ugly words

ugly words are little and small
it’s no wonder I can’t say them at all

because I thought I had everything
but it all fell apart
and what’s the worth of misery
past a small bit of art

because failure is always an option
and every story has an end
but shouldn’t some last forever
and if not, what then?

because life would be easier
if life were easy
if love were easy
and it’s not

because hearts don’t fit like puzzle pieces
four chambers, a sanctuary, a cemetery
a court room, and a cell
a drumbeat borne from hell

because words written in private
cannot always be spoken in public
and ugly feelings
inspire ugly words
but sometimes the words hold beauty
in the hearts of ugly things
the hearts of ugly people
that taste bitter on the tongue
and squander
what was better held onto

because open hands
are a sign of welcome
and release

Lucy Sings the Blues

For Celena. Always magical.

There was an old courthouse where I slept
on a bench beneath the apple trees
that lined the great stone paths
to meet our king
who sat highest in the court
the Judge of Judges
reporting on the sins of men
and the adulterous women.

A TOUCH OF COLOR

INT. UNFINISHED PENTHOUSE – NIGHT

JOE MESSIAH, 34, sits in the center of the disheveled living area staring at an easel holding a stark white CANVAS. In one hand he holds a PAINTBRUSH; in the other a PALETTE full of stale paint.

Alphabet Soup

Once upon a time I began using this website called Plinky that gives you daily writing prompts. Longtime readers might even recall some of my Plinky posts; they always had a little lightbulb at the bottom, indicative of the fact I had posted them through Plinky.

In any case, one of the prompts I didn’t find very lengthy, so I never posted it here: The challenge was to write a piece of poetry using only words that began with the letter S. It was a fun exercise. I enjoyed it.

The idea, however, never left me, and I decided someday I would write a slew of new poems, each of them directed by a single letter only. (I suspect X, Z, and Q will be challenging.) I’ve written a few more of these, and now that I’ve got a small number of poems amassed, I figured I’d share them here–and I encourage you to do the same!

Some day I’ll have all twenty-six poems written. Perhaps you’ll beat me there?

Three Years

I thought of you again tonight
when I wrote another poem
(you made me write
more poems
than anyone else)
(you make me want to write
more poems
than anyone else)
I saw you with an apple
like that day at school
you were beautiful then
(you still are
but now you’re not my friend)
It’s been three years
three long years too many
and I’m still not over you
I have to wonder
if I was ever on you
to get over you
or if
you’ve become the personification
of my idealization
I don’t like that line break
two—now three—lines back
it takes a scenario
—an if—
and turns it into fact.

Excerpted from The Antithesis of Fear