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 A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, and got in your eye. |
 1st Taboo Words, 2/22 ![Merit Badge in Taboo Words
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Brian,
Congratulations! You won 1st Place in Taboo Words with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1027659].
I absolutely loved this! *^*Heart*^*
Rachel](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Taboo_Words-2139481_13.gif) ![Merit Badge in Poetry
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Thanks you for supporting the [Link To Item #power] with an order to the [Link To Item #powergifts] ! We appreciate it. *^*Heartv*^* Keep writing the beautiful poetry. [Link to Book Entry #1027659] is an awesome poem! *^*Starv*^* ~Lornda](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/type-Poetry-2180.gif)  On a dust plain, you can see heat distort dry fauna fading green. My bones ache, but blooms in your eyes distract, help me heal with precious, amber light. On shaded porch we rock and glide, side by side all these years. Silence so perfect, I kiss you passionately, again, feel the cicadas unrest and tremor. We could strip to salt flesh I long to devour. You stand to refill our lemonade. My hand brushes the tender underside of your boot cut denim. Not long ‘til dinner, sunset in Sedona. We can afford the loss of sunrise. Cayenne canyon of soaring rock fences us willingly within. No taste for dinner but soft cotton. Aroma of sandalwood encircles. Hot limbs entwine and cool, before I feel beating beneath breathing and hold the tender core like a baby. Thankful, all these years absorbing color of sunrises and the view across a shared room. You could be a memory, constant in dreams. Somehow, here, my soul’s match. I caught a star beneath an endless vault in Sedona. 2.28.22 32 lines, freeverse I'm going to ... SPOILER: Cayenne canyon of rock surrounds two lovers in Sedona where he finds her heart beating.
February Prompt: HEART taboo words: love romance blood red broken or any derivatives of these words Published in Wisconsin Fellowship of Poet's Publication, "Bramble", 8/2022. Last two lines cut...my choice. |
| I try to smooth the steel edges and then hop back in. Mirrors adjusted, I see where you are, a pilot in hind view (backseat). In the throes of January, it’s a mystery why she’s deceased. We looked through the obituary for clues. Someone just like us, but different in one way: dead. Really dead. Our vehicle is getting warmer. But soon your distraction is well seen, and settled in my cockpit I go. The mirror is clean, yet from this vista I get a dim view. For 60 long years an immaculate machine in and out of repair always attuned to you. As my engine revs, all I notice is a lonely horizon. How many times when you exit this cabin did I consider a journey alone? Instead, I wonder aloud, should I turn here? You say, try again. Should I drive straight, I ask. Again, try again. All my life wondering how’s my driving, where are we going, I wonder why you don’t sit up front or take the wheel. I start to question the need for repair, tune ups or even a garage. I forgot the true purpose of this machine I’m steering through sleet on arctic snow. I think of the words that will be chosen and paid for print. Dying is not free. This whole life and stubborn machine are wrought with cost. Under the hood, I rewire and rewire until I don’t know what goes to what anymore. An entire life trying to perfect something I did not create, overhauled and rebuilt…to go in direction that is meant. But in order to not be a lonely traveler, I accepted you as navigator and reluctant co-pilot. And from the backseat, you seem to have directed me. Request you take the wheel, you deflect. Maybe, I’ll steer this thing into the river. No. I forget the cost. The sun is directly in my eyes as I dream sundown into lonely, equatorial senectitude. 2.20.22 I plead for understanding in the midst of my own ignorance. |
| I don't think e.e. thought to ponder why WE might think ourselves important while feeling diminished in an endless plight to overcome. weak, sometimes, yes. but, I am undeniable. yet, I fail, or feel as if, unrecognized. someone out there has leveraged power. I am unsuccessful as yet at lighting my lamp on their flame. maybe, I will get a spark of my own, as yet. maybe, I have flint. but, tinder? then, firewood? and, keep it going? now, i feel tired. I'll be back later to try again. sharpen those pencils. and light that screen. I'm coming inside again and again until I'm dead. 2.20.22 (dated) and yes, I realize what I just said. it's a process. and if it gets you nowhere but chasing yet another metaphor, then yes, like that. |
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Great poem, Brian.
Dreams feel good though. Thanks for posting this one, Brian 
