Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

“There’s something in Mrs. Treadway’s root cellar,” I said to Mama’s back. “Something gruntin’ and groanin’ like an old hog.”

The paring knife stopped circling the tater in Mama’s hand. She turned around and stared at me, frown lines gouging furrows between her eyes. “April May Lollis, didn’t I tell you to stay away from there and not be bothering that poor woman?” She waved the shiny blade in my direction. “She’s got enough on her shoulders without you snooping around, asking silly questions. What with her husband up and dying and Jesse joining the Army right after, I don’t know how she runs that place by herself. Course, truth be told, Jesse wasn’t much help to begin with.”

“I ain’t said nothing to her.” I bit into the pear I’d picked from the scrawny tree out behind Mrs. Treadway’s outhouse. Juice ran down my chin, and I wiped it off with the back of my hand. “She didn’t even see me.”

Mama pointed the knife at the half-eaten pear in my hand. “Where’d you get that then?”

I sighed great big. “Off her tree, but she didn’t see me. I didn’t go nowhere near her house. But you know that old root cellar way out behind her garden . . . something’s in there. I heard it. And there’s a new lock on the door and—”

“April May, how many times have I got to tell you to quit making stuff up?”

“I ain’t making it up, Mama.” Continue reading

Black Is

black is…
the color of the ocean floor
the color of the deepest well
the color of a witch’s cat
the color of a lover’s spell

black is…
the color of infinity
the color of a new-moon night
the color of secrecy
the color of a dream that never takes flight

black is…
the color of a broken heart
the color of a demented mind
the color of an empty life
the color left behind

black is…
the color I breathe
the color I see
the color I taste
the color that owns me

for black is…
me

Photo from Morguefile

One

Many thanks to JW at JW’s Creative World for collaborating with me on “One”. Together, we are better.

He is the Yang; masculine and positive, the light to guide her way

when her past or present threatens or hinders her…

or their future together.

She is the Yin; feminine and negative,

the dark that creates a harmonious balance in him

so that he does not surge to an emotional blackout.

 

He is the Sun that ignites her passions, lights her way,

guides her from a place of aphotic mindlessness

and initiates her growth.

She is the Moon that reflects his love, eclipses his heart,

emits an emotional gravity that pulls him close to her

and prevents him from burning out like a supernova.

 

He is the Sky; both spirit and wind,

made for protection and procreation…

the closest thing to salvation from her sin.

She is the Earth; both nature and nurture,

and the mother of passions

that spews forth with orgasmic volcanic eruptions.

 

He is real; genuine, authentic, true-to-life; a problem solver,

the one who provides an anchor to prevent or draw her back

from tendencies to detach, disconnect, withdraw, and become isolated.

She is abstract; conceptual, hypothetical, idealistic; non-concrete,

the one who elevates him from a life of stagnant one-dimensionality

where methodical repetition transforms the living into automatons.

 

He is simple; straight-forward, singularly-focused, transparent, absolute,

a provider of boundaries and rules to tether her unfathomable and convoluted character

so she does not completely lose touch with reality.

She is complex; intricately circuitous, elaborate, multi-faceted, cryptic,

a constant and perplexing challenge to keep him pushing beyond the familiar,

inspiring personal growth in an effort to be a better man.

 

He is Fire; the true flame that tests and tempers all that is precious,

pops the pods and spreads the seeds for love’s new growth,

is the blaze of glory and the heat of passion that melts her.

She is Water; the giver and sustainer of life,

a mover of mountains, she erodes, washes, and cleans away

the filth that would seek to bury him.

 

He is the Hunter; the predator; masculine and primal; attuned to all his senses

he sniffs out his prey, pounces on her, plays with her, captures her body, heart, mind, soul,

ravishes her with wild abandon and unadulterated lust.

She is the Hunted; the prey; feminine, sensual, and sexual; equally attuned to her senses

and the pleasures ready to be experienced through them

she willingly abandons herself to his lustful ravishing.

 

He is the Alpha; the dominant; the leader, mentor, protector, the purveyor of pleasure and pain

whose strength and power begins and ends with her freely given love

in their chosen relationship dynamic.

She is the Omega; the submissive; the life-long mate and receiver of his love and protection,

cherished and adored, the passion-partner, radiating sexuality,

the sole object of her Alpha’s affection, and his deepest and eternal desires.

 

Together, they are the Storm; joined in a seething mass of need

they tumble through the heavens colliding, entwining,

the magnitude of their passion sparks lightning that pierces the clouds,

elicits moans of rolling thunder,

the fierceness of their shared obsession lays waste to everything

that dares stand in the path of two being one.

 

Together, they are the Ocean; ebbing and flowing,

drawing apart, and crashing together,

aquamarine touch, smooth, salty taste,

a blending of essences, a liquid saturation,

no beginning, no end…

they are one.

[If you like “One”, please drop by JW’s Creative World and give my Partner in Poetry a like also.]

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The War

Damned ants! Now they’re in my mailbox of all places.

I’ve been fighting them little buggers for ten years now. Looks like they would have a little mercy, seeing as how I’d turned ninety a few months back—no spring chicken no more, not by a long shot.

I reckon I ought to feel lucky I’d come home from rehab none the worse for wear except for the pins holding my bones together and the cane I used to steady myself. That was what John Lee’d told me a’fore he up and died on me last month. But he weren’t the one that had tripped over the mound of hard dirt those dad-blasted ants had pushed up on the sidewalk, and got his hip busted. Continue reading