The One That Got Away

I loved her, honest
Warm shoulder, face, soft eyes
Mostly imagined, as well as initial
Surprise pet names
Rats make for a stupid hat
Dancing spastic to Sinatra’s pack…
If like-attracts-like
Then I am insane

Benighted cotton balls, human
Upon magellin’ hair
Sniffling through catacombs—
Their ancestors spared
Licking skull eye sockets
Smelling condensed blood
Without squeaky pre-flights
No airline cruising bag of nuts
Nor fearing yawlps from elephants
Over cobalt blue tears
Coloring Ulysses butterfly
I’ll never tell—Pinky & Brain swear
Because one never really knows why
Some cast a wicked spell
Knowing it’s not healthy: staring into glare
Though rodents tickle smile growth
Your left side looks so dark and scared

Like unto her, recognized one
Took held breath from my yesterdays
Making me finally cut; the bleeding runs
Strolling edit, weekends come
Always wanting, aching fade
Craving thrills, smelling grave
Fair nuanced shake
I’ll squeeze that sponge
Drink lips, fears, spiked pain
As tales trail sensing time frames
Independent journey pines for nothing
Now, except sapling splinters— 
A privilege being a writer
Fucking sue me; one-shoot-me
Looking past this, future smiles
While mental illness crying fire
Patrons trample burning aisles
Saying cheese, final friend
When love is all I want and need
Until we meet again—

From Skinner’s lair to inside trees
Panopticons and lakeside springs 
Postcard composure
Photographs, dreams
Through notes, held keys
Wind-song through reeds while
The one who kept me up at night
Feeling nothing except history
That part of me… faux enemy

Died today
Remembering with a sigh
Will never be the same

Goodbye, One Stop

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Care for a reading of The One That Got Away?

*spectacular photography by Rosie Hardy

Chris G… wish you a fantastic new beginning, my friend.  Learned a great deal from you, and have high expectations for your future accomplishments. All the best for a great start in CO! Don’t be a stranger.

Final Words of Thanks….
I really don’t know what to say, and I’ve thought about it obsessively, go figure…. Guess it’s kind of hitting me all at once now. To sum up the journey, I’ve learned more about writing and poetry from real writers—dedicated, intrepid blogging souls— who bring their best efforts forth just about every week, even when they don’t link up, or opt to send poetic tweets. Through One Shot Wednesday and Form Mondays (each day really) I feel like I received a poetic education—gleaming gems of knowledge and inspiration prompting me to experiment with varied styles, take notes, make conscious decisions through my work. Those lessons prove invaluable; and Sundays, well, I never expected it to turn out so great. Big credit to Chris, and to everyone who posted and shared their thoughts with us. I’m grateful for your heartwarming kindness and encouragement.

Cheers.

Peace.
dustus

The Walking Dead

Can this be hell?
What can I tell?
False perceptions
Frozen stroll—
Distorting what one
Thinks too…
No

Sense expansion among possible side effects
Light severs eyes with flooding lens
Ghosts trod hunchbacked in marching bend
Warning sign an angry red
Tears may shed without regret
It’s not about what others get

Fugue state alters how some stand
Caught amid processional blend
As fear surreal, can’t comprehend
What we perceive may be pretend

And it is your dream…
That needed to amend
While higher consciousness attends

No outlet taped to concrete block
Transit rumbling after shock
Their streaking frames in motion caught—
Silent nightmare scene
Rose-tinted land
Watch us go by
The walking dead

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Want to listen to The Walking Dead?
Next Sunday will be my last post for
One Stop Poetry.

I’d like to thank all of you who have supported my work and encouraged me to write my best.  And special thanks to Chris G. for turning One Shoot Sunday into something great.  We’re sorry to see it end. Thank you for your understanding and for sharing your amazing work with us on Sunday.

*photo by outstanding photographer Neil Alexander

Wish Again

We move in step
Our pace succinct
Gaining strength
From weakened knees
Chest hive shaking butterflies
Exorcised to far side of trees

I’m not sure if this is real
Can’t believe just how I feel
Falling over the bridge to up
Each move un-knots
Sore landing spots
Sandpaper shuffles
At her flip-flopped feet
Living in arbor seas of green
Forgetting planks
Arched frown toward peace
Showing way to finally reach

Had me tongue-raveled
Talking of so many things
First loves
Lame high school scenes
College majors
Burning dreams
Books
Future
Failure
Depression
Creativity therein
What we’ll be
Depends upon
More than might
Brush off
Touch, set fire
In blue jeans
Live wiring
Electricity shorts out
Words come easy
Curtail breath
Over this stream
Two lives cross
Looking up to each other
With smiles content to spend
Reciprocal grins and sugar touch
Lakeside picnic basket lunch
here, her
Seeking
w
a
t
e
r
f
a
l
l
s

………………………………….…As time trails
Through forest clearing
……………..Floating together
……………………………tender warm wakes
Learned strides pasture worst mistakes
Full knowing now that she can hang—
Rather walking in serenity hand in hand
Where we miss and wish again
Discovering more than being happy
Finding joy that isn’t planned

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Want to listen to Wish Again?
The above poem was written for One Stop Poetry’s Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge. Chris G. interviews Adam Romanowicz at One Stop Poetry. Fantastic photographer!