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 Jul 2014 Ruby Cushla
r
My fingers trace
your contours
in my thoughts.
The highs and lows,
your inclines
rise and fall.
Spaces in between
grow distant
from ridge and valley
to coastal plain.

Through uncharted territory
I follow the beaten path
till trail turns to sand
and desert meets ocean.

Contours fade
and wash away.
You slide into
the deep blue
and cross the border.

r ~ 7/5/14
\¥/\
  |      Lost
/ \
 May 2014 Ruby Cushla
r
Mime
 May 2014 Ruby Cushla
r
Mime me a river
Silver with salmon
Running forever
Clear, cold and free.

Mime me a mountain
High as Montana
Headwater's fountain
Top clad in snow.

Mime me a meadow
Lush green with lark
Holding clouds' shadows
Fast in her arms.

Mime me a time
When sweet sky was open
And slow moon could climb
Shine right through the breeze.

Mime me a river
Silver with salmon
Running forever
Clear, cold and free.

r ~ 5/28/14
\•/\
   |
  / \
‘She was always a bit of an actress,
I remember how she was,
Back in the days of the village plays
When she changed her name to Roz,
She wouldn’t respond to Eileen since
The day that she made the switch,
In print, the head of the programme said:
‘Roz plays the Wicked Witch!’’

‘She always got into the parts she played
And would practice night and day,
Try to get into the head, she said
Of the character she’d play,
She’d wander round in a velvet gown
Or strip right down for the beach,
There wasn’t a beach for twenty miles
But she’d towel herself in the street.’

‘It must have become a way of life,
A habit, hard to break,
And went on after I’d married her
Though it brought its own heartache,
She had affairs with her leading men
But she saw no fault in this,
She said, ‘It has to be genuine,
To portray authentic bliss!’’

‘The years went on and the parts she played
They became more grim and dour,
She’d often play the neglected wife
And her mood at home was sour,
She’d even try to attack me with
The words from her latest play,
And I would have to remind her that:
‘My name’s not Robin Day!’’

‘She rarely thought to apologise,
She said that she saw no need,
For after all, she was following
The muse of the artist’s creed,
I tried to ignore the worst of it
When she flung both pots and pans,
But had to go off to the hospital
When she stomped on one of my hands.’

‘She asked me to drive her out one night
To the cliffs at Beachy Head,
And play the part of a kidnapper
Who was holding a maid in dread,
She played her part, hung over the cliff,
And begged, and screamed, and stomped,
While I just said the word in the script
And the word in the script was ‘Jump!’’

‘I didn’t think she would jump, My Lord,
To me it was just a play,
To her it was the way that she lived,
Authentic in every way.
She screamed the most blood-curdling scream
That ever I heard, I know,
A scream that would bring the curtain down
On any top London show!’

David Lewis Paget
 Mar 2014 Ruby Cushla
bambi
I admit I am a dark, exhausted beast--
a memory no one summons.


But you rise at dawn with raven hair--
a child of soldier and sun.


Although you've gone,
I covet your crescent grin.


and the sun

within the lining

of your skin.
This was too honest for me to finish right now.

Homage to Pablo Neruda and someone essential.
She wore a net that covered her hair,
A shawl in a peasant green,
A ragged dress that covered her breast
But with nothing in-between,
Her legs were scratched and covered in mud
And her feet were shod in clogs,
I wouldn’t have noticed her passing, but
For the barking of the dogs.

She looked aside at the dogs that barked
And she made an evil sign,
Sent them panicking back to the barn
And I called, ‘Hey you, they’re mine!’
She looked at me from under the net
With glittering eyes of scorn,
‘Your dogs will not recover themselves
‘Til the Black Beast comes, at dawn!’

I stood agape and I watched her pass
To the shade down by the creek,
She kicked her clogs on the dewy grass
And she washed her legs and feet.
I wandered down and I stood aside,
‘You’re a stranger to these parts!’
‘I’ve been away, but I think I’ll stay
‘Til the Mass of the Woodland starts.’

It wasn’t really a village then,
Was more a scatter of homes,
Built on the edge of the woodland where
The cottagers laid their bones,
The cemetery wandered into the trees
With the headstones, green with moss,
And each was graven beneath the green
With a dark, upended cross.

‘The people here are strange, you know,
They don’t like passers-by,
You’d best be moving along before
The sun sinks in the sky.’
She laughed a terrible laugh that sent
Cold shivers down my back,
‘I’m only here for the sacrifice,
You can tell your Brothers that!’

The people came from the cottages
At dusk in their hoods and capes,
Wandered into the ancient hall
Half hid by its ivy drapes,
They genuflected before the font
With its rust and ****** stains,
That sat before the upended cross
On a wall that was hung with chains.

A man stood tall at the podium
In a hood that hid his face,
I caught a glimpse of the mask he wore,
A skull that he held in place.
‘The ravening beast will be abroad
When the Moon is full and round,
We have to be at the woodland creek
Before the beast comes down.'

He led the way to the woodland creek
Where the girl had sat in wait,
‘I hope you’ve chosen your sacrifice
For the time is getting late.’
A cloud then blotted the moonlight out
And we heard a beastly roar,
The girl had gone when the moon had shone
And her clothes lay on the floor.

And in her place, a hideous beast
As black as a lump of pitch,
Leapt on one of the Brothers there
And dragged him into a ditch.
It mauled and ripped at his carcass there,
He didn’t have time to scream,
While I took off, back to my croft,
Away from the nightmare scene.

I lay in the barn, beside my dogs,
They seemed to be terrified,
I sat and loaded my .22
My eyes were open wide,
The Beast came prowling around at dawn
Just as the girl had said,
I shot it once, and between the eyes
But the girl lay there, instead.

David Lewis Paget
 Mar 2014 Ruby Cushla
Kodis
i never have liked uppercase i's
i know it's absolutely stupid
but they always make me feel more important than others
like i'm always saying I, I, I.

see even that was weird
way too many eyes
so i spend half my days, proofreading my lines
to make sure that i'm exactly the same size
as everyone else

when i first met you it absolutely blew me away
to find someone else who lowers their eyes
i'm serious, it's amazing to find someone who wastes as much time as yourself
hitting backspace, and
cursing auto-correct for not allowing this behavior

but after a while i noticed you stopped with the i's
maybe it was around the time **** got weird
maybe it was a fad; or i have some absurd superstition
but it's cool
You always were the bigger person, anyway.
i once dated a boy who found it "adorable" that i know how to change my headlights
     fill my radiator
     change the oil
     and notice every stopsign as i'm halfway through it
he dumped me via text

before that
there was a boy who loved my lack of first person capitalization
     my over-use of metaphores and similies
     the way i personify the night
     and practice preforming poetry in the shower
he took off into the sunset with my journal in his shoulder-sack

and somewhere in between
i stopped asking myself what it means
threw up my hands
     and learned to enjoy the ride
"every day, it's a'gettin closer,
rolling faster than a roller coster.
love like yours..."
 Jan 2014 Ruby Cushla
r
Aden
 Jan 2014 Ruby Cushla
r
Halfway down that trail to hell
He did stop to rest a spell
Barking dogs and darkened cells
Turning thoughts from black to pale

Cold as cold as cold as ice
Empty hearts no alibis
Mothers tears and soldiers lies
Predators and babies cries

The sun shined a cloudless rain
Broke the spell unlocked the chain
Washed away the fear and pain
From Red Sea port to home again

r  6 Jan 14
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