As I sit here, at the dining room table and stare over decaf coffee at the screen on my Mac
my eyes are drawn, once and awhile, to the picture sitting on the buffet in the butler's pantry.
Before we continue you should know that "butler's pantry" in this case
means the "third bedroom" that we saw in the listing on Realtor dot com before we bought the house and that,
in the usual real estate-ese, is an optimistic label at best.

But I was talking about the picture.

The picture sits, slightly askew, in a carved wooden bowl given to us by my wife's boss
as a housewarming present.
It, the bowl I mean,  came with salad tongs or forks,
depending on what it is that you call them,
made of water buffalo horn.
They sit in the bowl too and,
although she'd never admit it,  
I know that the thought of serving salad with water buffalo horn salad forks...
lets just say.....
doesn't appeal to my wife.

Right, the picture....

It sits in on the buffet,
in the carved wooden bowl,
next to another wood bowl.
This one full of carved wood fruits and vegetables,
which evidently, includes sugar cane.
When my wife's dad moved from his house to an assisted living facility
the kids, my wife, her brother and sister, took turns going down to help him move.
My wife was the last and dad insisted that
someone
"had" to take the fruit.

But, the picture....

It, and the wooden bowls full of fruit and unused salad forks,
are surrounded by both faux and real glassware
and placemats
which all sit perched
on the top of the buffet as precariously as refugees
and all of their belongings
on the deck and roof of an overloaded fishing boat
chugging from their homeland
to some place that is hopefully better.

The picture...

It was painted by my father-in-law and,
of all the others we have in the house,
is one of my favorites.
It sits on the buffet, askew in the carved wooden bowl with the horn salad forks,
amid polycarbonate and glass drink ware,
and placemats,
unframed for some reason.
All of his other works came framed
but this is one he did not...
and did I mention that it is one of my favorites?

I like his choices of frames on all of the other pictures we have,
but this is just canvas, stretched over a frame,
sitting in that carved African wooden bowl
with those salad forks made from water buffalo horn
on the buffet next to the other wood bowl full of wooden fruits and vegetables,
and wooden sugar cane,
in the butler's pantry.

Hanging on a weakened nail
hidden just beyond fraudulent glass
the vile mask on the other side
of the impeccable portrait enframed

Naive eyes, blinded by distorted ways
as deceptions were glossed over
though transparent, were not seen
nor heard, past mendacious lips

Unhanging a diminishing adoration
a cherry wood falls from the wall
indentations, untrusting fragments
adorn the tiles of a bare floor

For inauthentic memories to release
trickle, down upon morose cheeks
seeping through credulous hands
onto the photograph unframed.

By, Melissa June

I kissed someone's wife today.
It felt better than I wanted it to.

In my tiny bedroom,
the walls looked more beige than usual.
Martha laid beside me -- her idea.

Frames.
I didn't have frames on a couple posters.
Martha rested her head on my shoulder -- her idea.

Instead of putting up my clean laundry,
an **** of boxers, button-downs, and jeans took place on the floor.
Martha told me she liked her hair played with -- I didn't ask.

I left my cigarettes in plain sight
on top of a face down picture frame.
She slid my arm under her neck -- I couldn't be rude.

While she spoke of her husband watching cartoons,
I noticed **** (used during last week's *** with an ex) lying behind a couple beer bottles.
I put my right leg between her legs -- I can't help it if I'm a curious man.

When Martha pulled the blanket over our heads,
I hoped she couldn't smell my ex's perfume.
She let me run my fingers along her waistline -- she didn't tell me to stop until the fourth kiss.

Tributaries of mascara ran down her face.
Rivers of regret rushed out of her mouth.
I played out what would have happened -- had I not grabbed her, pressed my lips harder on the fourth.

"I'm not this kind of girl."
I told her things would be better with her husband.
Handing her a clean rag off the floor, she said -- "My life wasn't supposed to turn out this way."

I broke up the **** of clothes, grabbed an armful; made a beeline for the closet.
With a beautiful sound, a beer bottle broke as I passed by.
Martha's teary eyes saw the **** -- "What the hell were you planning to do?"

She slammed the door.
One of my unframed posters peeled itself off the wall and feathered to the ground.
Most of me felt cloudy, but I knew one thing -- she's got a good 50 years of marriage to go to spite me.

Romancing the theories obviated by practice
Cryptic names in the fiasco
Work supplants play for the new actors
So time is technology?
Mass ethics supersede reason
Who are the cornerstone language guardians?
Radical superordination is for all
Ancient mystery can still delineate precise uncertinty
Shall edicts manifest by resurrection?
The conundrum must be isolated from protocol













In an analysis suddenly unframed
Compromise only promises compounded civility

Splattered boots
stand ready, resting
from tied black laces
and muddy roads.

An attaché case
gapes too,
cwtches the photo
of a young woman
with dark wavy hair,
her unframed
forever- smile
focussed on a face
behind the camera
at the moment
the shutter clicked
and clicks and clicks

opening and closing,
packing and unloading,
staying and leaving,
making up a bed
from striped & labelled
winceyette.

Here's a tear
of tissue paper
stabbed urgently
on folded cloth
with random red stitches.

Here's the Star
of King David
pointing upwards,
locked on the blanket
by one steel safety pin.

Memories aren't made to be broken,
Yet lie in shards, each piece
Refracting unframed pictures.

Promises aren't made to be broken,
But words are malleable.

Hearts are too often broken, quartered
And flung to the elements.

Spirit cannot be broken
Under any crushing worry.

And love,
Away or dwelling,
Encompassing love;
Battered, betrayed,
Exalted, praised;
Spent like money,
Treasured, yet free as air.
Most invulnerable,
Most vulnerable;
Frail and omnipotent.
Unbreakable.

Your technicolor emotions turn into watered-down versions when the alcohol seeps into your veins. Creating watercolor paint, and with that, you craft me images of a world unframed. Sculpting beauty from hope and wonders you found on the floor.
Perspective lost to the consumption of liquid courage. Making way for actions unrestrained. A little too much. A little too lost. A little too loosely letting your tongue take charge. Amplified by longing. Tainted by the ever-growing ghost of tomorrow.
You will not remember when morning comes. The art you drew in lazy circles around my weary body. The daunting fables you wrote me into. Left to be nothing more than simple fever dreams to reminisce over.

~


“Pristine your pose, exposed artistic allure”

Canvas on easel waits patiently
Naked in formless thought
Inviting rapture’s brush strokes

“White on white destined pleadings”

Visions engulf watercolor yearnings
Blending passion’s tints…
Seductive bristled breaths fall

“Soft curves fill unframed desires”

Olive skin seeps semi-gloss wishes
Hues of fire fed glazing
Smooth along tender tan lines

“Valleys of bliss penetrate oiled needs”

Mahogany eyes captivate
Pearl’d glints shimmer silently
Beckoning in secretive glances

“Portal’d palettes draw on my sight”

Crimson lips in whimper’d pout
Satin pillow’d arching designs
Whisper me my dreams

“Their touch breaks my will”

As I paint you, I linger in lust
Overwhelmed by your beauty
Falling helplessly into this masterpiece

“And we become one via art”

Saturated in drop cloth drippings
Sighs of fevered temptations rise
Releasing abstract movements

“Acrylic serenity, vibrant achings”

Melting in chromatic motion
Collapsing among overspray imagination  
Embracing iridescent ending

“Lost forever in a portrait of love”

wax runs slowly from his candle  
as ink flows freely from his pen  
daydreams stretched out on his anvil  
where each word he hammers into rhythm
with skill he’s tooling an ode of mourning  
beside his fire lies a sonnet undone  
paintings of prose around him adorning  
with unframed verses below and above  
a haiku sweet graces his table  
a ballad long covers his floor  
more he would add if he were able  
but one wonders if there is room for more  
yet still driven he labors long into the night  
his blood turns to ink until morning light

A Portrait of Love



“Pristine your pose, exposed artistic allure”*

Canvas on easel waits patiently
Naked in formless thought
Inviting rapture’s brush strokes

“White on white destined pleadings”

Visions engulf watercolor yearnings
Blending passion’s tints…
Seductive bristled breaths fall

“Soft curves fill unframed desires”

Olive skin seeps semi-gloss wishes
Hues of fire fed glazing
Smooth along tender tan lines

“Valleys of bliss penetrate oiled needs”

Mahogany eyes captivate
Pearl’d glints shimmer silently
Beckoning in secretive glances

“Portal’d palettes draw on my sight”

Crimson lips in whimper’d pout
Satin pillow’d arching designs
Whisper me my dreams

“Their touch breaks my will”

As I paint you, I linger in lust
Overwhelmed by your beauty
Falling helplessly into this masterpiece

“And we become one via art”

Saturated in drop cloth drippings
Sighs of fevered temptations rise
Releasing abstract movements

“Acrylic serenity, vibrant achings”

Melting in chromatic motion
Collapsing among overspray imagination  
Embracing iridescent ending

*“Lost forever in a portrait of love”

I have lost all sense of time, hours linger
days fade, I look at photographs
those of you and I, unframed
in gardens, or mountains
or pictures from the hotel
the warmth of you, my chilly toes
lonely - I remember your smile
the window, the trickle
of autumn rain.

Blankets of blankness sit staring blankly into thine eyes,
while piercing wails of silence cradle in lobes of flesh.
Seal'ed doors of unframed bricks sit idly, occluding the sight of thy mind.
All the while, focus evades the perilous thoughts that thresh.

Still, well-knowing that of thy key to openness,
which lieth still within thy breast,
must, perhaps, be lost at best,
in cold, dark lying emptiness.

.
Inmost as cold tomb,
A soul is left, hushed,
Only seeks true light,
Unframed, shows itself.

Welcome to breaking,
All minds who question,
Let the whispers rail,
Only for an ears open.

Look into chaos here
At the edges of doom,
Wish for nothing's no
Upset by veins so blue.

We are cut runners, all
Braving into new upsets,
Take countings down,
All days are numbered.

Hello lonely madness
We meet once again
It's too soon, although I did expect to see you
Im just not ready

Hello lonely madness
The numbness is abiding, it never goes away
And when I think it does, we meet again some day
My mind is overtaken
My thoughts are overtook, my heart aches, yet I can't feel a single bit of hurt

Hello lonely madness,
Do you ever go away
They have another name for you
Depression is what they say
You take all the emotion
Not just the love but the pain
And leave me with nothing
Just empty and unframed

Hello lonely madness
Can't you go away
you've taken all my passion, there is not much else left to take
Do you want to see me lifeless
Or locked up in a cell
Maybe you shall get your way
Or maybe, just maybe i'll live another day

For a moment I smiled
The happiness I felt
couldn't be withheld.
For a moment I forgot
what it was like
to be on this constant cliff
I call my temporary home

Temporary but I've put up posters
Don't worry, the unframed kind
with thumbtacks in each corner

I forgot what it felt like
to have tears always at the back
of my eyes, to always hurt
For a moment

For a moment there were no sharp corners
no new love for me to trip over
no dark phones shadowing my thoughts
no empty space for my monster to run free

I held my breath and smiled
Then laughed, the kind that makes
my stomach ache in a good way
and my cheeks sore and stiff

For a moment I was free of everything
and it felt warm, because I'm always cold.
Just for a moment.

Then I woke up.

You're prettier than a tree
Nonchalant beauty alone
Up the bare hill
Reposes in the golden Beams
lightly warm and free
to placate the moody wind
in the abode of leams
far from the thirsty rill
and the doggedly crow
and all of it I can imagine to own
Far in the abandoned land
Beyond that bare hill
Where a lake mimics tranquility
A womb of life laden and still
Mirrors as your calm beauty
And all of it I can see
From my dormer window
From a portrait of me
A sketch unframed, unfinished
On an easel, fancifully colored
Waits frailly thy brush and hand
To accomplish my metamorphosis
To achieve thy miraculous guesses
Of the unity of pure whiteness
And colors of passionate kisses.

Written by
Jamal Abboud

This is the youngest I’ll ever be
going forward in this day
with gifts that I’ve received
along with all the miseries

unframed years beckon on
without a promise of the count
marked against where I am
in the spotlight of the now

there is no turning back
except to forgive and then forget
put aside the chains of angst
to move forward without regret

time is a measure without regard
beyond the present winding down
at this mark of youth’s demise
pushing forward to my desires.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190316.

ROWING WITH ONE OAR

Flush with fury ready to do it all in a hurry ,begin to roll for sights unknown

What can it be that we have yet to see,do the deeds before our perceptions change

Rules are for fools ,seeking treasure for unseen chests waiting to be filled with jewels or to embellish our crown

Futures viewed through a pin hole ,not reading long range maps ,better with the freshness  of being unconstrained

Not ready to take a position, friend and foe mingle in the same row ,remaining tight against the frown

Bruises slowly form ,broken or torn quickly becoming the norm ,yet still remain untamed

Lessons quickly adding up ,time slowing, beginning to feel stuck, That view now new, seen through a larger clearer window

Personality's shaping with naivety still showing,experience adding weight while futures remained unframed

Cast into a current With no life preserver we might quickly drown if we can not recall all that info

Unprepared to leave shore not realizing it doesn't have to be alone ,paddling in life is easier when it can be exchanged . R.C.

i didn't like the picture ,
so i broke the frame ,
the picture , like my dislike ,
was totally unframed .

I see you there, keep looking at me
but I'm not sure what it is you see

I’ve no canvas, I’m left unframed
so let me help you with my name

I'm no-one's 'boy', I'm not 'hey you'
my name's Mister, it's 'Mister New'

I've got old scars, raw scars too
but I'm not sure, it's clear to you

wounds can only go so deep
there's only so long that they can bleed

you see me ‘wounded’, black and blue
but save your pity - that's all about you

I've grown taller through broken skin
my roots sink deeper than you've ever been

when you're up close you'll see it's true
my fresh healed skin's a real break through

I've got a name, so I'd thank you
when you address me, say 'Mister New'

Broken sunglasses
Sitting on my dresser
If I can find the part
Out there somewhere
I can fix them

Jeans too small
In a drawer in my dresser
If I can lose some weight
With diet and exercise
I can wear them

An unframed print
Waiting for a frame on my dresser
It was for a friend
That I don’t talk to anymore
But I could

That dresser is full of “if”s
It’s got drawers and drawers
Of “should’ve”s and “could’ve”s
Things I need to do
And fix.

I left a piece of moon on my
table and started writing about
the broken mirror. There was a time
when we used to cry together.

Dusting off the old books, uncared
for months. A rare ritual
defines the motion. It was the
temblor giving me a dustbath.

Do you know who was the leader
of the pack? The greed, the authority?
There was a bright door, between
the umbels. Would you taste the hemlock?

Every thing is in disorder. You
remember how cranky I was when
I found you unframed. Today
I will embrace the empty wall.

In chambers bathed in scarlet's vivid hue,
A maiden graced with royalty's decree,
Emerged midst December's breath, anew,
From Rose's lineage, her destiny set free.

Unmatched, her beauty, whispered through the air,
The heir of nature's treasures, poised to sway,
In comfort's arms, her mother's artful snare,
A dance of elegance, life's intricate ballet.

Within a cardboard cradle, humble, quaint,
A refuge born of mundane refrigerator's guise,
A phoenix in captivity, a heart's soft plaint,
As melodies of her mother's toil did rise.

Cigar's lingering incense, spirits' lingering trace,
Notes of rye and gin, tales of twilight's embrace,
Invisible imprints of those who found their place,
Within the alcove where desires interlace.

Such life, a gilded cage, ornate and grand,
A prisoner of opulence, bound by gold,
As Rose's allure dimmed by time's swift hand,
Princess, once adorned, in shadows now enfold.

Questions, delicate as lilies on still water's face,
Restless ripples of thoughts profound,
Did her mother, too, in the past's embrace,
Yearn for a different fate, a path unbound?

Yet, such musings banished, like morning mist,
For from her mother's teachings, she had gleaned,
To drown uncertainties in spirits kissed,
In numbness find solace, in forgetfulness, dream.

But winds of change swept familiarity away,
Transforming the tapestry of life's design,
Seated in a café's embrace, a pivotal day,
A stranger's arrival, destinies align.

His smile, a canvas of sincerity untamed,
No hidden agenda in his tranquil gaze,
Words woven like an intricate tapestry unframed,
An invitation extended, a connection's blaze.

In her contemplative realm, a seed of query sown,
Could he fathom the secrets her past concealed,
A princess sculpted by a world overthrown,
In the crucible of a fate unrevealed?

Reimagined in verses, this tale unfolds,
A mosaic of sentiments, resplendent and pure,
From captive to sovereign, her journey of old,
Princess, unchained, her essence to endure.