55 - Indecision

The one on the right, or the one on the left?

Decisions, decisions!

He might be penalized for the wrong choice, but the rewards of guessing right could be great.

So much pressure! How was he to choose?

Eeny, meeny...no, that's not the way. 

 

If he doesn't choose at all, is it still a choice?

Got a story you can tell in 55 words? The G-Man wants to know!

Zarathustra

Whisper to me, Zarathustra.

Tell me what is truth

and what is lie.

For though my will is free,

my mind is bound,

and the good deeds

that return to me

feel empty.

Purify me, Zarathustra,

in sweet waters,

and in the searing heat of flame.
Medicate my sins
with absolution.

Anoint my soul with ashes,

and make me not apologize

for keeping your flame lit

inside my heart.

For I worship at your altar,

though it be crumbling and derelict.

I look for burning bushes,
and strain to hear your voice
in this vast desert.

But you have fallen silent,

the moon has darkened;

winter comes.

And when the midnight vultures

come to pick my bones,
and corrupt flesh
is finally made pure,

please whisper to me
(say my name)

just one final time,

dear Zarathustra.

This is a Three Word Wednesday post.

Holes

It's just a hole, you know.

You can fill it with anything:

a job

a hobby

a tv show

or even a new love.

These are just patches.

We are enmeshed
in a driven world

where lust and longing

are the keys to happiness.

We have no time to ponder

(you think too much)

what we might become

if we jumped off the ferris wheel,

spurned the hawkers

and neon lights,

and sought a different way.

So add another bauble

to your collection.

Congratulate yourself

as you break another heart.

Just another mark on your slate.

Late-night tears
in your empty room

will fill the hollow space

(for a little while).

It's just a hole, you know;

easier to fill for a day

than to repair for a lifetime.

This is was written for The Sunday Whirl.

55 - Coming Attractions

It was once the place to be. Here you could be transported to other worlds and other times, forget your troubles and let your imagination run wild. You can still let your imagination play here, but your thoughts are likely to take a darker turn. Palaces built for fantasy must inevitably decay into harsh reality.

Can your coming attraction be told in 55 words? Tell Mr. Know-It-All!

Magic Potion

We have tried the magic potions,

solutions in jars and bottles.

Snake oil

Alchemy

(Just like new!)

Lies and pretense,

all of it.

Time is the enemy.

It takes a leap of faith

(and fortune)

to take the next step,

traverse the secret divide

into forbidden land.

Here we must deny,

(pinkie-swear),

assign the little changes

to God’s love

and nature’s fortune.

But the hand of man 

weighs heavy here,

for when promises and elixirs fail,

the only way to borrow time

is to buy it.

This is a Three Word Wednesday post.

Dry Bones

We bury the past.

Here in the desert

is a good place for it.

No creeping mold and rot

that would destroy;

just desiccation,

mummification,

confirmation

that a monster can lie buried here

a thousand years.

The sands will cover everything,

make invisible

what we would not see.

We can go through life 

with confidence,

reassured

it's all obscured.

Old pains are cured.

And if on some dark night,

curiosity compels us

to go searching for old bones,

we'll find them right here,

as we left them;

preserved,

conserved,

and unobserved.

Rendered safe by time.


This is a Sunday Scribblings post.

55 - Master Plan

I was not looking for trouble.

I was not even looking for fun.

But when i saw this model,

one sight did leave me stunned.

For on that street just over there,

near the corner, give or take a span,

is a tiny version of my own house.

I am part of the master plan!

Note: My neighborhood is included in this model of the university where I work. A little toy house sits right where mine is. It looks nothing like my house, of course, but it's pretty cool just the same. 

Got a story you can tell in exactly 55 words? Let the G-Man know!

Back to Reality

I take my risks with care.

I know you don't believe it.
You only know
that fragment,
the not-me
of liminal space,
(unreal time)
uprooted from daily context,
where we all exist
in an impossible world,
everything hidden
behind pleasant voices
and borrowed smiles.

In an evening free from:
pressures,
mandates,
orders,
we disguise our banal lives
with costumes,
smoke and mirrors,
pretending
(for a moment)
that we aren't bound by forces
that keep us
driving,
climbing,
always reaching
for that next bright shiny thing.

In that little recess
before the bell rings,
we might wear any disguise,
try on something new.
But my mask scares you too much
to wonder what's beneath.
Now back in our reality
(where life happens)
I long for just a moment
to speak my peace,
tell my truth,
clear things up between us,
so you know there is no agenda,
just a wish we could be allies,
for I am not quite
what you think
after all.

This poem was written for The Sunday Whirl.

55 - Fear of Change

He feared it because it was different.

He feared it because it was new.

Sometimes, when there was too much of it,

he didn't know what to do!

He was desperate for solutions,

with no idea what he should try,

when one day, while buying a latte,

a sign on a jar caught his eye...

Note: Sign on tip jar at Empire Cafe in Houston.

 Got a story you can tell in exactly 55 words? Let the G-Man know!