Winds of the World


NaPoWriMo Day 9 Prompt is a 9 line poem. I am using Magic 9

The winds of the world are gathering, inciting glee in the evils of old.
The lives of the innocent are forfeited daily.
Soulless men with shiny black eyes are harbingers of doom, most bold.
Mouths foam from gas as lungs deflate.
Sand painted blood red creates anguished wails just as in revelations foretold.
Rumors of war may not be rumors.
Are those the thundering hooves of the horsemen here to collect dark, empty souls?
Life has no value as rapists rape and murderers torture, all rather gaily.
Dark shadows loom over our world ringing bells in a cacophonous death toll.


7 Ways of Looking at the Sea #napowrimo #ocean #follybeach #amwriting #amreading


Her cool briny fingers touched my face
while she kissed my lips with salty breezes.
I was her and she was me.
I am the sea.

From the depths of the abyss dry bones rattle.
Monstrous fish of the deep mouth them looking for scraps of flesh.
The sea makes a watery grave as it gives food to those living there.

Men frolic and play where they should not.
Their playground is my home.
We connect in violence, teeth and blood.
I’m usually the victor.
It’s my habitat, you see.
Shark and man can’t live together in the bath that is the sea.

When sea and wind bind angrily together,
They scheme to take the souls of men and
make matchsticks of their wooden vessels.
When sea and wind bind angrily together,
the perfect storm is formed.

I’m waiting for you.
I’m churning and angry.
I grab your ankles and rip your footing away.
I’m a joker.
I give you just one way to get away but first, you come with me.
I’ll let you go.
I promise.
I’m the riptide of the sea.

Into the abyss
dark and deep is man’s lost soul
albino seas bloom.

The din of the world can be hard on the soul.
It confuses the mind with tangled thoughts and broken dreams.
Come to me and let my waves wash over you making all things grey.
Let my salt breezes cleanse your soul and quiet your mind.
In my wake is the clarity of sea worms and coral.
Shells and sand can scrub out the blemishes of a dark life.
Enter my depths and let the ebb and flow make tunnels under your feet.
Leave me then, quiet and still, thankful for the rabbles’ end.
I am the sea.
I am all things to some men.

Circus Life: NaPoWriMo 2

Circus Life #napowrimo Day 2

I lived at the circus as a little girl.
It was a circus of horrors.
In the fun house mirrors I saw others.
Never me.
Dark faces with reddened eyes,
Scowls and pinched angry faces.
Smiles widened into a grimace that held laughter, loud and cruel.

I looked in the fun house mirror but it was never me.
Me, I could only see out of the corner of my eye, 
in the lowest corner of the glass.
Small and scared but determined, was that face.
She did not appear often but she was hope.
Hope for the one day when those fun house mirrors would shatter
into a million silver shards.

The circus clown lived inside the fun house mirrors.
It drifted from dimension to dimension effortlessly.
It floated on fluid strands of gossamer evil,
unbreakable bonds that never tired.
Lashes of the dark tongue burnt grooves into my soul.
Lashes of the leather belt burnt welts into my wet skin.
My truths were considered lies with punishment swift and never missed.
Magical thinking kept insanity alive.

Oh, the fun we had on the circus rides.
The Ferris wheel twirled with speeds that made all a blur.
Whack-a-mole resulted in black and blue body puzzle pieces.
We ate cotton candy dreams and glass laced burgers.
Prizes were broken with precious memories shattered.  
Sleep was fleeting.  
The clown haunted us at night.

I lived at the circus as a little girl but I still hear the music now.
Tinny chords from the organ grinder come back to me in dreams.
Broken cries mixed with the sudden image of the fun house clown 
flash before my closed eyes.
In the bright sunlight none of those thing exist and I see only me in my mirrors. 
I don't look at the lowest corner of the mirror,
out of the corner of my eye.
I did that once and saw the face of the fun house clown.
It's waiting for that one chance to come back.
To come back into this world wielding a cloak of evil.



Change is a hard thing.
It taxes the mind and soul.
It frazzles the nerves and jaggles old thought patterns.
Resistance is ugly and trying and viscious.
Even more so when thinking is only one way.
With no room for options and no flexibility,
one really becomes a great liability.
It makes you crazy.
It hardens your mind.
Constance resistance means stife
Day in and day out for no reason.
Discord and out of sortedness
is the front and center order of the day.
It drains my soul.
Escape is my way of finding solace.
Escape is my way of finding sanity.
Just bend a bit.
Happiness may come your way

Far, Far Away

Weary to the bone, I look to a new day.
Whay, far away, far far away.
It will be the mental distance that will be good.
Chaos can’t enter your brain if you are not physically near it.
I can shut it off.
I can hang up.
I can leave.

It does not a body good.
I think I have finally had enought. Well.
It was a long time ago.

I finally realize what a friend told me.
I might not be the one to help.
I am not.
Sad, but true.
All my efforts and constant forgiveness mean nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
She thinks I am nothing.
Always had and always will.

Hard to take but it is true.
Not all women should be mothers.
Not all mothers are good.

Weary to the bone, I look to a new day.
Far, far away.