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FRIEND SORROW, Verse by Adelaide Anne Procter, 1890

In poetry on March 9, 2013 at 1:10 AM

Posting for International Women’s Day:

FRIEND SORROW

http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2303
 

Posted at 01:10 EST

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Website © KHC, GidgetWidget™   2013

FALL, EPHEMERAL FALL

In poetry on December 10, 2011 at 3:19 PM


Fall, Ephemeral Fall

Sonnet Tweeted Live, 12-10-11, 14:10 EST, #GWxii

* * * * * * * * * *

When all honesty return’d with contempt,

Return as unspoken vulgarities;

Tis’ thine own lips, contorted; words attempt

Displacing love, truth, for false charities.

*

Neither Saint, nor Sinner, wherefore lies true speech?

As chaste, yet base, for layeth mine between.

Where honesty doth lie beyond thy reach,

Why speak thee lies, fallacies, so obscene?

*

I love not riches, prestige, nor power;

All ‘ere loved I, but true, love honesty.

Abortive, words, pluck’d barren thy flower,

Reveal how thoughts breed thy deformity.

*

*

Ephemeral petals, brittle’d rust!

Defile’d virtue, love’s truth withers to dust.

I’ll Be Your Uber-Marionette

In poetry on October 9, 2011 at 3:35 AM

How’s about you just put me to sleep

So I never    – quite –    wake up.

Then

Style my hair however you wish

Pick whatever clothes to dress me in

Tie all the strings, connect all the lines,

I’ll wink, I’ll grin, I’ll shine

 •

I’ll be your Uber-Marionette 

I’ll be your emotionless human puppet.

˙

Make me from paper bags

Or

Laundry socks

Whatever form

Shaped in shadows

Make me from chicken wire, a shell!

A Shell made of Sky-Blue paper-mache

I’ll be your Uber-Marionette 

Unawake

At last in my own reverie.

Hand carve me from wood

Design only craftsmen master

Reshape me with gentle hands and familiar tools

Spend days, weeks, months

Finding that perfect shade of green

For my eyes.

Tie all the strings, connect all the lines

I’ll wink     •     I’ll grin     •      I’ll shine

Your Little Uber-Marionette

Emotionless and hollow 

Your darling ironic puppet .

˙

But I know something you don’t know.

After awhile

You’ll wish I was real

Waking me up

Forgetting our deal

To let my soul sleep

As you do what you will.

`

And with fury and madness

Whirl like a dervish

Spinning awake

Hurling      •     Twisting

Faster      •     and Faster      *FASTER!

The lines all snapping

The strings go flying,

Faster, Faster   •   … still …

Cyclonic rage

The uber-marionette gives way

Sucking you into its vortex

§

And when the tornado dissipates

It

Drops

You

OUT

A  Puppet

 

Copyright 2011 by Kimberly Cox, GidgetWidget™

Written On The New York City Subway

In Excerpts of Prose, FOR YOUR CONSIDERSTION, poetry, Short Fiction on July 3, 2011 at 12:40 PM

The F Train runs the course of Manhattan into Brooklyn Heights.

Late one evening, on a Wednesday, she steps onto the south bound train to go home. She takes a window seat, alone at the end of the subway car. Biting her lower lip, she opens a book and begins reading. But not for long.

Distracted, she closes it and removes a pen from her purse. Using the beige paper bookmark, she begins to write.

I picked it up long after the train crossed into Brooklyn. It read:

Did you ever consider that maybe what we’ve got isn’t so bad?

Maybe what we have is more than what we’ve had.

And somehow we manage to sleep at night.

(The free flow of thought is like a magnet catching dust. And sense has a lock that’s covered over with a thin layer flaking red rust. My mind is somewhere behind.)

But what I have is so much more than what I have had.

We move,

In and out and up and down, back and forth, underneath some immovable force.

And every once in a while, we pause and stop

Step back

And realize what we’ve got:

A piece of ourselves at peace

I flipped the book mark over and the small, crips letters filled that back as well. I kept reading:

Even though it will never be enough.

Here I am

And holding to who I am

I humbly ask you

Who you are and what made you think

We could take it this far —

because

Without you I would not be me

Nor you without me, would not be you.

But I humbly ask

IF we have taken this too far

IF in this pause

I must bid you farewell

Remembering this, alone,

Until I am old and undone.

Because what we have is more than what I’ve had

To lose it unexpectedly would be horrorific.

Leave me mad.

The woman on the subway became real.

I did not even know her name.

I paused.

Copyright 2009-2011, by Kimberly Cox, All Rights Reserved

Revision from November 1, 2009

Sunday, 3:43 AM

In Daily Musings, Excerpts of Prose, poetry on February 27, 2011 at 4:03 AM
SEE THE FLASHVERSE
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