Abyss

Unable to bridge the gap
between longing and outcome
I lie transfixed
by the ceiling and the way the gray light
leaves smudges in the corners.
Wanting isn't enough
to pull the curtains
let the light in
face the day.
It's not enough
to get out of my own way.
And so the wanting sits
like a parasite to my host
feeding from within
and laying waste to desire
leaving only the burning.

A new take on Maudlin Manor

Once upon a time ago

There lived a pair of twins

 Rotten little apples

Stuck their dolls with pins

They looked like little angels

Wrapped in silk and pearls

But they were rotten little devils

Masquerading as little girls

They lived in the house called Maudlin

A family name I suppose

But suited to the children

So very lachrymose

They have a nasty habit

Of staring straight ahead

They may have been alive once

But now they’re very dead

They haunt the Maudlin Manor

Walk the creaky floors

Open up the windows

Slam the wooden doors

Take things that they shouldn’t

And hide them where they can

Walk from room to room

Always holding hands

The Story of Maudlin Manor Pt. 1 - 3

Once on a night of cold regret

As I walked a country road

I met a man who offered a ride

Said that it was warmer inside

Said to get in out of the wet

He’d take me as far as I wanted to go

I looked at the man and took his measure

And he seemed a decent chap

The rain beat down in quick succession

Led me to take his proffered suggestion

I shook his hand and called it a pleasure

And then removed my cap

We drove for a bit in the downpour

And the wipers went to and fro

The night grew deeper around us

The forest began to surround us

I said that I’d been there once before

And I knew where I wanted to go

The Peculiar Playground

a poem in the style of Edward Gorey's Gashlycrumb Tinies

A is for Alice who wanted to play

B is for Bonnie who sent her away

C is for Cathy who tried to fit in

D is for Doris unspeakably thin

E is for Eli who breaks out in zits

F is for Francis falling in fits

G is for Gary horribly fat

H is for Helen attracted to that

I is for Ina talks through her nose

J is for Jimmy with terrible toes

K is for Kristin caught in the act

L is for Larry who helped her with that

M is for Mary nose in a book

N is for Neville most likely a crook

O is for Owen whose hair is all wrong

P is for Polly whose arms are too long

Q is for Quentin thinks he’s a looker

R is for Ruthie a cult finally took her

S is for Susan too full of her self

T is for Thomas who thinks he’s an elf

U is for Uri constantly stutters

V is for Victor mind in the gutter

W is for Wendy who’s absent alot

X is for Xander who’s here when he’s not

Y is for Ying of foreign exchange

Z is for Zoe just slightly deranged

Beginnings and Excerpts

Dear reader, won’t you dwell with me within these lines upon the page.  Follow me down cobbled lanes and up the street where fevers rage.  Tiny thieves with clever hands play their games of chance and tricks.  Eyes made shrewd beyond their years, little liars, candlewicks.  Join their ranks or risk the outcome. Learn their ways or spill the blood.  There is no way to leave this burrough.  Unless the bleeders give you up.  Hasty choices led you to it.  Live this life of fine regret.  The die is cast the fate has twisted. Paid in full this pauper’s debt.

In Dreams

Pt. 1

I walked through a forest

of naked trees

shorn of their needles

skeleton keys

left to unlock

the salted ground

with snowflakes

In Lieu of Flowers

I am sorry for your loss she said

And I was unsure of my response

And so nodded as though inconsolable

Lest she see the mirth behind

The watery eyes

And she must have been convinced

Because she touched my arm and left

The casket lid was propped for viewing

A ritual insane in its design

A corpse in maquillage

Lay still while mourners and other guests

Watch for signs of decay

And comment on how good she looks

To hide their embarrassment

And still I want to laugh

I press a hankie to my face

To stem the flow

Hysteria they think

Sympathetic glances cover me in

Hives and I shake my head and sniff

Someone is singing now

Something about redemption

Atonement and that sort of thing

And suddenly I want to scream

Do you really think it matters now?

Withheld

I am watching

the way the ink bleeds. 

Dripped from a pen

poised

in hesitation.

Held by a shaking hand. 

 The grip is weak,

the words unspoken, 

 held fast in thirsty parchment.

I Am a Writer

I am a writer.

I’m a writer because

I put words on paper.

I find joy in blank pages and the

Words that appear like magic

Just because I want them to.

I’m a writer because

the thoughts in my head find relief in running free

Across unlined fields of parchment or kraft

Or sometimes canvas.

I’m writer because I read.

I take comfort in words, letters, vowels and verbs

I swim in them and sometimes they

Swallow me whole.

I’m a writer because I do so.

I write whether it’s correct or incorrect

Or jumbled

Or even very good.

I write because it’s part of who I am.

It’s how I am and because I write

I’m learning to ignore the other voices that yell at me

And scream things like

STOP!!!

YOU SUCK!! YOU’RE TOO OLD!!

YOU HAVE NOTHING TO SAY!!

IT’S NOT GOOD ENOUGH!!!!

And just write anyway.

Because really, why wouldn’t I?

I am writer.

Letting Go

Letting go today

Of false friends and

Unfulfilled promises

Of hopeless things

I thought better of

Of an image I don’t possess

Or have access to

Of ugly feelings

Alarm bells

And melancholy

And should have beens

Letting go of nothings

Of poisoned words dripping off

A willing pen

Of cold realizations

And harboured thoughts

Of rejection

Born Again

Touched her once when she was small

Forced her up against a wall

Did things that he shouldn’t do

Kept her quiet, no one knew

Found the Lord to mend his ways

Absolution, life of praise

Took things that she can’t replace

Hail Mary full of grace

Went to church with other sinners

Said the grace at Sunday dinners

Forgiven now for what he’s done

Isn’t he the lucky one

Softly shuts the door behind them

Safe in knowing Jesus loves him

Fallout

We all saw it

The shift

Before you left

The silence after the storm

And we wondered

Who would take care of us

After you had been replaced

Who would we become because of it

Someone who is misunderstood

Someone who gives up

Someone who hurts the others

But carries on as if nothing matters

And nobody knows

Someone who uses their body as

A means of escape

Someone who’s forgotten

But we are all okay

Aren’t we?

Anatomy of a House pt. 5

The Skeleton Key

Tight in your grip

Is the skeleton key

That arrived with a letter

Anonymously

Indian ink on a parchment page

Sealed with wax from an erstwhile age

A legacy written in elegant hand

Granting the title of dwelling and land

To the one who inhabits

The house for a night

Put the key in the lock

And turn to the right

Anatomy of a House pt. 4

The Facade

The grey of the stones

Rises three floors

Attics and turrets

And four sets of doors

Gargoyles perch on towers of rock

Cast iron lace where widows would walk

A time-ravaged beauty

Just a house, nothing more

But how your hand trembles

When you reach for the door

The Window

There is a window in her room

The one she sits at

Day after day

Watching the life she used to know

Stroll by

Hand in hand or pushing a stroller

She rubs her empty palms now and then

So that the blood will flow

Although she wonders

 If

It wouldn’t be better to let it dry up

Her eyes mist over at remembered kisses

Forgotten moments jump to the fore

And as she drifts she dances

Eyes closed humming a tune

 The glass is fogging over

She decides that

The plant on the windowsill

Looks lonely

The Beginning of Goodbye

September

The first blush over, she is tired

Beautiful in her fatigue

There is wisdom in her golden branches and faded blooms

A beauty fleeting and unequaled

Not empty promises based on

False perceptions

But a homecoming of quietness

A winding down

A slowing of the clock

Precious

Precarious

The beginning of good-bye

The Other One

I'm working on a story about sibling rivalry, ghosts in the attic and revenge.  Sometimes it gets confused with another book that's been in my head for awhile.  Both contains elements of sisters, the strange bond that they share and the elements of competition and jealousy that are at the root of all female relationships.    I asked myself what lengths the sisters in these stories would go to to get what they wanted.
In one story it is unrequited love that drives the wedge between the girls, although the man that wields the sword is not a lover at all but the girls own father. It speaks to the desire we all have to be seen, to have our existence validated; to be the favourite and to the cruelty of a disinterested parent.
In the other story  the sisters are twins. A tragedy brings about a circumstance which leaves one sister with a burden of tremendous guilt and the other a perpetual child hidden from polite society.  What would happen, I thought, if somehow she were to take her sister's place.  Would the ultimate revenge be to reverse the roles?
As I have mentioned I sketch out my ideas in freeverse.  I find it's the quickest way for me to get the just of the story down without doing the outline.  Here are two versions of 'The Other One'.

The Other One

I have a sister

Who is hidden away

In that room

The one with the lock

And the rusty hinge

She is so small in her mind

Her reasoning is unreachable

She plays with dolls and reads story books

Dresses up in pretty things and

Never sees the sun for more than an hour

She is the skeleton in the closet

The ghost in the mirror and the elf that moves your treasures

And plays a game of hide and seek – cat and mouse-

But she isn’t angry....is she?

The Other One continued

The other one is singing

A nameless tune

It dances through the stairway

And floats into the room

Do you hear it?

The other one watches  from a secret place

and picks the lock while you’re sleeping

to steal a look or two

she is lost or given up for dead

a ghost that can’t be seen

a blemish

an aberration

a twisted trunk in a stunted tree

she waits

and then by chance she walks about

a shadow

 no longer content to grow

in the darkness

she hides in plain sight

The tunes begins

But who is doing the singing?

Odette

A spectre

Moves with grace transparent

Hovers over gravity

Dressed in hopeful longing

Rouged and powdered

To hide the flaws

Don’t come too close

This fleeting apparition dies

With every coda

Then lingers

A wraith entwined

In momentary romance

A sad refrain

Beneath the lights

The roses fall

A Candy Coated Ruse (poems in under a minute)

A watcher unobserved

Relies

On sudden subterfuge

A hidden notion

Plain to see

A candy coated ruse

Invisible it seems

To be

So snide and unrelenting

A perfect camouflage of lies

A secret so unbending

Return to Sender (poems in under a minute)

Inconsequential

though it seems

a word or two

well placed

wreaks havoc

on a trusting mind.

Sudden doubt.

Misaligned.

Equilibrium unbalanced.

Spell it out

so I can see

what you’re letter

said to me.