Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Hollie Stutzman Feb 2013
Ant people is what they are
    teeth clattering together
        out-coming  syllables of
        insensitive, insufferable nonsense
  Pinchers cleaning after a feed
Some revolting alien dialect

Smash them, then
        into the gravel
        back to the maze-caves of the Underworld
             the holes from which they jitter and twitch
  but then pause to stretch cold joints
    long, black armor-limbs
    blink blank eyes upon the new sun's light

They too bask in its rays, like I
        awakening the mind for another grind
        warming sleepy muscles to pursue crumbs of bread
Like I

So smash, no
        let them crunch and spit out uselessness
Just play instead an in-head voice-over
        a compilation of wonderer's revelations
Let them crawl, let them be
        slowly exoskeletons shed to flesh
        antenna's recede to shags of brown
           framing lively eyes
           pupils recognized as Human
                       Humane

Words are intent
        should be meant as the sun
           beams to progress the colony as one
We are the same
Hollie Stutzman Feb 2013
that Red Kite
it swayed and soared
that Red Kite
it swooped and roared high over hills
Suzanne said 'far away it flies
fast and free
and frolics and falls to follow me!'

sure enough
f

   a
l
   l

          it did.
and Johnny said 'just get
r i d
of that ridiculous rangle
that rambunctious tangle
of rope and Red.'

and to Suzanne,
Johnny was dead
Hollie Stutzman Feb 2013
The Night Watcher pleads
“Oh, say, say, say”
He slips each rotting corpse beneath gray epitaphs bread and water
     prisoners of six feet, dirt, wood, fate

"Please speak, please say"
Mumbling under a thick dark blanketing the moon
The Night Watcher floats between stones
     awing statues adorned with shiny gifts and flowery colors
     trinkets of the worthy

     kneels longer at dusty crosses
     gives them spare bread

"Ha! Say, do say!" He laughs
    pursuing conversation with the silent sleepers
No answer comes through the soil
    applause of dead men silenced
    crossed arms stiff in cramped coffins
The Night Watcher lays among strangers
counts the lone stars
Hollie Stutzman Feb 2013
Chirphead Cedarson's grave
    simple as it was
        two damp branches
        held together by
        John C. Rhoades' own twine
was just one foot deep

Stiff in Nature's Valley box
    asleep, I could have thought
Small feathered body
    slammed against a Supreme frozen window
Reflection of endless landscapes
          perfect for practicing new wings
    deceived Chirphead
    to demise

Woodsy first found him
    melted snowflakes
    coated the body like April dew
                                                 [for little birds, even unmoving, remind me
                                            of spring]

Four of us [strangers most]
    stood 'round this gaping grave
                                         a wormhole to the underworld
    giggling through made-up confessions
        Chirp on playa'
        I didn't know you well
        What's a bird to do if He'll never be a gangsta'?
Four Sorry's who've never lived mortality
    just addictions
    depressions
    o(re)pressions
        leading to he'said-she-said's
        never knew my Daddy's dead
        Momma never tucked me into bed

Where's our heads?
Four Sorry's smiling over Chirphead's grave


Sean shoveled dark dirt
    back into tiny tomb
First scoop over the granola cardboard
        sounded like
        one-thousand
        baby birds
        hitting glass
        like bulletts

Felt funny to smile,then

But a breath of crisp mountain air
    fog rolling over distant trees
    thoughts of
        fresh coffee
        cracking fire
        one-eyed snowmen
Gave my conscience a most comforting
    ignorant
    Hug
Hollie Stutzman Feb 2013
Been coming to this lonely space
      at end of every dragged-on day
   searching for your sharp face
A place
   where blunt blondes give away their aces
      to the first bro-capped scrap of scruff-and-meat they meet
I drink with them just to get some sleep

Hope to see you
   in their glazed eyes
      gleam and glitter behind
      some whisky-washed disguise
A piece of Gold I must behold again
      trying to find my treasure, baby
                                                   y o u
      swimming somewhere in the dark depths
      of those shallow souls

Press my body up
Try to feel you hard
   against the bar
      where once we learned just how far
      the other'd go
      to ease the painful slow
      of forlorn nights
            we were knit-tight then
            each-the-others safety pin

Now
   its these neon lights that keep me safe
      illuminate you back to life
   these neon signs, baby, make me cry
      used to preach
         "Love Not War"
   but these neon signs
         these neon signs
   they don't lie anymore

Though I try
      I'll never find you here
      only stale cigarettes and beer
         your lingering scent
         keeps me near
         holds my early aces dear to you
It's your withheld spades I still fear
                                                   still feel their spears pierce
                                                   my open, helping heart
                                should have folded at our start

Oh, how I hoped to find you, baby
                                                    s o m e w (h e r e)
Bartender! another beer
Hollie Stutzman Feb 2013
In(hail the high)
Ex(hail the habit)
In(hail the escape)

Blowing away the aches
    of winter-worn bones
My darling and I
    name the smoke ghosts
    wave goodbye to our demons
    as they billow and float
    up
    up
    away to the nicotine graveyard
    dug deep in the sky


In(hail the hope)
Ex(hail the escape)
Though
  ever approaching is our fate
    the high will end
    we must awake
  
    reality waits
    with a gun and a snake
Hollie Stutzman Feb 2013
Purrr-fectly petite paws press
  between my blades
  a free feline-massage

She refrains from complaints
Ignores ***** plates
    cups stacked up
Enjoys smelly socks
    scattered across a distracted dreamer's floor
Doesn't think movies I watch are a bore
Could I ask for much more?

Oh, maybe this
    is the bliss
    of which some speak
       I think
   as she pounces
   and plops upon me
   a friendly, furry hug
Next page