poetry

I am thinking…

I am thinking how words turn in your gut
how they twist and rust

I am thinking how angry feels
gnawing through the skin of hope
hooking into blue desires
trying to keep hidden
so that it can wretch
when least expected

I am thinking how compassion walks
strutting in when anguish calls,
how someone called ‘nancy’
and the boundaries of my heart
found their end
and gave me voice

I am thinking thoughts
are
just thoughts,
the yellow crypt
we hide in
when action seems too far.

It’s about the movement of ice

a clot in the silent rain

A thick brown stink

seated in the chest

Denied loneliness

that stings rancid with longing

The hot sum of a too high price

rendered like a stillness

in the eyes

where it flashes

its teeth

a full skeleton

under all we do

My Left Shoe – A Poem

My left shoe is squeaking

talking gibberish about the sole

of the long day;

how it tied the world in knots

and left our tongues wagging. 

The thing about poetry, and all prose, is that a single word or silly thought can spark someone’s imagination.  I jotted this down after I saw a post on Twitter .  The original post was My left shoe is squeaky.