frame by frame i sit and view
the story unfold like a gentle sigh
or a savage scream
spellbound in this intoxicating isolation
carried from my mundane truth
i fuse with the flickers and sounds
that emanate from this giant looking glass
igniting emotions long departed from this life
what a wondrous thing it is
to be moved by lights and words
woven in a veil of music
taken away for just a brief time
to live another's story
as the credits roll
as the lights fade in
and the picture fades out
i turn my collar
head into the cold night
to play the scene from which i escape
every now and again

the wind that howls in the deepest night
is a comforting sound
the dog that moans at the earliest light
is a soulmate found
I abhor the thought of wistful bliss
of nervous laughter unprovoked
I slip into my warm abyss
this sea of pain on which I choke
I wade in pools of sought despair
while others seek their mothers
I dance on floors of rotted wood
and sing to ghosts of lovers
I find it my salvation
to document this pain
to analyze the demons
and revel in the rain
perhaps one day I'll leave this place
and walk into the Sun
to face the light of happiness
content my deed is done

his writing caught everyone’s attention
like an artist i once saw on the street in québec
he stood out amongst the crowd in montréal
i asked to take his picture
he obliged

this writer is also canadian
and paints masterpieces
with words

his colorful lines sometimes float on jagged edges
brushes of sticky sugar coating are exchanged
for starker strokes of reality
tinged with weathered wisdom
creating shadows in his work
accentuating the light

there’s not a write of his
that does not stir emotions
his words linger
rolling around in your head
bumping into each other
morphing into new connotations
his easel alive

you wonder if he did that on purpose?
could anyone have that kind of talent?
yes…..his brush continues flowing
even after the paint is dry

suddenly at midnight i awaken
and hear another morsel
a word, a phrase, a color
that only made itself known
in the dark of night

understanding he's a favorite
i imagined audibly hearing a collective sigh
when he contracted cancer
would he now leave his canvas dry?

no, this courageous artist
bravely took his palette
and continued painting
his words that us awaken
now e’vn more radiant
with tragedy astride

and ‘tho he talks of dying
i pray that he will stay
but should his spirit fly
we have seen a master show us
how to walk into the light

©2016janetaylor

I am prey to the unyielding Sun
here in this open field
void of shade
holding precious pieces
untouched for 140 years
200 acres of Virginia farmland beneath my feet
where bullets flew
where strong men screamed
and the soil looked as if it had rained blood
death can come quickly or painfully slow

A soldier rips the Eagle breastplate from his chest
and throws it to the ground where I am standing
and here in the sweltering heat
of a calm June afternoon
I pull it from its resting place
no longer shining
140 years removed
from the failing heart
beneath it

each night they come
tapping on the wall
voices in the hall
laying their hands on my shoulder

is it touching life that they need
will they follow me til' death
will they covet my last breath
growing weak as I grow older

what awaits my simple soul
will they welcome me with tears
will I wander lost for years
in a realm where hearts are colder

what light you let me see
I know you'll wait for me
I set my spirit free
to the whispers in the dark

Solemn faces hold their wrath
forewarned the day would come
silent fell their thoughts of fear
no match for hearts turned numb
they walk together this final day
as one a stoic mass
no smiles, no hope, no words to say
tears lip blades of grass
in the hills they settle
the hour draws near
time to tell children they are loved
a faint breeze is blowing
the Sun shining clear
birds swoop and chatter above
there are moments of reflection
before it is done
eyes towards the heavens do peer
a thud in the distance
a cloud chokes the Sun
it is only the silence they hear
hands are joined and heads are hung
to pray for their rebirth
spirits seek the light of God
in their final day on earth