Posts Tagged ‘poetry’


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.


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


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 


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





A  Puppet


Copyright 2011 by Kimberly Cox, GidgetWidget™


In 21st Century Culture on August 19, 2011 at 4:20 AM

If it were up to me ~ I'd quiet the cacophony ~ So, maybe we could see ~ Maybe we could hear.... How close we are ~ To Being ~ Washed Away ~ Washed Away


Lyrics and Music by Kimberly Cox

Let me be

For just a little while

Let me breathe

Let me breathe


I’ve seen an angel, fall from grace

I’ve seen the devil in my own face


And I know the whispers

Well, they lurk in corners

And they speak of the answers

Without using any words


And if

It were up to me

I’d quiet the cacophony 

So maybe we could see

Maybe we could hear:


How close we are

To being

Washed away, oh, washed away


We think that we’re lost

All so lost we can’t be found

And it’s not easy, no

To keep believing

But don’t take the answers

As Grace comin’ down

‘Cause there’re no answers

That we have found

And I know the whispers

Well they lurk in corners

And they speak of the answers

Without using any words


And if

It were up to me

I’d quiet the cacophony

So maybe we could see

Maybe we could hear:


We don’t need to

Be washed away

Washed away, oh, washed away

I just keep holdin’ on

I keep holdin’ on

I keep holdin’ on

Waitin’ for something else to come along

Let me be

For just a little while

Let me breathe




Read the rest of this entry »

Portraits Of A Millennial: 4 Windows

In NEWS AND COMMENTARY on August 8, 2011 at 3:19 AM

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 —


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

%d bloggers like this: