A hurricane so consequential that the Sun cowards behind the dark clouds. Clouds hiding the end of a historical tempest. All we have is the promise of clear skies and the hope that we'll live to see another sunny day. We pray to feel the sun against our skin; a gentle breeze dance around our bare feet on grass greener than the leaves of a fig tree which we shall sit under. Instead all that appears is a storm so malicious the people flee as though the devil himself sprang from hell. Among the destruction lies the hope of innocent victims pleading, praying, fearing for their lives. This merciless phenomenon strikes at the most unpredictable moment, engulfing civilians in a whirlwind of terror and loss. Fragments of their lives are dispersed throughout places in which they don't belong. Memories swept away as the never ending rain falls. Peoples whole lives washed away into bleak nothingness.
     In the eye of a hurricane, all stands still. Time stops, the rain stops, it all stops. Is it truly finished? Has the torment of the ocean ceased? No, the calm will last mere moments before being thrown back into the routine of chaos and an uncontrollable reign of terror. It's as though you're being held underwater and all the while you're gasping for the smallest molecule of air. Just as you're pulled back into safety, you are dragged down deeper into the abyss. The eye that never closes, it sees everything. It sees the dread and desperation. All is calm in the eye, enjoy the tranquility as it quickly passes by.

You fall out of love like a habit.
Nobody told you that even when they say
'there are no wrong answers',
there's always one that rings all the wrong bells.
You say, 'Maybe strawberry ice cream is my favourite',
and suddenly alarms go off in his head
'How? What? Nobody likes strawberry icecream!
This one is defective! Return to Sender!'

This one is defective.
You were mass produced
on a supply line for antsy, lonely nineteen-year olds.
This was their best year yet; the whole world is aching
but we're sorry to inform you but
Models made after 1995 are no longer supported.

To the scrapyard, then.
You fall and tumble and crawl out of love
like it's out to get you.
Like it's got its teeth in you,
nails tearing into flesh,
holding your ankles and begging you
to stay.

~for Catherine, the guilty one!~*

do not be shocked,
'tis a truth of mine,
after all are you not one of
my ten thousands muses?

our magnetized vulnerability is our lodestone,
of what use is a single field
without a mutual attraction,
a living opposite to attract?

your writ ready and reserved
you need only ask,
some a nouveau Beaujolais,
some deep in the cellar aging well,
but first, need to know,
do you prefer your
apple pie poem
hot or cold,
a la mode?

recall my disclaimer:
anything you have said herein,
can and will be used in a poem,
my muses...




<•>
10:30am

Treat your poem like a song
Played on the radio
Give to it the hooks to get
It read every hour or so

Keep it in a time frame
Under 3 minutes short and sweet
You'll have bouncing heads as it's read
Swaying to the beat

With your lines short in rhyme
You're bound to wow the crowds
Having them all reading it
Everywhere out loud

It'll be #1 with a bullet
This your Top 40 Pop Poem
You'll have everyone in wonder
As they all happily read along

Sharp teeth
in rows on a strong jaw
snapping
at the finger tips
that scratch
razor wire claws

Breathing with
intention
beating expectation
that's what we do
that's what we're known
for
victory against
adversity

Don't underestimate me

Don't declare the heart stopped
beating
it pumps for life
it pumps for others
it's ready for anything

Your sharp teeth are dulled