Echoing time

What should one do when time echoes back to you

 

During salty days when streetlight gave warmth of clearity

thinking back… to hours darkened from light afternoons that you couldn’t enjoy,

stress breaking through frosty broken pipes, lined with winter’s

birthday you know you won’t spend like memories but

holding on nor letting go makes you the culprit, oh

foolish me, take back the hints

and burn them into ashes for the ocean below,

because apologies for the late comprehension,

my thoughts are forever with you and my words

forever scattered across those aged days, mapped out

in puzzle pieces you will never endeavour to find

And me, mind entangled and lassoed with weltered sincerity of the carcass of a

friendship.

It’s the other way. Backwards one may say

 

thinking back… to days before winter struck and,

we laughed as we raced each other across pedestrian crossings

only to walk the road together to make memories

 

why do they echo back-wards with time?


via Daily Prompt: Echo

A Resonating Hour

Tick. Tock.
simple. harmonic.

motion. the long glinting legs shiver
dancing eerily to the beats of the orchestrating quartz
pulsating behind its sheet white face
ornate with ugly wrinkles, regularly spaced,

oddly, chime! of ca’phonic cries!
Legs. Out.
tortured. delicacy…
Split.
In half, a-hundred-and-eighty degrees.
Time of birth. 6 p.m.

 

————————then breathe again
——————-let the redness flow
————————across the skies
——————-and silent strokes

————————minuscule, utterly alive
————————flutter of wings

————-ventures, while reddish-brown dries

across the written page.

Past 6 post-meridian,

limp legs, muted vibrations, the clock

face torn askew,

broken.
So who alone knows when the clock does stop?
Tick-tock.


Daily Prompt – Connected 

Discover Challenge – Origin Story 

A stutter.

In the middle of conversation you spit out your chewing gum

Onto the street, like its instinct. doesn’t ebb the flow of words. I stutter

words of distaste, taken aback. It’s the first time I’ve seen

you do something like that. It feels like it’s outside your behaviour rules.

Your expression changes.

 

Much like the day back when I complimented you a little too much

When your team won at the regional rugby match.

That I didn’t know you played.

 

Stutter.

Don’t know.

me, who you are or you, who I am?

You flicker, furrow on your forehead, forget what faults

 

we have

Better early than late.

 


[Daily Post – Discovery Challenge: Memory; Daily Prompt: Street]

 

Turning over a new, old leaf.

He sighed with a strained breath, read

through the letter again; surely his sincerity

should reflect undoubtedly now?

But the rubbed out pencil

marks had worn the paper and

stole the neatness of his carefully placed words.

Unsatisfied, he replaced the day’s paper with a blank

new sheet, and copied out his old words.

 

But when turning over a new leaf, he was blind

to the stain left behind of his unfading character – he missed

that the wearied paper, greyed with apology and crying

damp with pain, carried more depth

 

Than his clean words will ever show.

 

[poetry | 101 | rehab| papers]

 

Monster

It cracks into my vision again, Monster,

staring at me:tenacious olive eyes and threatening pimento

pupils,

and its face:stretchinganddistortnig-andwideningandbloating with

greasy laughter,

I water from my head’s leaky taps, as its hatred blood, dried and dripping, patches and

saturated grins

as swollen gums,me, to entice me

into its mouth…

SCREAAM! and wake up. convulsing.

And run.

To the bathroom. finally purging out. everything I can. everything horrifying inside me. everything.

And. the whole. pizza.

 

Hauntsme.Bulliesme.Overpowersme.

Thatmonster.

 

Bulimea Nervosa.


[Daily Prompt – Fearless Fantasies]