Embedded Files
The Swordmaster
Toiling in the village
Blades line the walls
Her garments are loose—
Perhaps she is expecting soon
Her rough hands,
Gentle on the metal,
Sand, sheer, and whet
That lethal work
Hangs, observing;
The tortuous path
Of one blade
Evidences the
Torturous labor
She endures
Every day
This is the existence
Of the Swordmaster
Lying in wait
For the decorations
To become baleful
Writing a Stanza
Wrapped in linen, spine curled, a writer is in pain.
The page reaches her clammy feet and spirals, filling the room.
She can feel the shadow at her back and must close her eyes,
trusting her hands to do their work.
In front of her, a naysayer looks silently on.
His arm is sculpted ivory and before it, the writer cowers.
His fingers are twisted painfully.
In between breaths, she pities him because he was not carved for naysaying.
Behind the writer’s impending shadow sits her conscience.
Set aside and safely out of the way, it's wide and golden eyes are looking on
loudly.
The Protector
Jake
Always kept an eye on the town,
though nobody acknowledged its presence.
Nestled behind the church, a view of the waterfront.
a lighthouse.
a watchtower.
The old building on 2nd street,
nobody entered or exited.
Invisible among the people walking about.
Inside it was run down.
The paint peeling,
duct tape over the patches.
An old man resided inside,
for decades he watched the screens like a hawk,
the anonymous protector.
Above
We peek our heads through
Billowing clouds, and our tiny
Voices feel
Much quieter
Than they usually do.
Our heads ache with
The intensity of
The light,
And we wonder
If everything we see is
Made up
Or not
Real.
We’re either accelerating
Into the sky
Or it’s crashing
D
o
w
n
Onto us, because tall
As we may
Be,
Our grandiose sense
Of self
Reaches higher
Than our bodies
Would like us to
Think.
Rocketman
Sail away
I’ve been told to shoot the stars
but I look down:
Standing there
in your colorful sundress
you won’t look me in the eye
I can’t slow down
gravity grasping at my ankles
can’t tether me
I leave dark clouds of fire in my wake
Controlled destruction
is my parting gift
I am in orbit
Alone in airless space
at the bottom of the ocean
Cold, drifting
Black velvet walls
star-spangled coffin
I envy you
Who traces the lines of her palm
Smooth skin
I miss you
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