Archive for the ‘Free Verse’ Category

A Strange Event!

16 Apr

Enjoy this freedom.
Nearly innocent, out to benefit
free from accusation
until of course synchronicity occurs

A Strange Event!

That such a thing as this would happen.
Identical item shows up from different sources all in the same city.
And that lady, that lady sure has a story.

But this item never worn on her husbands’ feet.
This item never stolen from a mortuary.
This item is clean

clean, polished leather barely ever
worn, cept’ fo social gatherins’

And now.
These boots will be sold
for those who wish to be free and innocent

Into godspeed, gone they go
Into their dreams, before they’re sold.

Beyond The Garden Gate

16 Apr


You closed the gate to your garden.

Where I used to play when it rained.

Over the years you let things die.

I’ll never see your flowers again.

The sunflowers don’t smile.

The ivy lies flat.

The grass has turned brown.

The weeds own the land.

Nothing can be saved.

You don’t care that it’s a grave.

Death hovers over the backyard.

Like the maple trees did.

Birds are too afraid to fly over.

A safe haven it no longer is.

You could bring it back to life.

But you won’t take the time.

You have better things to do.

You’d rather bitch and moan and whine.

Stop yelling at me and tend to your garden.

I’m all black and blue.

But the daisies don’t feel it.

You and the roses share one little trait.

Your tongue is so sharp,

It spits blood in my face.

You’re too ashamed for people to see it.

Everyone hates you anyway.

Why would they come to your front door?

You would just send them away.

If the garden was mine,

A miracle would take place.

I’d breathe life into it.

I’d put a smile on its face.

The grass would be greener

Than the ocean floor.

The pansies would laugh.

The air would smell good.

I’d open up the garden gate.

I’d dance in the rain.

Like all children should…..

Another Movie

14 Mar

Another movie, and if this were on dvd. I would live on that disk forever. I would live in that memory movie even when it just sits on the shelf, looking dull, another decree of lackluster planned obsolescence.
The law of that disk’s original creation steadfast.
It has to be had. And you and I had it.

We lived that movie.
Whatever decreed that the film be created, lies beside the value of the movie itself.

The film exists, that’s all I care to accent.

I would go on living here too, as a matter of course, this is life. But that disk would be another dimension just as real, indistinguishable from all the other bizarre shit that goes on around here; except that, when bizarre shit happens in this life, in, ‘real’, life… is less in our face, for our faces have been veiled by mundane paradigms for too long…

In our dream, our paradigm was an island in these mountains. The normal World existed, we were sure, but it rested, an enormous beast far away, that we had yet to vanquish.
So we plotted. Constructed our dream, to fit the images in our dreams.
Dreaming about dreams past, to create this dream at present: to bear witness on our past and to illuminate our present; exploring the nature of our causal existence.

That is the film that still plays on the disk. That dull, dead disk, that plastic piece of shit, for which i save with exclusivity–SO MUCH CONTEMPT.

But that film we had, to be cherished. Made sacred by the passage of resounding thoughts, the death of time spent, saving energy for future hopes, energy leaked in solitary laments.
That film Made scarce by memories forgotten. Epiphany! REMEMBRANCE!

That film–has premiered, and re-run, through my memorized script this–scroll of thoughts carved on the walls of my CAVE-SKULL–Antiquarian, frozen lake pools.

We would freeze to stone in that BLOOD-BURGUNDY Water. Medusa, the circle of life repeats in your blood bones, and as I absorb into your Infinite Hallway Eyes, I am marooned and absorbed into those statue isles, where so many froze before time–when you were only a soul. Without all these after-shade Pastel pigment plates, layering the walls of your skull cave, your brain–so antiquarian, must share space with the mundane.
That’s the problem.
The goddess and god exist before the sheep and shod. Now you must walk, as the sheep trot.
You are now made weeping, desolate and brutal pinstripe bindings, and valleys and hills in your skidding skin expounds.
These dogged diggers have bound you with cords, dug into your hounds, howling up from belows… CAN YOU SAVE US DOWN HERE?!

SO YOU DO NOT LET GO YOUR WORK TO IT’S OWN WAY, but lug it around this continent over around again==
Your life force is tied directly to each act you have etched as stone out of a human spirit.
Each interaction that you create, it becomes an apostle to attract the next caricature.

How caricature does one have to be…to let you set one free?

Hurtling head over heel

01 Dec

Hurtling head over heel toward the Earth, a
Meteoroid begins to sizzle and smoke,
While far below in Tuscany, there stands a
Pagan woodcarver near his window,
Staring out into the starlit night.
“I wish I may…
I wish I might
Be blessed with a child by this meteorite.”
He forks the sign of the evil eye at the cold moon,
And knows his wooden Frankenstein will arise soon.


Jeannie, Aged Eleven

17 Nov


Face of an angel.

Timid eyes of a deer.
A whisper like cotton.
A laugh that brings tears.
A strong aura you can see from afar.
A fragile life that can vanish
Like a shooting star.

If you make a wish,
I’ll make it come true.
Because my friend,
I so much love you.

Only a brutal twist of fate
Could tear our wishes apart.
Alas, little girl you were born
With a hole in your heart.

An unfair world full of chronic madness.
Deserving souls feeling ironic sadness.
One day you’re outside playing and laughing.
Then you’re in a cold, white room,
Crying and gasping.

Helpless parents in quiet hallways roam.
“Mommy, Daddy, I want to go home!”
“I promise dear it won’t be long.
Just rest your head down
While Mommy sings you a song.”
Daddy cries….Mommy prays.
“Dear Lord, bring us back
The good old days.”

Your sisters at home
Stare at your empty bed.
“God bring her home soon,” the older one said.
The middle child felt remorse and shame.
Never meant to tease you.
She’ll never be the same.

You’re feeling better.
Your doctors are too.
A welcome home party
Will be ready for you.
But home is not where you’re going.
Not the home you think.
For the angels have prepared a bed
Where you can peacefully sleep.

Your spirit remains strong,
But your body too weak.
Mom and Dad look at each other….
“Our future looks bleak.
Don’t let her see us cry…
Remain strong for our reason to live.”
“Mommy, Daddy,” you say.
“I have nothing more to give.”

Time to go.
Time to bid adieu.
From the center of my soul,
I will deeply miss you.

Mommy holds your hand,
As you hold the hand of death.
Before I can say goodbye…
You’re gone.
With the sound of a swan’s last breath.

There are no words.
Just make-believe smiles…
Wearisome chatter.
Silent tears…
Dreams shattered.

Where are you my friend?
Where did you go?
Why is this day of mourning
Going so slow?

Oh, there you are.
I can see you at last.
But this isn’t the face
I knew from the past.
Seeing you lying in a small, pink box
In a pretty white dress.
Is a sight that will for years
Cause me great distress.

Dead brown hair…
Translucent skin…
Somebody bring her back to life
With just one kiss.

No such luck.
You’re gone for good.
Can’t say goodbye.
I know I should.

Do you want to scream,
“Don’t leave me!” I wonder.
As they lower you six feet under?

As I walk away
I do not say goodbye.
For I know we will see each other
In the afterlife.

Watch over us as you wake up
With the morning dew.
Until then we will live our lives…

Without you….

-Tanya Powell

The Last Broadcast

17 Nov

Back to Introduction

Part 1

It’s the last broadcast of a dying year
filled with strife and fear,
bloodshed and tears,
til this moment we’ve denied
what led us here
So we come to the broadcast
proclaiming the obvious
choking the positive
all the while urging the end
But we fail to see
the sweet and the lovely
the moments of calm
that make our moments, our lives

– C. Serret

To Part 2




Morning Static

17 Nov

Back To Part 1

 Part 2
In my sleep I think I hear you speak
but I can't make it out through the sound of breakfast
It's just a half-remembered lullaby you never sung
a distant memory you didn't want a part of
It's morning static
the fading signal of a lost station
the white noise of waking
Morning static
the departure from dreams and the brief stop in wants
but can't have
the moment where I briefly believe
that you cared for me
- C. Serret

Part 3

Turning the Dial

16 Nov

To Part 2


Part 3
I keep turning the dial
Passing by women like a stuttering station,
only staying long enough to catch their surface impression
Yeah turning the dial, ending the song before it ends me
never pausing, screw regretting
But you got gorgeous eyes and a smile that seems to stick
to me and my heart
and I can't seem to find the knob
So I'm turning with you, pausing in this moment
finding that the world can fit in my arms
finding I want to stay
with you and this feeling
that I don't want or need to turn the dial

-C. Serret






On The Bus To Nowhere

16 Nov

On the bus to nowhere, yr face smooth in the shadow
but its around you, the haze
i can smell it.

yr eyes are blue blazing things
in yr smooth baby face
burning in the fire of junk.

keep my eyes away from you because i know it will get me
that tractor beam of poppies
you don’t move but to lift it up and lift it up
the gibbering junkie laugh

ah shit you got me and im caught
but you dont see me thru the haze
get off the bus, man yer wasted
yr eyes burning with cold junk fire

standing at the corner of Birch and Lurch
yr baby face creased with the lines of yr life
mouth open and working spit streaming
tears dont dampen the fire

ill watch you as long as i am able but you dont see me
yer staring off into the desperate infinity of junk
and you know its touch and it knows yours
its you and its forever and you wish you would die
i wish you would die



…And this panel asks you,

16 Nov

…And this panel asks you,
‘To what degree does your faith define you?”
the bluish grit of the television screen
[men pasty pale and sweating]

Maaaaaaaa like a sheep

cuts through the sleepy living room dust storm.
They will tell you what they know you want to hear
As soon as it is said, it is forgotten and twisted

oh i never said that, did i say that? what i meant was mnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
that’s right, tighten yr belt because you just became the hundredth sheep
and these sheep are starving