Tuesday, March 25, 2025

Alcatraz

 









Alcatraz


The words,

etched on the cell wall

a lifetime ago, contained a truth

wrought by pain and loss.

“No one is innocent”

As I thought about the author

I watched the tourists, 

oblivious of their own guilt, 

pass hurriedly, never noticing

the crude engraving.

 

SMG


d'Verse Poet's Pub Writing Prompt:  https://dversepoets.com/

 


Saturday, March 22, 2025

Mourning Jay


 












Mourning Jay

I can still see her sitting on the edge of the dance floor
of another gala evening. Adorned in red and white, she pulled
men’s gaze like the first cardinal of spring. A wallflower
that could not be ignored as she looked around the room at nothing. 

He never failed to invite her, something I didn’t understand
at the time. For me she was a familiar connection, a batch
of mom’s cookies or a copy of the hometown paper.
For him, she was door that closed when left unattended. 

The parties were not to be missed, all the wealthiest of Eggs
in attendance. He however, rarely if ever showed his face. 
The opulence and excess were for her, while he pined
the night away locked in his room of regrets and second guesses. 

I think of him now, not as the shadowed figure staring across the bay,
nor the limp body floating face down in a pool of blood
and mistaken identity. I only recall the gentle conversations
we had as two men seeking our place and hoping to find our loves.

SMG

Writing Prompt from d'Verse Poets Pub

https://dversepoets.com/#:~:text=https%3A//dversepoets.com

Thursday, February 27, 2025

She Calls in the Morning














She Calls in the Morning

In the end, it ended,
like all bad relationships;
she was a puddle on the floor,
as I stumbled out the door.

She used to call in the morning
seeking her daily diversion and I,
lonely and filled with doubt, answered,
beginning my daily digression.

“Let’s meet for breakfast” was met
with “I can’t, I have to work today”.
She had a way of removing my resolve,
with a seductive longing in her voice.

I may never understand her true motive,
but she knew my true weakness.
I wanted to taste her on my lips
and feel her warmth deep inside.
Logic and will were always inadequate
against the sway she held over me.

In time, like all bad relationships, my drunk dials
started going to voicemail as she became aloof.
Increasingly less willing to satiate my need, she
left me one night, a broken shell, in a pool of tears…

…but she called in the morning.

SMG

Friday, February 7, 2025

Life on the Line

Life on the Line

The Tuesday sun
set and carried with it,
the lies of New York and
a thousand broken dreams.

The shattered pieces fell
together in the bars
and bedrooms of the city.
Glue is another fairytale.

I let the sorrow wash
over me like fine whiskey
across my tongue and stared
out the window at the passing city.

The train car couplers creaked
and groaned in a sad staccato.
A preview of the death rattle
waiting in the distance.


SMG

Tuesday, February 4, 2025

Solstice to Equinox


 










Solstice to Equinox


Anais, Anais

Litha has passed

and we are left

to mourn the coming

autumnal balance,

for creatures such as we

crave the severe

and eschew

This Gentile World.


Travel with me to

The Tropic of Capricorn

and leave behind

the ever shrinking 

days of Cancer.

There we can live

in eternal summer

and Black Spring.


Grieve not my love,

for with the arrival

of Yoole's long nights, 

Sirius shall align

with Orion's belt

and point us back 

to the elliptical

apex, and June.


SMG 


Friday, January 10, 2025

Break Glass in Case of Emergency

 












Break Glass in Case of Emergency


I feel like a ship in a bottle,

various pieces of me, over time,

tweezed and squeezed into

an attractive unnatural display.

 

Assembled slowly in this

new environment, the bottle

feels like home, like where I belong.

 

Upon completion, I’ve become a prisoner.

As a fully formed being, I may never leave

as long as the bottle and I are intact.

 

To escape, breakage will be required.

The bottle does not know it is a prison,

while I fail to recognize my own captivity.

 

Only a force outside the symbiotic delusion

can break the bond that neither of us comprehends. 

That force also gets to pick sides in the separation.

 

Smash the bottle, and I can be free, unless

too much force is applied. Shake the contents,

and what’s left are little broken pieces of me.

 

Perhaps my remains can be poured out

onto a countertop and with attention,

care and reassembly, I may sail again

and be free.

 

SMG   


Tuesday, December 24, 2024

These Rooms

 









These Rooms

 

Hello, my name is

ultimately unimportant.

In here we are legion

occupying one seat at a time.


These rooms,

unassuming and sterile,

yet full of pain and regret.

Heartaches and hopes,

spill from our mouths

in equal measure.

We speak of higher powers

but know what powerlessness

tastes like. There is talk of steps

and serenity, but debauchery

is always within arm’s reach.

We are black and white, adrift

in the grey outside these walls.

Compulsion is a frequent visitor,

and habit is a way of life.


These rooms,

unassuming and sterile,

yet a light in the darkness.

We will know no finish line,

only days to count, time to mark,

while collecting coins

from the inmates and gods

that inhabit these rooms.


SMG


Sunday, December 15, 2024

A Journey of a Thousand Miles

 











A Journey of a Thousand Miles

The isolation
is only the beginning.
Alone in a room,
the stillness disturbed,
intermittently, by shivers.
A cage-match
with demons ensues.

Sleep is fleeting and fitful.
Dreams an unsolvable puzzle,
disparate pieces out of order
and just out of reach.
Time crawls as shadows
and hints of sunlight
denote day versus night.

There is no escape,
the only option is through.
Through the abyss
of broken promises,
missed opportunities,
and failure. Your end,
the beginning, the first step.

SMG


Thursday, December 5, 2024

A Guilt You Would Not Understand

A Guilt You Would Not Understand

A knock on the door
that echoed in
the unreachable distance.
The last indelible image
of my love as you faded
in the darkness
of a back bedroom.

The foreboding
that swarmed me
ignored, in favor of
an agenda long forgotten.
The immediacy of the day
superseding the years
of sacrifice in my favor.

The hours spent
playing catch in the absence
of a grandfather or father
not otherwise engaged.
You were love and acceptance
in my eyes and when you passed
I was passive and afraid.

Betrayed by a single weak vessel
in that brain that I so admired,
you lay helpless, a state
that was an anathema
to everything I knew you to be.

Forgive me
for not kicking
that goddamn door down
and carrying you to the help
that might have saved you
and all that you were to me.


SMG

Wednesday, December 4, 2024

Break Glass in Case of Emergency
















Break Glass in Case of Emergency

Assembling a ship in a bottle,
piece by piece, with attention
and care, is a fascinating exercise.

I can relate to that ship and its plight.
Having its component parts tweezed
and squeezed into an unnatural environment.

Upon completion the ship is a prisoner.
As a fully formed vessel, it will never leave
as long as the ship and bottle are intact.

To escape, breakage will be required.
The bottle does not know it is a prison.
The ship does not recognize its captivity.

Only a force outside the symbiotic delusion
can break the bond that neither understands.
That force also gets to pick sides in the separation.

Smash the bottle, and the ship is free unless
too much force is applied. Shake the bottle
and the ship is reduced to little broken pieces.

What’s left can be poured onto a countertop.
Some reassembly required if the ship is ever
expected to sail again and be free.

SMG