Thursday, November 15, 2018

Dark Couch


Wish upon a dark, tilting sea
A fish in a bottle floating in the light
Spoonfuls of saltwater
            In amber glass
            Silver spoon
            Sunlight
            Mouth

Plastic alligators lurk among our limbs
Down at the bottom of the wading pools
Splayed toes soft as fur
Our underwater eyes, our amber vision
            Yellow skies
            Breathable air

Elbows balancing bodies in our puddle
Uneasy land-crabs watching the edges
What you remember is the unsettled sea
            In your stomach
            In your nose

Sunday, November 11, 2018

The Heat You Hold


I never asked for the way your hands came together
Fingertips like match heads struck beneath the pines
Where the smoke stalks the clouds

I never asked for the fire that keeps us afloat
Above the water, above the cold, above the clay
When a clap snaps us from our seats

Hallelujah racing through our throats and chests
Above the cement rows, amphitheater of our days
Wicks to luminaries along your path

While you walk down the only flickering aisle
From altar of Once, to altar of Time, to light Eternity
With the heat you hold.

Sharing with The Sunday Muse for Muse #29  and with  Poets United for Poetry Pantry #428. Not sure where this one came from, so I'll just take it as a gift after being chilled a little too much yesterday while walking around a local Renaissance festival. Sometimes Texas is a little cooler (and more damp) than expected. Hope everyone has a great week & finds spare writing time. :)

-- Chrissa

Wednesday, November 7, 2018

Wednesday WordCrafters Prompt

Carrie's prompt tonight was a guess-the-celebrity prompt. Write a short piece and guess to whom the piece refers. Here's mine:

Like a fading vinyl ad
Peeling to a clean glass mirror
Catching all the ghosts downtown
His shadow's lean and slick
Glasses, blue jeans--and something
Rasping like asphalt, rotating,
Flashing like a holy wheel
Limning boys like your dad
In the once upon a school day
He ascends
Cold fire on the wing
Silhouette
Black as glass frames
He's the boy a decade dreams
Before it startles awake.

So...there's not that many clues in the poem and I'm pretty sure the blue jeans are a misdirection, but I was thinking of Buddy Holly tonight. At least, about the way that people shift and change and the way boys can sometimes be fragile; how they can seem younger than they are when new experiences scrape the rust off your own memories of years past. Anyway, that's tonight and now I'm off to sit with the pup who's not too fond of thunder. 

-- Chrissa

FM Once Upon a Time


Shoot the sleeves; lining bobsleds the cotton
Cuffs tap your wrists; slacks fall, unwrinkled,
Straight from your hips to pool like the curtains--
It's always the curtains...

Barefoot on the dock of the retention pond
Whitecaps starving for your toes, foaming
For that last taste of you, skin still burnt from
Scholarship arguments...

Lights and cars; roads and monuments sink
Like fairyland underneath that oak tree
You told instead of their faces, like a sacrifice
You couldn't watch

You can explain your qualifications to the city
En Francais while you feel the soft wood trembling
Beneath your soles, watch the window like water
Behind the manager

You can smell the cows gathered by the fence
On your skin, always smarter than you, sticking
Together; a deeper voice, slow and angry, 
In your pulse

There's no soul you've got left to exchange
You left it shredded like plastic on a barbwire
Fence, down in Texas, trying to fly from
A jealous fairy king.

Linking (maybe) to The Sunday Muse. 

-- Chrissa

Wednesday, October 31, 2018

Halloween at Mercer

All camellias are ladies, finally.
Gothic gowns and blonde...
And the clouds, the oncoming Halloween storms?
Horses and riders and the dust
Kicked up from the waters of yesterday.
She leans onto the branch
Soaked into roan, skirts billowing--
the wind won't pick up beneath the hooves above
It's the dream of stasis and fear
Pounding the humidity into a slick path
For the pursuing storms.
She flings an arm out, slams her heels
Beneath the branch and folds
Toward the path, leaning over me.
I hear the shout...
But not even a chill catches me.

Monday, October 29, 2018

Beside the Road

A carnival parks where the stores have emptied
The elephantine parking lot rolls toward the shadows
Where the names are washing from the flesh
Of the buildings.
Passenger cars wobble in the breeze, a steel circle
Showing a summer sky through the brisk fall breezes
Sweeping hatchlings of flowers and roadside trash,
Orange butterflies, up.
Down a side street a dark billboard entices
Screen upon screen, sun just another burnt electron
Laser-tailored, while the Mona Lisa in the corner
Takes the order.
Flattened magic whispers under the tires
Windows roll up and down, cars slip flashes
Of other sides and people and then, you,
Driving.

Sunday, October 28, 2018

Shift of Season


Drains and birds' nests--season comes when you feel
Cold foundation under your bones, groan of a board
Working away from a dissolving nail
Mold and moss furrow into wood
Like children into sand; toes, then ankles
Then legs, then torso...until the sand
Blankets over laughter and sudden
Upshoots
Upstairs, glass is shattering back to silica
And the Norfolk pine that didn't fit
In the backseat on the last trip
Grows where the broken window rainwater
Scatters dust, in the top floor
Where the crows are at last living
Better than they were at the
Supermarket parking lot
Everything in the house comes to the pine
When the sun casts the monastery shadow
Of its uppermost branches,
The Abandoned Cross,
Onto the floor, sunlight kicking
That which came next down
Among those who remain
And then dragging it up the wall
Where the rats and mice live
They can hear the voices
Suddenly--broken silence freezing
Into icicles of old traps and choking boxes
Season comes when the light fades quick
And the life comes back slow
Season comes, even for them.

Sharing with The Sunday Muse for The Muse #27 and with Poets United for Poetry Pantry #426. Thanks to Carrie at The Muse for finding this haunting image and to all the people at Poets United who make Sunday such a great day for reading. Hoping everyone who celebrates has a happy Halloween next week (celebrating here on Wednesday...probably by watching My Babysitter is a Vampire because I prefer laughing to shrieking...and there were plenty of scares this weekend owing to a minor fender bender) and looking forward to a shifting season and cooler weather. 

Best wishes,
Chrissa