Friday, November 1, 2024

Not Her Heart

So many hearts keep falling
for the tainted silver in his tongue,
for the spit that dazes reasoning
before sinking teeth into flesh. 

Not her heart-- 

she recognizes the fakery
oozing out of the sick,
sick shine in his eyes; 

she sees him sign more contracts
with blood of the shackled sheep,
of the choice-robbed,
of the enthralled... 

she wonders
if any of them would ever see
the muck that sticks to his bones,
the worms living in the hollows
that shouldve housed a soul; 

will they ever
sense the incubus
under the wealth-made halo,
or has he sucked all the marrow
out of their futures and wits?


 I wrote the first version of this poem in another November, some years ago. Feeling the need to revisit the topic makes me so very nervous. Sigh.

for Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #151: “a box full of darkness”)


Saturday, October 26, 2024

Reclaiming

not-quite Journaling, 75

 reclaiming
the ways that made me
makes me more

10/20/2024: My Piano Man and I are back at New York Comic Con after five long years. The first two years of absence happened because of surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation… The next three years, I missed it because I got ill (eye infection, Crohn’s and neuropathy flare-ups) the day before the convention. This year, I nearly missed it again because of a new breast cancer scare. At the moment, we’re mostly sure that there is no cancer--more testing needed… In the meantime, I will enjoy loving and living; I will reclaim what I can; I will delight in all the moments the universe gives me. Tomorrow will bring what it will, but today is mine. 

 

10/24/2024: Every once in a while, we learn we’ve trusted someone who didn’t deserve it. Some might think of such discovery as a loss, but I see it as the best of wins. Getting rid of something rotten opens space for better things. Definitely a win. 


for Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #150: How high the moon?)