Friday, October 29, 2010

Requesiat in Pace, Carrie 5/9/1979-10/25/2010

Carrie is the one on the far left in pink.
I'm the blond in the stripes.

Shades of Pink
*for Sizzle, who encouraged me to wear pink

In a heartbeat,
a heartbeat stops.

How the road must have been enclosed
in a snowy silence
and all of nature frozen, confused
by the sound of destruction
and screaming of metal.

Somehow "instantaneously"
brings me no comfort.
Surely you were a fighter--
You lingered the span of lifetimes,
if only for a split second.

Physical pain didn't scare you.
And if it did, you walked through it.
You believed
it was temporary.
I didn't know until today
that you were, too.

In peaceful moments,
I picture you in those last few seconds
Your ears filled with the sound of
"Boogie Shoes" or Liz Phair or Stevie Nicks,
singing to an audience of birds and the trees...

But most of the time,
I picture you powerless
trapped in a cage of steel
hurdling towards death--
a place of excruciating silence.

Everyone says it was a blessing
that you died clean.
They say that 11 years is a miracle.
Messages of comfort bring me anger.
Right now, all i know
is that
you are gone.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Motor City

          I am a proud member of Poet's United and love participating in Think Tank Thursday, where writers are given a prompt for inspiration.  This week's prompt was: The Beauty in the Ugly--trying to take an "ugly" thing and make it beautiful.

          I thought i would give some background information to this poem.  When i was little, whenever we drove through Detroit (i'm from a nearby suburb), i would see steam rising out of the vents in the street.  As i child i had no idea what this phenomeon was--and it seemed magical to me.  i eventually came up with my own theory as to what was causing the seemingly impossible columns of smoke: ghosts. (hey, pollution was a tough concept at 7!)  To some who look at Detroit from the outside, it may appear like a "concrete jungle" laden with graffiti and abandoned buildings.  It is; i don't deny that--only ask you to see the beauty in the unseen...

Driving down Woodward Avenue
Ethereal pillars
take the shape
of the long dead
spirits of Detroit

Floating homeless men
with plastic tarps for winter coats
smile toothlessly
clutching lottery tickets
with greased stained knuckles

Ghosts of teenage girls
beckoning in faux fur coats,
their pants and modesty
a distant memory

of forgotten revolutionaries
with age spotted hands
shake their fists,
rising and rioting

The smoky figure 
of a music man
tapping in time
humming under his breath
'bout the smooth-cheeked philly
who's ain't never comin back

Rolling down the window
in the Automotive Capital of the world
A naive suburban girl
I stick my head out the window
and inhale

I am smacked
with sirens blaring and
the portrait of struggle materialized.
Grime. Dirt.  Blackened soot.
A metallic taste in the back of my mouth.
The behemoth machine of a city
standing defiantly
off its knees.

Riding through the center of the ghosts,
the spirits are ripped in half.
They dissipate
only to begin their long struggle
once again from the underground tunnels of bondage
up into the

Monday, October 18, 2010


Susan over at Stoney River gives a photoprompt every week called Microfiction Monday.  The task is to generate a response in 140 characters or less.

What they didn’t know:

Under her tresses—a brain;
Under her dresses—the king’s keychain

Saturday, October 16, 2010


This is a weekly writing prompt given by Magpie Tales.   I decided to go a little dark this week.  Not sure if the changing seasons or spooky movies i have been watching have been affecting my brain!  Hopefully this sends a chill or two...

Dere Diare,
           Momma opened the door in the sky today.  She says it is time to leave Playland "for good."  i asked Momma what "for good" means and she says "for ever and ever."  
            Momma says we cant take Elise's Heavon Box with us when we go to Skyworld.  She has to stay sleepng in her Heavon Box in Playland.  i snuck when Momma wasn't looking and drew a picture of us on the side of Elise's Heavon Box in case she ever wakes up.  So she can find us in Skyworld.  Henry says she won't never wake up, she has been sleepng since my last birthday day.  And that was when i couldnt even reach the sink faucet without Mr. Bucket.  I wish we could take Mr. Bucket too.
            Henry says he is excited to go, that in Skyworld there are sooooo many antfriends  that brothurs dont even have to fight over them.  i wonder how the brothers in Skyworld remember their antfriends names if there are so many.  i think Henry is telling fibs again.   
            Momma says we have to leave PLayland because the Tall Man went to  his own Heavon Box and we wont see him no more.  He wont bring us orange crackers or crayons or Mrs. Bucket to trade for Mr. Bucket.  Diare do you think they have orange crackers in Skyworld? Henry says they have orange crackers in Skyworld.  I hope so cuz i am on wrapper 799 and i would be sad if i couldnt get another wrapper to make 800.  I think im gonna leave my collection of wrappers under Elise's Heavon Box.  That way she will still have something to play with in Playland if she ever comes out.
           I am scarred Diare.  What if lose Momma or Henry out in Skyworld?  Sometimes Playland seems big with 3 people, and Momma says there are sooooooo many people out in Skyworld we gotta hold hands "AT ALL TIMES."  I asked Momma what "at all times" means and she said "for ever and ever."
           When i look out the door Momma opened today, my eyes cry because they hurt. Do you think they will hurt all the time Diare?
          Be brave Diare.  If you get lonely you can talk to my antfriends (and Henrys too), but Pete and Smoky and Lightball can be mean so stay away from them.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Autumn's Song

The following poem was written for Magpie Tales, a weekly photoprompt.

Creation on fire;
a symphony of color
playing a tune
that for a moment
drowns out humanity,
making us stop
in our tiny mammalian tracks.
Hearts on fire
we must bow to a Higher Power
that allows us to sing along,
part of the chorus
of the eternal

Fairytale Revisited

The following prompt is for Poet's United Thursday's Think TankThe topic was complaints/grumbings.  I just so happen to be overflowing with material!

The prince is late.
This castle ledge is getting moldy.
My silken hair is getting split ends up here
and the glaring sun is doing nothing for my agelines.

Ominous crows circle at eyelevel
Thinking i must be a madwoman
for a charming voice from below
that bellows i will be saved,
at last.