Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Dec 2016 Rickie Louis
Onoma
What core cut
loose the light
that drifts in the
eyes?
The freedom that's
lost in space...
whose mounting
silence reverberates
a subject and object.
With a hope never
beyond itself, that
they may unite...and
the light that drifts
sees its motion.
A moment whose
standstill encompasses
all its freedom.
In our youths
Sundays were dreaded
We mourned the death
of weekends
Now, on Sundays
we reflect, quiet
on the continual
struggle
Quick thought.
 Dec 2016 Rickie Louis
Mo Issa
She was wearing a red blouse
with a black choker around her neck.
Her neck surrounded by invisible kisses
that were indelibly marked by
his thick full lips.
Burning with pain and longing,
She took a swig from the
Bordeaux on the table
and as she held the bottle to her lips
she remembered the feel of his lips.
She gulped down her sorrows,
hugged her new boyfriend
and danced the night away.

The kisses came back to her as
soon as she lay her head on the white
silky pillowcase.
The sun beats down on the asphalt and the heat rises like an oven. Scalding the air until it burns your lungs just to breathe. A red cone sits on the corner, holding back the blood of the streets. Then from no where, the tap is pulled open and the flood of water rises into the air. Running slowly so as not to fall flat on the sizzling street, you dash into the spray and feel the semi-cool water wash over you as you run back out into the blazing heat. As quickly as you become wet and get a minor bit of relief from the urban hell, the water evaporates and steam makes the air even more unbearable, so you dash back into the downpour and try to stay in the wild stream as others dash around trying to escape the umbrella of fire that covers the whole neighborhood. In a few stolen moments, a fountain of life spews forth and makes you feel a bit more alive as the street crackles and cracks from the water as it releases the heat demons that were trapped in the asphalt and cement of the city sidewalks and streets.
I heard a man putting ladders up outside
Probably to clean the gutters
He suddenly appeared at my window
"Hello" he said
"I'm Father Christmas
I'm just practising"
A True Story ...... This actually happened one day at my window.  I thought it was funny.
A  group  of  maples
stand  proudly  in  the  village.

A  vivid  deep  scarlet  in  color
truly  magnificent  trees.

Very  pleasing  to  the  eye.
You  have  to  catch  the  moment  though
Sadly  the  beauty  soon  fades.

As  seen  in  October.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2016.
Next page