Category Archives: writing

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Shifting Gears

cyclists

(internet photo)

I spin down a pathway
pedals whirl to keep up
to spend time together
close the gap
that isolates our hearts

tires roll past multi-color expressions
laughter, chatter, music, silence
I dodge crashing apprehension
scrape muddled rumination
from the gear shift of our relationship

my knees bend
pump, push, genuflect
bow to the journey
the adventure
the unknown
bow to discovery
as I learn
what makes your gears turn smoothly
and what makes them grind

bow to anticipation
riding uncharted paths
where we create our own ruts
where blisters reveal our soft spots
where together we go the distance

fix each other’s flat tires
and deflated egos
quench each other’s thirst
push each other
back to the beginning
where the gap first cracked
and we couldn’t see
where the ride would lead us.

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The Pen, My Friend

ink splash

The pen, my friend, lays quiet.
Aches for my touch.
I ignore it.
Too busy.
I flit here and there,
a gnat disturbing activities
just enough to be annoying
but not enough to make
a lasting difference.

My friend, the pen, waits.
Silent.
Until I have no choice
but to return.
I see her lying there calm and quiet.
I return to unleash chaos.
I splash ink across the page.
I saturate white with explosive ideas.
Thoughts that have been
hibernating, dormant,
hovering on the cusp of awareness,
release.
A frenzy of strokes and letters
circle up and down
until my pen begs to be put down.
It cries to be ignored again
so it can catch its breath,
relax,
dissolve into peace.

by

July Sky

Goddess Pele dances a Paso Doble with Helios.
Below, the churning skies captivate a human audience.

Clouds boil and swirl, sweeping across the horizon.
Sunshine is blocked. Pele stomps. Her skirts swish
with abrupt intention. Dark thunderheads answer her
beat with a bass rumble.

A cone forms as she rotates and dips. A funnel cloud
emerges from the navy blue formation and drops into
the realm of Helios’ sunshine, before disappearing.

The force and speed of Pele’s violent actions contain
a hypnotic beauty, eyes unable to turn away. The
passionate choreography of water, air, and fire in the
heavens, leaves onlookers open mouthed. They rush
to tell anyone willing to listen how they survived
a bull fight in the skies.

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Tarnished Tiara

Her zombie steps shuffle along streets and alleys,
hair knotted and matted in unintended dreadlocks.
The cracked husk of her tarnished veneer reflects,
momentarily, in a boutique window and catches her eye.

Startled, she stares.

She glimpses a forgotten piece of her former self
beyond the plate glass. Flickers of another life
glint like sunshine on the glazed surface. Her
eyes close against the brightness.

A businessman in a navy suit, talking on his phone,
bumps her out of her reverie. He hurries on
without a glance, like stepping over dog shit.

She withdraws,
a hermit crab sliding into the safety of her shell,
disappears into her invisible life, slinking
along the streets.

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Blank Page

A page stares blankly up at me.
I curse and rant.
I wave and point my pen.
Yet the paper remains unmoved.

I pace my room.
I look out the window
reciting to this stationary sheet
all that I could be doing.
I could be walking the paths in spring sunshine
with the many other Sunday strollers.
I could be planning tomorrow’s dinner.
I could be,
I could be doing anything but trying to write!

The unmarked note pad
waits patiently,
vacant.

I am irritated by its emotionless state.
So I write.
To shed my emotions.

I want to mar the page!
Deface its untouched, barren territory.
I write forcefully to deny
empty, white space
a place upon my desk!

I spill language
that brings life to feelings
that were masquerading
as restless energy.