Words Much Like Poetry

tell me what is to be done with this half-heart, how to cope with Time while awaiting Destiny's verdict? will Destiny speak the words, words much like poetry, that will return me to you; words of potent conviction that will cause the ocean to fall away and no longer stand against me? I cannot fathom what possible offense I could have committed against the briny deep that it saw fit to punish me with its very expanse. I lay nightly upon the dwelling of my lonely stretch, my lonely patch of shore, contemplating my bruised portion... it aches where I tore us asunder. Image: Petr Kratochvil, Ocean sunset, Public Domain Pictures.net

This poem began as a short story written as a class assignment. I was a junior in high school, so the comprehensive editing that I've put it through over the years has been necessary. I wouldn't say that it reflected an immature tone of voice, but my writing style has changed drastically over the last decade and the story is one of my favorites. As I am presenting it here, it has been revised once more. The Intruder on the Beach I have traversed this beach for what seems eons; yet, time upon time, what I seek always eludes me. I seek it in the sound of the crashing waves, the smell of the salt air, the feel of the chill wind— which whips against my weathered face. I walk farther from the water’s edge. eyes scanning the distant horizon, searching an elusive peace of mind in the sun’s reflection upon the blue-green surface of the ocean, I walk. walking on sand that bares much witness to my habitual walks, and those of others, as evidenced in the footprints that crater nigh the ...

by Cedric Pierce Rufus Tooks was sixteen when a stray bullet pierced his forehead, cutting his life short. I was fourteen and forever changed through witnessing his murder. While everybody ran, I was paralyzed. I still remember the half cloudy moon, the barking of dogs, rapidly overshadowed by police sirens. He didn't die instantly, with his eyes open, sporadic breathing. I could hear him in pain. "Help me, Ced." Rufus died within 20 minutes. I've been constantly haunted by his demise. I'm unable to shake the image of his body lying on the cold gravel road. I still see the small bullet hole, with a slightly larger hole, with pieces of his platinum brains loosely hanging from the back of his head. I waited while the ambulance hauled his body away. Hypnotized by the white chalk lines. Where not long ago, a living, breathing human once lay. At the time, I was confused. Where was his soul? I half expected to see his soul exit the body. His precious soul, the essen...

they lie in wait below the floorboards of my consciousness they try to find their way up through the cracks they try to seep through through the damp porous walls of the dungeon of my mind their long dragging fingers reach for me through the rusted bars of their cage the cage i banished them to long ago the cage of my dreams they will not let me be they will give me no respite they will grant me no surcease until i turn them loose until i cry 'havoc!' and let slip their leash these words words much like poetry Tuesday, 17 nov 2009 05:46:27 hrs By Michael Maina

Wishing all our U.S. readers a Happy Thanksgiving!

which should I lend credence? the song in my head or the beating of the heart, for the path to choose in quest for answers, the puzzle of life is just a cryptic jumble, with no pieces fitting together I have lost my thread I cannot find my way back the grail I seek, eludes me in this labyrinth I know the words they sing in the head, with stubborn persistence but the tongue is tied to silence will the eye behold heaven, the angel of surreal dreams? will the hand touch silk, the warmth of delayed company? the die is not yet cast the forecast cannot come forth the cup is half full, it leaks equally with every pouring in the stillness of day, an expectation shall brew there will either be a storm, or a rainbow bathed in a gentle hush

it was not enough he was not enough her world was not for him, yet he lived the world without indulgence for long he wished for the crux event, and when it came, he escalated to near nova but his moon denied him and it shined, mocking his vain attempt he yearned for the wild flower pitied by the ivy and the poison oak as he fetched pollen for his unrequited love her thorns the agony of unspoken rejection a declaration, a denial and then pity their sympathy only heightened his pain as he longed for floods to purge his fractured heart he grabbed at straws, while jealousy consumed him her world was not for him, yet he grabbed at his pillow, praying for the genie of wishes but there was no sting on his shoulder and he knew not why that mattered he bore his pain for six moons, till it ceased to shine he forgot her name, and she ceased to exist only a shadow, crumbs of memory if only he had known with a brief flare of forgotten consumption he left a mark on the fair moon, who though sought o...