cigarette smoke clogs her arteries
twelve packs a week
bleeding teeth and nails dawdle in her broken hallucinations
the cloud of harsh chemicals mask the iron in dust
it coats her tongue and hands and feet
the minerals latch onto the crevasses of her flesh
refusing to relinquish their rightful territory
she knows all of this
all it took was ages in a bathtub
overcome with mildew
for their stubborn tendencies to become evident
she's since abandoned attempting to scrub the brine away

The full moon caught a glimpse
where the billowed clouds parted
Saucer size Dogwood blossoms
echoed an urging reflection
through wide open window ;
the diffused moonlight reached in
touching the open palms
enduring in an empty void
lay down beside

Softly burnished reflections
lighten blanched flesh petals
swaying in the wakened
     spring cadence
Rhinestone memories
tethered from somewhere above ;
as if manipulating puppet strings
dangling down through
the seesaw cloud gap ―
scattering candlelit sequins
like unmapped constellations
brushed by the moonlight
in the dale of your leafless *******

The fragrant breeze
of your memory
gathers a sweetest taste,
teasing wishful thirsty lips
into a gentle smile ...
Tracing unbounded memories
with wandering fingertips 
upon your intimate
canvas oasis in my mind

Fallen petals floating gently
across still waters
induced by whispered breeze ;
quiet reminders that ripple
the mesmerizing silence
with the lonely breath
an unheard evanescent sigh
 
The open window
let the moonlight in,
illuminating lingering
shadows of the past ...

you feel the waft
of spring breathe ...
but you just can't help
where the wind blows


Jesse e. Stillwater

Standing across a room,
Looking around to find you.

I see you, I feel you, I think too much about you.

But you are blind.
Blind to my looks and glances.

You seem me, you feel me, but you don't think too much about me.

Skin on skin.
Hot flashes of flesh.
Too much to think, too much to feel.

I didn't ask for this,
But it's too good to be true.

Touch,
Feel,
Look,
Grab,
Bite me.

You may leave your mark on me,
But I am not yours.

Because there is no us.
And there will never be...
An "us".

You took my heart
and threw it on the floor
You stepped on it, you broke it
and used the sharp edges
to cut my flesh in the shape of your name
Still it wasn't enough,
You poured salt on my open wounds,
spit on my scars and left

"Sonnets From a Conversation With a Friend XVI "

A year ago I was not this that I
Am now, no. Each new day passing forth marks
Not a journey in time alone. These forms
Of flesh and thought we know as ours belie
Their truth, with a gentle flowing change, thereby
Seeming a constant, but 'tis not so. Ways
Loved as part of life shift unseen. Yet cries
Of anguish rise from earnest lips to high
Places when we discern this fluid nature
And fearing a vaporous soul we dim
The view, and blindly hold to a caustic cure,
Wishful fantasy. To face our thoughts and trim
The base is hard, so very hard, though 'tis sure
A healing way, where firm efforts, may win.

I've re-written it.  When i read it over this evening I hated it.  The sequences needed adjusting, the whole thing made more sense of.  it was too abstruse, downright vague the way it stood.  Crap.  Here it is:  I hope it's better, clearer, stronger.

       Vanity Or What?  Or Not?

Will they miss me when I’m gone?

Would they miss me if I went?

Is the Facebook thing, this Instagram,

Snapchat, this and Snapchat that  -

Is only just to reassure, insure and all the -sures

An immortality that’s hardly possible

With such as these?

A question and a statement.



If you should land upon an isle,

No phone, no clothing, just a smile,

Who’d care that you’re not there or where?

The ego takes a jolt when true result is that

A lively world’s been going on

In the short while you’ve been isle borne.



When you take up, upon waking,

Cell phone, laptop out and working,

Think about your motive deep, some path new chosen.

Leap into the seasons, steeping self in new horizons.

Public profiles pass from sight, from mind, from heart

Once they depart.



Querying the motives that define,

I’m off to take out, open mine,

The whole controlling

‘Spite the knowing.

Vanity or not?


Vanity Or What?  Or Not? 3.18.2018 Circling Round Vanities II; Circling Round Egos; A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Arlene Corwin

As I wrote to a reader this morning, "I'm an R&M person, a rhyme and meter person (on which I work hard)" Content, form - they go together. This morning's work: which may need working on sometime in the future, natch'

        Vanity Or What? Or Not?✍️

Stuck in the swallowing
emptiness. Unkown envy
screams from within my 
shuddering bones.
I breathe and try to ground
my mind as it skips among
the fields of hellfire
that surround my very being.

Of course, I always find
everlasting comfort in their
warmth.
As they burn my flesh
from my bone,
I am reminded of
the welcoming numbness.

Before, I wrote of Masks.
Mutilated stories of written flesh.
A carnal retelling of misfortune,
In the pages I wore upon my face.

Now, I am just another Mask.
A solo sonnet amongst scoreless faces
Beyond them, a broken boy
Hostage to disharmony.