Not The Rockefellers

nose to nose I can feel your  breath you're almost too close to reality I try to scream I can't find my  voice if this is real it's not right it's insanity am I awake or even alive I search for  clues in my files for some clarity the more I seek  just to flesh you out  the deeper you dive  shaping arcs in zero gravity you are the ghost that runs  my machine I can't run I can't hide you're inside of me Rene ~ 2013 This poem is about that half asleep/ half awake dream state that I sometimes have. It freaks me out royally. I remember having it ( during a stressful time) for about a week. I would have these vivid dreams of an old woman with no mouth pulling me out of my bed. The dreams were so real and terrifying that I was afraid to go to sleep. This was for 100 Word Song at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. The song pick this week is Poor Places by Wilco and is hosted by Did...

map image via Magpie Tales a way was made land swept, as if by hand, then scooped and sucked into life arching upward eagerly knitting itself onto  the mother bones children crisscrossed and dotted the wild, new heaven pressing would-be treasures into the earth working their way east tipping their maps a wise man built a white house of shining stone leaving the locks off of the doors he welcomed all guests, in their mother tongues, with arms full of leeks and blessed all creatures, great and small, north of Hadrian's Wall, right where they stood Rene ~ 2013 Ninian's Umbrella on a hill, in the rain Ninian read his bible licking his finger as he turned each page

Emeline, being a resourceful human, decided that the best way of exorcising the demons of her past lovers was to describe them using three adjectives Using her calligraphy set, a graduation gift from her uncle Ted, She carefully wrote out each word on a vellum note card and tied them up with a navy blue grosgrain ribbon She poured herself a glass of sweet tea grabbed a box of tools from under the kitchen sink and set out into the evening shade of her backyard. She slid her sandals on her feet as she scuffed along letting the screen door slam behind her Macy, the neighbor's beagle, commenced to yapping as soon as the screen door had fired its warning shot and continued to keep up the racket as Emeline strode across the yard. Hush, Macy, she said under her breath She had every right to yap, Emeline thought, if something rightly disturbed her. That is why she did not scold her directly. Emeline knelt down in the grass and dug into her toolbox. She p...

Image via Magpie Tales Alma she, the practical godmother  of re purposed filled lives did so, not out of fad or fashion or deep cosmic guilt but rather frugality borne out of horse drawn necessity with Alma one was never allowed to simply "be" a spoon could not just stir a kettle had to do more than just boil one trick extravagances had no business in her business for Alma "just doing your bit" was an unforgivable sin and a grotesque waste of limitless talent she eschewed the flock trotted superhighway and blazed her own way in inventive fashion the future sewn and soldered  formed from  whatever she had on hand waiting to be reborn and twisted  drifting from the past Rene ~ July 2013