pain knocks on weathered doors
fastened ever tightly
cryptic access is denied
it camouflages in the shadows

stealthily it watches
hypervigilance enhancing
catastrophe awaiting
it strikes in latent graveyards

the gale begins to form
and unleashes its fierce torrent
the latch shattered and torn
there’s now an open entrance

creeping in it slithers
engulfing to encompass
digging up emotions
buried underground there

hovering and foggy
tho’ murky does not smother
but fleshes out the psyche
entombed and cobweb covered

it crawls along the edges
and peers in secret ledges
seeps into sequesters
like dust settled in feathers

it slides through every feeling
and when it’s at its blackest
it carves the darkness out
and let’s in sunlight’s presence

© 2016janetaylor

if i remember accurately he puts hand between her thighs she gets wet her body tells him she wants him she puts hand between his thighs she feels hardness his body tells her he wants her a little blue pill and KY lotion don’t convey anything except maybe we’re too old for this sexuality was once the most defining intention in life but not anymore when youth perspire it smells **** when elderly sweat it’s malodorous yet in another breath old people are more appreciative know the hurt humiliation of neglect invisibility they secretly harbor passions beyond contemporary standards old age is ground zero for truly authentic perversity desires unfulfilled in youth



i don’t remember when the disenchantment began was it part of some greater change Dad’s illness death leaving Chicago my dog’s passing 9/11 or simply old age at some point my life stopped feeling like adventure all the crazy dreams aims aspirations cravings longings insatiable hungers wild experiments beautiful women everything slowly fading away leaving only ghostly empty disenchantment a profound sad knowing the world is never going to heal get better the whole brutally honest realization greed corruption poisonous toxins overpopulation think tanks planet candidates anger hatred atrocities will triumph i know i must not listen to this voice inside me these feelings of disenchantment if i can learn to heal myself and try my hardest to love forgive others than i will succeed in this harsh existence no matter what the world does



in my garden grows an abundant jalapeño patch i share it with my postman Fernando he picks ripe peppers for his wife Barbara she makes salsa with the jalapeños then Fernando shares Barbara’s salsa with me anyway Fernando served 6 years in the Marines and is of Mexican descent he recently told me a story about a holiday he shared with 2 fellow Marines at a ******* beach in southern Spain Fernando described a seashore bustling with many women exposing their ******* all of a sudden Fernando spotted this amazingly gorgeous long legged female wearing nothing but flimsy string thong she walked into a cantina the 3 Marines followed Fernando's buddy set up tripod behind amazingly gorgeous long legged woman and started shooting Fernando explained she turned enraged yelling at the Marines i commented to Fernando his Marine buddy ought to have first asked consent he replied we knew we should have but who gives a **** we’re Americans everybody knows Americans are ******* when people from other countries find out you’re American they deliberately treat you like an *******



October is pivotal April May June July August September mornings shine bright early dusk comes late then suddenly October bursts on scene changes everything mornings grow darker days end sooner October is the culprit this month 5 Fridays 5 Saturdays 5 Sundays old dog painfully arthritic legs climb stairs sound of waves crashing against shoreline distant stars in night sky cooler breezes blow whiff of death in air harvest your wheat oats barley cook your squash last of corn tomatoes eat your pumpkin pie swig your cider you know what’s next now familiar footsteps tread on path come to take you home back to place before the beginning you’ve got to pick up every stitch must be the season of the witch



Mom spoke about memory a fogginess she says comes over her she began by admitting she realizes how she camouflages so people won't notice how bad she truly is because they might not want to be with her she says it does not scare her it is just part of getting older she recognizes it in her friends Mom says she very much wants to remain independent she knows her house how to maneuver in it she feels angry she didn't sell the apartment when the market was better though she loves her home does not want to ever wind up in residence for the aged does not want anyone living with her she is used to living alone doesn't like idea of a caregiver in the house this passage is difficult for her in a new way somehow i think the difficult challenge for us all now is how to help Mom manage on her own and continue to empower her with dignity she is a brave woman turning 90 in late October woman descending a staircase

Moths float out from behind
an opened, warped door.
I push my face into your clothes,
hung heavy like pearls
in an antique shop.
Stale and familiar,
the scent follows me
like a lost little bee.
It buzzes even after I leave.

Hopscotch down the hallway
to find dead crickets
in the bathtub.
Scuffed wallpaper camouflages
a cobweb. Metallic vines
curve around bursts of petals.
I’m certain you chose this pattern,
but I don't know.

Memories are few.
I fill in the holes with honey
and arrowheads.
Indian feathers and
an old brooch.
Piles of pie.
Did you love to bake pie?

Games of bridge
on that old, scratched table top
with a musty deck of Bicycle cards.
Each deck a photo album
of your face.

Your raisined face.
I remember holding it in my hands.
“This aint a walk for old womans.”
And out the door I go.
Empty handed and independent.

By Amoy

Hiding behind the mask of shame and pain
I pick on you just so I can build my confidence and look cool
Who will help me to unmask my pain and show my true self to the world?
I hide in the hole of my mind waiting for someone to care enough to see through my game.
I hurt people because I’m hurt; I pick on you because I was picked on
I suffer in silence only to spew the nastiest thing that my ego dispels from my soul
Can’t you see that my venom masks my pain?
Help me too; I am the victim who only knows pain and anxiety
Everyone helps the victim; can’t you see that I am a victim too?
Can’t you see that my hurt takes shape and camouflages what lies beneath?
Can’t you see I hurt too?
Tell me who helps the bully?
Is it you? Do u have time to help me?
No one will
I guess u think that I’m a lost cause as well?
I’m not a lost cause I am a worthy cause
Who will help the Bully?

If you can get me to admit that I that I need love too then you have done your job
Help me see that I am worthy, that I can be confident without causing pain
Help me to love myself, that's where most of my pain lies.
Help me; forgive me so that I can forgive myself.
Who will help the bully; is it you? We are victims too
Who will help me see that my future can be bright too?
Who will help the bully is it you?

Once there was a water dragon. He was brilliant and blue and he knew the depths of the sea like no other. Once upon a time a spider laid it's tiny eyes on him. This spider saw how wondrous and free the water dragon was and decided to silently follow him only so as to be close. The dragon, once observant noticed this but decided what's the harm. He let the spider look on as he continued to be himself. One day the spider realised it had something inside of itself that wanted to be free too and it bit the beautiful water dragon. The bite was venmous and the dragon could feel it corse through him and before he could even muster a thought against it, he wanted it. He wanted it and everyday the tiny spider would come to bite him again. The dragon knew this was wrong but he thought, that tiny spider all alone and everyday it comes back to bite me, that must be love. That tiny venom I feel in my heart must be love. And so he kept it.
The spider came from the ground but there was never a way back so it just stayed close to the dark. The cold places where there was little light and slowly those places became the dragons home too. He didn't swim in the light anymore. He didn't swin at all. His beautiful blue faded to grey and he forgot the sun. The spider continued to bite him every day until that last time when it borrowed itself right underneath his skin and then, the spider was swallowed whole.
The spider was called
Lie.
The water dragon thought, at last it is dead now I can be free again. I can go back to the water now. And he did try, he tried to escape the cave but when he started to see the light again he had to turn away. His head was hung. The spider lived inside of him now and even if it was forever only in that tiny place, he knew he would not escape and inside he felt it and in the bottom of his soul he knew the spiders name.
Lie.
He was trapped but at least now he could see the outside or watch as it went by. He could even feel the water again and float, floating was better than nothing at all, and he accepted his fate. He was content and he could be happy with being content and he wasn't even all that grey anymore. Mostly grey but still so magnificently beautiful. So he would watch the world but no one could ever see him because all they could know was a sad angry thing that is only called a shame because the dragon that once was is no more.

Once there was a beautiful water dragon...
Now no one remembers, no one searches because of what they might find...
Lie.
It's better forgotten.
The dragon became a thing that was lost to even a single thought but if there ever was one it went like this.
Beware of that hidden thing, he was once something you may have spoke of. That's all.

But the same water dragon was still there somewhere and he himself knew this much and in everything that was enough.
That's what he wanted to believe.
It wasn't real though.
One day a curious girl found his dwelling, he was sure she'd be too afraid but admittedly nervous as she was she did not look away. Her wide eyes only grew. She touched his face and whispered "beautifil" he unclenched and began to free himself from a rigid position he'd been wrestling with for what seemed like lifetimes. The girl lost her footing quick realising too late that she stood on the dragons tail. She fell back off the cliff from the cave right into the sea.
The dragon thought, if I do this now if I save her then I can remember myself. I will never be grey again but I'll remember that it was not me. If I go out into that sea now I might not ever be able to find a way back here and even though I know this is not home.
this is my only home.
But the girl was drowning.

The dragon saved the girl and he brought her back to his home and there she woke and said "I love you dragon, you have saved me but you are most beautiful in the light. You do know that don't you?" And she gazed at him in wonder but he just hung his head because he could not forget what he believed the girl should never know.
Lie...
He remembered that spider who was long dead now but part of it would forever remain inside of him.
The girl slid down and caught his head in her hands, smiled and pushed him back into place.

"I found you dragon, I FOUND YOU!!! That means you are mine and I say you cannot live here like this anymore. I will take you with me and we will find someplace beautiful for you to swim again so you can be what you are, so you can feel the sun. I want that for you, dragon. You know why"

"don't say no ok! let's just go far away from this cave now because I love you and I won't ever leave you here but I am a girl, dragon. And I need to see the sun and I want that and that is a freedom that you could never know confined to this cave"
The dragon came so close he was almost inside of the girls wide eyes. His huge, deep, warm breaths on her face made her skin come alive like she was in command of countless living creatures, breathing in her veins. Powerful. That is what he made her.
The dragon said, I saved you didn't I! You know why but please don't ask these silly things. I will not leave here now because it is my home somehow but you can come here anytime you like and see me. Looking at you makes me happy and you know, you know I'll love you but just don't try to move me now because because I am so much bigger than you tiny girl and know this, I have already tried. Nope! I am not going anywhere so don't even ask.
The girl smushed her face into some kind of unnatural expression and huffed.
"I'll show you dragon"
She kicked his tail and ran right up to his ear and whispered.
"I am not afraid of you. I saw that spider once and I know you feel it too and dead as it may be that spider will always borrow down deeper and deeper unless you just let it be free. The dead have left marks all over you. something a girl could never imagine, dragon. I see that and I do not have to know but you should know this, I am not afraid!
And I'll be back tomorrow, and tomorrow and all of eternity because I will never leave you alone here dragon.
And tomorrow, I will make you smile.

Tomorrow the girl came back. She scaled the slippery wall with a world of belongings on her back and when she reached the top where the dragon called home she flung what could have been all of her tiny life's worth out on to the hard rock. She yelled
"I am here, dragon"
And the dragon appeared. He slowly wrapped her in his cold skin and he said nothing. The girls face looked disappointed so he tightened his grip but she sighed and wriggled free and looked at him in the eye.
The girl laughed.
The dragon was in awe of how anyone could escape his grip and he did indeed seem defeated almost but the girl just smiled at him and said "silly dragon, you know that I am too small, you could never hold me"

"But dragon, this is the predicament now you see, I have told you that I am a girl who needs so many things and the sun and the sun but you are my only sun and that is the only warmth that I want to know now and I don't know how to tell you I was wrong. I only need you and I've taken all these things here with me so to make you admit what you yourself already know. You have said it and not said it in too many ways so now you just need to let it be. You dragon, you love me. You have saved me and now I will save you too"
The dragon still said nothing so the girl continued.
She stood the ground, taller than she was and proclaimed.
"THREE THINGS I WILL PUT IN FRONT OF YOU
Not to sway you but to show you how to look and see what is real. This is all I have dragon, so it will work because you will not tell yourself that it cannot.
Just see"

"First,
I took these three strings, sangen. And sometimes I can melt colours so you may not feel grey anymore and I will write and sing for you a million songs if you promise to always open your eyes for me.
Secondly,
All of my words which have now fallen right here in front of you. You really should open your eyes and see, it's like an endless haiku.
And third,
What else do I have of value save for myself and who knows how much value is in that. But third, it is spilled out clear. Honesty dragon. All of my honesty and I am not a perfect girl, not at all but I will accept whatever you show me because I only want to see you and I am not afraid"

"look"
she asked the dragon and she showed him her heart and all the times her tiny frame had cracked trying to get it out.
"I was not always this either but it is enough dragon, even if we are the only ones who ever know. You are still alive in here.
We are.

The dragon spoke and he said, ok girl I am listening. I am looking so show me. Then the girl whispered
"I know the spider all too well"

"it camouflages itself as something innocent but it was never that. I have been bitten by a spider too and I know what it never wants you to see"

"it can never rest even when you know its dead and the further down it digs the more eggs it lays inside of you, dragon and the only way it stops is if you set it free and I know that feels impossible but all you need to do is show me. Then it is gone and you will be free. I can see its marks on you, it's all over you poor dragon, but it is dead now so please let it go"

"I am only because I had looked at that spider everyday until I wasn't afraid, so I picked it out from inside of myself and threw it away. I cannot do this for you, dragon but I can stay here and make you smile while you find a way to let it go. But, just show me and I promise you it will go and don't worry I know I am small but I am not weak and I am not afraid of you and I will still stay"
The dragon spoke again but only to say,
stay here just don't say anymore.
Sleep now.
But the girl refused to tire and finally the dragon grew strong enough to show her.
Look now, you see it can never come away and I will never let it go now because I am afraid.

The girl saw the spider and it was in the dragons beating heart. She kissed his heart and told the dragon.
"it's ok, dragon. Thank you for showing me this"

For several days and nights they slept until a day the girl awoke. She was alone in the dragons empty cell and she walked to the opening where a light broke through and stumbled over a dried out tiny corpse of something that was once called
Lie...
And she looked far out through the cracks onto the waves and there he was like she had never seen him before and yet somehow it was entirely fitting to her image of what she knew the dragon could be. He was blue again and so fast and when he moved she could feel it through the bones. 

The dragon came back to the girl but still he said nothing. His breath was so close to her again that all the tiny creatures she never let die ran back through her veins and she knew. She was alive.
The girl climbed on the dragons back and he said said
Now, we can go home.

I'm white.
I don't know what it's like
to have a black son
and wonder if he'll get shot
on a walk down the block
because his skin
camouflages him
into the night.

I am white.
I don't know what it is
to fear shots
from the gun barrels of the cops
hired to protect and serve
"us" from "them"
thick boots stomping the block--

cops more **** than Trayvon,
more **** than Mike,
more **** than the pre-teen
with a BB gun
robbed of his life.

I am white.
I don't know how it feels
to bleed out in the streets,
the fruit of my veins
soaking into scorched tar,
my still-open eyes seared
by the August sun.

I don't know how it feels
to lie there, dead,
an echo of ancestors
dangling from trees,
from light poles,
sunk into the Tallahatchie
with barbed wire and a cotton gin fan.

I am white.
Our history is filled with pale devils
enslaving races,
seizing lands,
killing millions--

so if someone's going to get shot,
maybe it ought to be one of us.

I.

I wear the stern face of my ancestors,
the apron-clad Scandinavian matriarchs
who built me from rock and bone.

My husband, my good friends, my family, my colleagues
all affectionately name me "intimidating."

They say:
"You're the strong one."
"We'll send you to win the battle."
"They should have known not to cross you."

They name me fighter,
mouthpiece,
leader,
and stand like tin men in legions at my back.

I am obliged to march on;
I cannot remember a time
when my feet have rested.

My banner waves in the northwest wind
and I hold it, dutifully,
fearing its inevitable fall
as my arms shake.

II.

My arms
shake.

Wind camouflages
this constant trembling: the
fabric of my
flag
whips and ripples and any
falter
in its course
is blamed on the wind, but

veins shrink - skin
shrivels - muscles
shake - I am no Atlas,
my
breath slows
sharpens
stops -

III.

I am a dry sand-castle:
one touch will obliterate me.

I am the brittle leaf on concrete:
one shoe will shred me.

I am dandelion spores on a plain:
one gust will erase me.

IV.

In my chest beats the soft heart of my ancestors,
the ruddy-cheeked Scandinavian matriarchs
who built me from soft earth and azaleas.

So name me weakling,
broken-down,
dependent;
give voice to all of me.

Lift this banner,
and give rest to my weary shoulders.
Hold me in your arms
when I need to collapse.

V.

At times,
even a general must be carried by her soldiers.

There is a lunatic running around in my brain
He camouflages in my thoughts which makes him impossible to maintain
No matter the lengths I go to eliminate him, he will always come back
The times I doubt the truth is his favourite attack
He continuously tells me story's to convince me of the worst
My stupidity on handling the situation is the feedback he thirsts
Even worse feeling comes as I realize he's done it again
But the situation has gone to far for it to mend
So I let him do it, let him eat away at my trust
Ruining any potential relationship with just a fragile touch
But I let him stay, told him to make himself at home
Because as insane as it sounds, it's better than being alone

The ideas to some would verse on the loathsome depravity
of humanity. But in my line of work what can I say there are lines,
fetishizes that even a calm exterior camouflages within
the proportioned exterior. But where the concept ferments on
there conceptions what if I could just once.

I had spun a myth that you could call for the latter fake news,
that to partake on those still exhaling life while feeding
upon them could in essence harvest their youthful years.
and to an amazement this was perceived as truth of word.
But I didn't mind, feeding dark fantasies was justice enough

I would move around in a covered lorry, it was quite
the thing to see not like a slaughter house on wheels more
a bistro, if you can envision it black reflective tiles where
the meat would be  cut. "yes they liked to watch their food.
but I had organized it so it was easy to dispose of evidence.

Admittance to ones own errors in judgement is ones first step
to learning. I had invited a select few to see how it would play out.
You could never quite tell, I had vetted them of course before hand.
Seeing if their fear would procreate to me being an jumpsuit lackey
of the orange tint variety. But my faith in humanity was resorted.

For I had taken precautions these tables were rigged,
what you think I'm just a cook? I was in university years of
wasted youth, but I learnt much. Knowing the foundations of
what I was doing, lets just say they'd be static if I were betrayed.
And for good luck, my beautiful little lady slept under the counter.

They watched in admiration for my art, asking the questions
of "was it alive. I had left a drainage hole for the blood to
seep warm to a holding bowl. Some had versed that they
wanted not only to taste, but drink upon this special occasion.
So they to gorged on life's rose bouquet and adored its tasting.

What I hadn't perceived was that to keep them static of
motion was not a wise choosing. They say to much of
something is a good thing, they weren't joking.
The blood had to much sedative in it, luckily all had slumbered
on there drive home.The coriner had a busy night.
But all had tweeted its success before become as dead as lunch.

This time it was different, I just created a gag to muffle, but to
also verse the whimpering murmurs of there ill begotten pleas.
Did they not think if they were this deep in the rabbit hole?
There was no way of digging themselves out of this..
But people liked the noise while eating there meal.
                                                                   "silence is death,

The only way it would end would per say, once I broke down.
sights not meant to be seen, murmurs escaping there captivity.
Nearly happened once, "ONCE, is enough  the mechanic
finished fixing my engine "Dam spark plug, but as he
wondered on to next appointment in life. A silly notion
of my ignorance, bumps loosen bonds, and voices loosen
to the sound of another's presence.
"What was that, "hello are you ok, "Sir what's going on,
Last words not befitting, now I have two meals to prepare.
Luckily a local to the place now a missing poster somewhere.

I travel this country of mine, meals on wheels of a different
kind, giving those of unique human traits there just taste.
If I wasn't doing it others would have and not in my good
taste. Do you know they say that the flesh taste like chicken?
To those who follow me, they think it extend there finite
moment on the rock hurtling to oblivion some day.

Me, I just enjoy my skills, cooking is life, you are what
you eat. So if you have a strange friend who invites you
to a once in a lifetime meal, be careful for those of squeamish
inclination will only see this once for if I sense there needing
to snap-chat.. to food **** my creations on social media.
horrified by the unique blending of my creations.
Think for one moment? is this other really your friend!!
Or do they wish to partake on your flesh, a delicate aroma
of your live being drunk upon.. they smile as you fade.

Pour les yeux de souveraine un coup de crayon pour redessiner les sourcils
Une couche légère de mascara sur les cils des pointes à la racine
Un petit gris léger sur les coins internes et externes de l 'oeil
Et une couleur rose sur les paupières mobiles
Et du khôl pour illuminer ce regard envoûtant de sirène qui hypnotise
Les phalènes jusqu'au fin fond de sa mer d'airain
Sans oublier le rouge à lèvres aubergine
Kiotis Paris made in France
Pour hydrater et satiner le cuivre de ses lèvres :
Mon féminin céleste zéro fausse note est vite prête
En deux temps trois mouvements
Et des secondes interminables

Il n 'est jamais trop **** pour Désirée et ses mille épigones :
Judith, parée, poudrée, maquillée, parfumée
Hérodiade, douchée et dressée sur son trente-et-un
Eve, coiffée, habillée, décolletée,
Sapphô, culottée, chaussée, toilettée
Pandore, prête à jaillir de jour comme de nuit
Hélène, légère comme un papillon
Cléopatre fraîche comme la rosée :
Pulchra Fatale et Désirée
Elle est belle, elle est wow, elle est elles toutes en Une enrobée
C'est l'ombre plurimillénaire romantique de Balkis, reine du Matin,
C'est l'ombre plurimillénaire romantique de Makéda, reine du Midi
C'est l'ombre plurimillénaire décadente de Salomè, reine du Soir
Quelque part ressuscitée
Et je l 'aime comme elle est

Chaque jour que le soleil fait
Jette un baiser couleur de belle lune de miel
A ma sirène métissée de Matin, Midi, Soir !
Ce n'est pas pour rien que ma Pulchra est fille de Mnèmosuné
Fille de Wainaha , saint dragon hémiarite
Par son don de seconde vue
Ma sulamite débusque au quart de tour les artifices,
Les cernes, les imperfections, les camouflages
Les faux cils, les faux ongles, les faux saints
Et les faux poètes, les faux salomons et leurs fausses huppes
Et leurs chants libertins en hexamètres dactyliques
Au son de leur phorminx d'occasion
Eh oui Ma Désirée est Pulchra authentique et fatale
Elle chante tentatrice avec Kiotis
Son cantique des cantiques ad libitum
"Je suis bien, je suis wow , je supervise
Et je m'aime comme je suis "

There is nothing
like the buzzing
of your own heart
in your own ears.
Nothing greater
nothing worse
only dissonant
rhythmic changes
as you rise
and fall.

The pound
pound
pound
of pulse
breaking through
innocent
blue veins,
coaxing a response
out of limp,
lifeless wrists.

You scratch,
nothing but swift,
apathetic strokes
while knives
slice pomegranates
too full
too excited
to resist
spilling everything.

One inch
is one state
two miles
of thousands
on the map
but the key
camouflages
the most convenient
escape routes.

If you want to
touch
and feel,
find refuge,
be alive:
fight with the ***** deckhands,
throw your hands up,
let it be.

i miss the dancing
and the unextinguishable lightness
of neon taffy sun rays
their barbed tails dripping
with honey as skates
flutter their wings in harmony
to stir sand and silt
and muddy waters
shatter crystal crysalises
cast shadow on frozen aquatic scenes
sandpaper skin
camouflages cartilaginous confessions

there is no dancing
in suspended animation
cryo-tanks where duplicitously drumming hearts
are stopped cold
atomic vibrations not buzzing
nor breathing objects
calling vivaciously to be consumed

tear me open
release the sensuous siren
whose diaphanous frocks
whip wildly in her
placid pirouette and
caresses my face like
a mother’s hand wiping away
tears which released the pain
that constant inescapable pressure
lance my skin
and bring forth that vile contaminant
slice the membrane around my heart
and in my crimson blood
in my metallic olfactory orchestra
separate dissonance from coalescence
and understand my conundrum
distill my banned message
and decode my heart.

a breeze of guilt,
smells like remorse
in the morning

the descending fog camouflages
the slaying of the whispers

in a city this big,
everybody is a slave

skies watch patiently
to choose their meals:
the unfortunate and weaklings.

they are all up from sleep:
nature’s most intelligent creature.

the madness shall now float.

he doesn't question my proclivity to absence, he accepts it as he does the width and length
of my mind and
I.

he rears away from the bone
of my hips, fearful of its
ability to puncture
and camouflages his skin
against the bulbs of my
******* and thighs.

he gazes upon me as he would
at a navy sealed sky
not searching for any stars,
not curious of whether an ability
to glow is apparent,
he understands that I am
unapologetically,
seamlessly, an unlit sky
he appreciates my stillness,
my inability to spark.

he accepts my absence
as I accept
my unaligned, navy
complexion.

Heels higher than her
blood-alcohol level
Gaze further than the years between herself
And a man across the bar without a name
Let the tabs roll up
With his satin blue sleeves
Friday's pay checks wasted
Spent like the law clerks in the red leather corner booth
Cigar smoke coats the curls around her ears,
Camouflages itself in the shadows upon his aging hairline
Her shawl is coated with sequins and musk
And his hands beg to add a third layer
The paler man beside him marries thick glass to wood
He slurs out round five
The air tastes like ***** and vanilla ice cream
Her ruby lips the cherry on top
The hangover hits harder
When his head hits the pillow
His cloudy azure eyes open
And the daydream mistress becomes a fog

Two roads diverge
Simplicity of ill intent
Destruction held
In the need
Of materialistic things
Choices building
Each step solidifying
Bars descending
Trapping reality

Tears cried
Freeing the souls
Despondent pleas
Mistakes ripping away
The fabric of self
Life becomes
The road chosen
Abilities lost
Hidden forever by
The chosen mistake
Leaving only the
Iron cages and
Padded rooms
Filled with laughter
Of the deranged

Heart and mind
Knowing the future is lost
With that initial step on
The chosen path
Realities dull patina
Camouflages the pain
As one lives a life
In the cage built
By each step
By each choice made
Bringing forth
The justice of fate

LAO Poetry 2016

So, so you think you can tell.
Heaven from hell.

Flower crowns and hanging art, fill the walls of the room.
Bright colors surround her, like a tie dyed kaleidoscope.
Pictures of friends and families sit on a bookshelf,
While trophies from past poetry contests line in.

Blue skies from pain.

Her long hair bounces, to a familiar Pink Floyd tune.
Rosemary scents fill the room, matches burning the coated bamboo.
As the smoke leaves behind a trail,
Her eyes scan over the wood floor.

Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?

Once new and polished, now splintered from the years.
Nails sticking out, causing many accidental cuts.
She runs her rough hands over the broken boards,
Her chewed nails exposed, chipped polish barely covering them.

Do you think you can tell?

Memories flood in as she lifts the floorboard, revealing a rose pendant,
The worn, brassy one that her mother passed down to her.
Closing her hands over it, she feels a sudden breeze.
Soon, two hands wrap around hers.

Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?

Not ones to be seen, but more as clarity,
Proving that her mother is there.  
Reminders of laughs and staying up all night,
Singing along to whatever old 70s song was filling the air.

Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?

Dancing like “pros”, even though,
They both new that they weren’t.
But in their minds,
They were whatever they wanted to be.

And did you exchange

A relationship many would fight for, not easily found.
An almost perfect life.
Mother and daughter.
Connection so strong, separated by a driver and glass shards.

A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?

Soft, loving hands replaced with cold, hard ones.
As she clasped hers over the picture frame.
A frame revealing a man,
Not her father, but close enough.

How I wish, how I wish you were here.

A story with no happy ending, instead long nights of endless yelling.
Smoke trails flood in with the last puff of his cigarette.
Alcohol camouflages his minty breath as he comes in closer.
The tears that streamed down her face, and a red sting on her cheek.

We're just two lost souls, swimming in a fishbowl
Year after year, running over the same old ground.

His eyes, so brown and dark, they turned black.
A side of him no one knows, unleashed,
With the help of the poison,
Burning his throat.

And how we found, the same old fears.

She can feel tears starting to fall,
Shaking her head to make the memories disappear.
But no matter how hard she tried,
They were there to stay.

Wish you were here.

when a snake

camouflages its

tied rope--sleeping

with fangs sealed

in its mouth.

a hush moves through

a jungle.

The clown in me
sees the mirror man’s
suffering
and camouflages his pain
into puns.
The jokester runs
fast away
from the truth of today.
He plays
with symbols
to say
that I am not ok
but lets laugh
anyway.

could it be?

the chameleon!?

changing
suits
and
colored skin
shifting
time
and time
again
to try
and
blend
in
and
hide
from the
things
that
frighten
her
within

she
camouflages
well
while
trying
not
to
tell

trying
to
conceal
the
things
inside
that
she
does
outside
without
ever
realizing
what
life
even
is
besides
this
hell
and
sad
little
lie
that
has
hidden
her
so
well

The boy who lost his voice,
The entity that camouflages in glamour,
The man who lives in vincible ignorance
The one who stood when all was shattered;
*No one would really know.

The season is changing;
I liked, the long daylight
I loved, the warm sun and the display of natures best

I liked, cool rivers in the heat of the day
I loved, the busy day and the seemingly short nights.

My confidence & happiness was at there best
When my successes were much easier

The season is changing;
I dislike, that my youth is dulling
I hate, the weight that camouflages my inner self

The season is changing;
My confidence & happiness steadily diminish.
There must be a purpose to push on.

I am being phased out.
Just a withering leaf about to be plucked.

Regrettably, the season has changed.

I was on vacation in Los Angeles
So I decided to see the sights
It was Hollywood in Burbank, California
NBC-TV
The theme then, “Come home to NBC
That was in 1983
But I was far from home, but it didn’t matter because with NBC anywhere could be home
I toured the NBC Studios and saw Celebrities along the way
I saw BOB HOPE who was tall and met personally and direct, ANN JULIAN being another celebrity
But I also saw the NBC Los Angeles News Team
However, it wasn’t just NBC alone as it was the acting and effects that makes NBC being NBC
We took an adventure into outer space, but we survived being our own trace
We also analyzed the game show of the “Wheel of Fortune” behind the scenes
The Wheel is nothing more than thin paper but you don’t see that on Television
In fact, the camera camouflages so you wouldn’t see what we saw
The labels on the wheel are glued and not exactly straight
This was my NBC adventure
Seeing the Studio a total venture
So I came home to New York from NBC Bliss
I was determined, I surely didn’t miss.

Duty is a dynamic affair.
Often it is a hurricane, storming in unannounced
And breaking
Your habitual customs. Causing terror to your previously calm
Demeanor. Flying in abandoned tasks
Longing for completion, and
Trivial ordeals
Nagging for deletion.
It reminds you in its booming tone
What should have already been done, long ago.
It’s breeze carries guilt and distress, forcing
A haze of sickness upon your chest.

Duty is a dynamic affair.
Showing itself, on the occasion, through
A mere stomach ache.
A constant weight on your body, a perpetual reminder
Of what must be done.
What others demand from you.
What you demand from yourself. It will
Cry and cry into
Your fragile ladened
Insides.
Overbearing all other burdens, tearing
Away at your exhausted heavy eyes.
Bursting your gut, convincing you to bleed out
In rivers of remorse. Wishing
You paid attention sooner
To the looming business
You were too eager
To neglect.

Duty is a dynamic affair.
Waiting patiently like a
Biting snake. Hidden in the
Long tasks tangled, and grasped
Around your tilted feet.
It camouflages in shades of doubt, becoming
More and more invisible to your
Lazy fleeting sight.
It will strike when your
Mind is practicing indecision and your tongue,
Poor diction. Piercing
Your relaxed skin, numbing the rush
Of the draining venom injected
Into your blood flow. It will sit
There until you are entirely drenched
In the stench of duty satisfied.