paths
again
you’ll see.

you’ll see,
me.

when the waters came
over everything
did you run
or did you swim?

did angels come
as mermaids or dolphins
in oceanic guise
to save your skin?

did sirens sing
from the bluest deep
and did you listen
did you heed?

did you go back
to look for me
when all was dark
could you still see?

are you sleeping
with the fishes
do you love them
more than me?

they are limp
like fish
I turned them over
faces of shock and horror

you vanished
from the living
you are missing
from the dead.

every Spring
I walk along the shore
and when the waters come
and when the waters go
I hope they bring
you back to me.

history is making her rounds again, a wayward spark to a fortress of hay.  set it ablaze, make it blitz, let it burn.  the contention is infinitesimal but not so the reaction; rousing the honey badger midway into her hibernation.

look away and hold the tongue, but her hands are unrestrained, quick to derision and manipulation; a mutilation of scabs and scars. she is throwing stabs from the shadows, just where it is barely visible.

all these over a copper coin.

Such is the impatience!
of a hard beating heart
it cannot be confined
within these bony lines.

Great is its resilience!
breaking at the dam
a relentless battering
the chest cannot defend.

Oh how deep, the agony!
by leagues and binds
as gavel meeting block
is this heart to chest
sentencing words captive
that want to be expressed.

Slow; as the waning moon fades into the cloud-peppered sky, the incandescent rays of the emerging sun outshine her; she pulls the tides closer to her breast, and with every playful slap the waves grow taller; their fingers scratch deeper, away at the roots of trees.  Barely noticeable, till the waters soak our chests, and the sun too bright to cast our eyes towards the sky; we look away.

Inevitable; as the turn of spring to autumn to winter: the greens ease ever so subtly into a hue of orange and reds,  falling in a pendulous dance as changing winds whisper softly over them; eventually all that will remain is a bleakness of branches, stripped and bare, the melancholy of monochrome.  Avoidable, we refuse to come to terms with the eventuality, not until the final leaf makes for ground.

As two fabrics stitched together only to be pulled apart; the seamstress of time plays a cruel joke. 

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Smite flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!
Crack nature’s moulds, an germens spill at once,
That make ingrateful man!
Shakespeare, King Lear Act 3 Scene II.

inchchua:

HAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Dumb ways to die indeed!  BUT SO HILARIOUS.