Achilles Heel

From within, they said
Only I doubted this truth–
Real strength should show, right?
Twelvepack of muscles
In full high definition
Toned to perfection,
Until I learned how
Demigods can atrophy:
Even silver rusts.


P.S. There’s strength in numbers.  Here’s my other fortitude acrostic: Only Elite Belong

P.P.S. Don’t get mad at me for using the laymen’s definition of rust rather than the scientific.  I’m a poet, okay?


Your hands, humming hurricanes of beauty,
A windmill whirring wonders down my spine;
Now softer like a fern’s adolescent tendrils
And subtly warm like a lightbulb through lampshade.

Your hands are hammocks, swaying soothing rhythms,
A tide approaching under crescent moon;
All pinching tension vanishes in season
And peace decends like a queen at royal ball.

Kiss of Death

“Is nothing sacred?” she asked on her knees.
“Nothing but taxes,” then gave a slight squeeze.

Calm, cool, collected, he left with his gun–
Only facts and no feelings about what he’d done:
Leaving his wife on the cold chapel floor,
Dead as a doorknob in a locked and chained door.

“Be happy,” he said laughing, “it’s just you and me!
Late Annie’s in heaven, but we’re both right here–
Oh, kiss me Serena, for I’ve set us free!”
Oh how I despised him and felt full of fear–
Deny him?  He’d kill me.  I obeyed his decree.

@dr3n@1in3 5i^^i13 (Adrenaline is like you can’t even read)

Adrenaline is like your porch light is a lightning bolt
Adrenaline is like your front door is a wind tunnel
Adrenaline is like your hall is a moving walkway
Adrenaline is like your living room is a wave pool
Adrenaline is like your microwave is a toaster
Adrenaline is like your staircase was designed by Escher
Adrenaline is like your bathroom faucet is Horseshoe Falls
Adrenaline is like your bed is a meteor
Adrenaline is like your heart is a wasp’s nest
Adrenaline is like you’re Bruce Willis.

What do you see?


She is treating me to dinner just for two.
Does this situation seem sardonically untrue?
A little boo–zing caused this thought?

Conclusive hints from a glance at a Rorschach inkblot.

Tumbling After

Why is it that we speak of “falling in love”
As if it were a trap with no way out,
Or something involuntary, uncontrolled:
A muscle spasm, cancer, or a cold?

I beg to differ–love is not a fall,
But something other, like an upward climb
That strains the limbs and lungs and lover–
A bit of sorrow, bit of sour lime,

A troubling task now mastered by so few–
The rest all Jack and Jill on down the hill
With broken bones and not a drop of water,
Still unaware of love’s fantastic view.

Waiting for Dad

The sundraped buildings mark the evening sky
As whispers tremble liquid in her ear–
She scarcely heard a word, nor met my eye:
A twilight twinge of unabated fear.

The night is here, her neon signs ablaze
(Small comfort for a country child of eight)
I do not know the city or its ways,
Her silence makes my small heart palpitate.

Another bus approaches and is gone;
Some strangers wander past us in the dark
And still we linger on and on and on.
Another bus, more strangers disembark–

“That’s him!” she cries, and then he’s in our arms:
A father’s presence ceases all alarms.

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 489 other followers

Because Russ L asked

  • 35,406 hits
%d bloggers like this: