Tug of War

The pen hovers between two pages
The lines still undecided
Lessons playing against dreams
Revisiting versus visions

I will do anything but cap the pen.

Companions in Hand

You have been at my side
In my purse
Balanced on my palm
Rested on stairwells
Teetering and tottering on my lap

Shall we journey again together today?
Will I let your yellowed leaves
Add to the loads I already carry?
Or will you stay safely ensconced
Slumbering at my bedside?

You are worth the heavy consideration
The stares earned when I
Pace up and down with you
In those dusty halls
That hear so few of your kind

I ought to keep you secure
By my heart, stowed by my hip
I would too, but for your song

At the Bench, 12:30 pm

At the Bench, 12:30 pm

Never a pair of smiles, only a single one
Never two minds meeting, simply one and a half
(or less even, were we ever both really present?)
Never both passionate, but simply casual

I grasp at the threads of our last conversation
Or what passed for it, at least
Reduction at its finest
Situations in less than phrases

You and I had been articulate once

The writer's first post here

A/N: Written with spoken word poetry in mind. 163 words


I am an anachronism.
So what if I am?
I long for the feel of paper
Against my bare hand
I weep, bleed, and breathe on pages
Since a screen will not suffice. 

I'm that girl waiting
Right by the post box
For the missives
Which will help me pick out
From the multitudes of men
The one whose prose is better than mine. 

I tuck a watch in my pocket
To walk out to catch sun rays
And what fresh air may be left
Airconditioners will not miss my
Ever restless presence
And complaining sinuses.

I dream of flags on barricades
As well as of sailcloth and breezes
My hips and feet itch for a beat
Of brassy trumpets and swing
Despite the sterile screeching
Under the lights of the club

I feel for the scholars bent
In their romanticized literary garrets
I'm the Renaissance Girl
In a world of specialization
Indeed, I am that which is odd
I am an anachronism.