Coin 25there's a woman sittingMore Like This
a table over from
the next of us
she is alone,
wavering and silver
a bubble drifting up
WindowsHere am I, repeated,More Like This
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.
I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze
like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.
Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;
safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.
welcome to wherever we aretwistingMore Like This
our tongues in Gordian knots
choking out tropes
we jibber like metonymous
in a riot of blood sugar spikes
Van GoghSlip intoMore Like This
the first vestige of
blush of a summer's
day already aglow
glistens, an aureole
of molten gold
as sunflowers puddle
at your feet.
Signing in KoreanSigning in Korean as rain fallsMore Like This
in another land, and within my mind.
A robe of cranes wraps around my
willow's body, following my every move.
I gaze through my fingers as they weave
and separate the rain turned to ice
with hands that flit and beat silently
on a petrified drum
through the constantly shifting air
from which snow will soon drift
with the flight of cranes
into another land, signing in Korean.
NaPoMo 2013 DAY NINEThis Buried Treasure Won't Emerge On It's OwnMore Like This
treat it as vermin, thinking its origins lay
behind the walls with wires and insulation,
thinking it can be coaxed with scraps,
thinking it will fall for your traps of excuses
no inspiration, no time, block, stress,
bark, hiss, stammer, blah, blah.
Quit monkeying around waiting for banana trees to grow;
do you think this is forever?
We're temporarily present, fully responsible
to contribute something to the stream,
being mind-driven is wasteland;
don't piss into the wind.
Productivity isn't surfing channels
or webs of information.
I spent too many years dreaming,
now I'm doing.
jamaisthe truth, as staunch and without ornamentMore Like This
as I can make it,
is that I did not want your love,
your voice rattling like the hoary whispers
your dreams (rustling like cattails
and half-extended to meet mine)
were as foreign to me
as moonlight, concealed
in its various robes.
your sucking fireflies,
neon mothish words meant to draw me in,
flurried uselessly about me.
but now that your attempted eloquence
is more akin to the wick of a lamp,
charred and drowning in oil,
I may vaguely nod my head.
Of solace sleeping in today was the essence,More Like This
waking up the process of becoming singular
I want to end it
but I can't stop associating you with these images
: a season being flung onto the ocean, making a mess of color
there's an insect caught in my poetry,
trying to mend its broken wing
Autumn in HeavenThe morning breaks with a crack of lightning,More Like This
and rising in unrest, the sleepless mind
dims to blue as dead walls meet
like a closed mouth.
Outside in the thickened air
the world is a ghost on dull water.
Thin hands rise to greet, a petal or a limb, then
shatters alive: transformed as death transforms life.
Now fog again, a dying skin, adrift in Faustian waters,
clinging to endless stretches of black mile and budding trees.
Drifting without station, the dance they do goes wasted.
Now they are sinking in place, internalizing
volume and density, suddenly cursed with weight
and feeling nothing; bound in a heaviness beyond matter
they dissolve into so formless a cage there seems no
chance of escaping the bladed green below.
.dandelion seeds inMore Like This
and they're saying,
you know you could do
this too -
you need to get out
if you're going to
don't go blowing
your head off though -
(tear yourself away from there, go get set somewhere else just like we do)
RavenI’ll never forget the night you became a ravenMore Like This
How bright your eyes were
How the tips of your elongated fingers sparked electricity
How your laugh became a caw
The way you wrapped your wings around me
And pulled me down into the darkness
And my fingers became tiny branches
We laughed, soft and low
The way the damned do
Rip the corners offTodayMore Like This
has been a bitch of a day.
I walked home with my schoolbag
lurching on my raw-boned back, and the world
was quiet and damp and grey.
Streets slid underneath me and houses
took dragging steps along - I swear
I was being watched by an army
of thirty-year-old women
with cigarette plumes like dragon breath
puffing from their broken mouths, their jagged
nostrils, smoke hovering over deceased tricycles
lying in vicious primary colour on the lawn, hovering
like the finger of
I am sitting on the dreadful slope of the driveway now
and it is night.
Around me the frogs sing, and sing, and sing.
I cannot see any stars.
A train howls in the distance. The sound of it moving along
the tracks from Perth to Albany, tracks lined with
grey brown scrub and white sand, the sound of it
is like the roaring buzz in my veins,
the pulsing in my ears, the sound
of the train is like the sound of the sadness that is like
rabbit fur strewn over mud, like empty rooms
with dust-coated shelves and old floor
and you shall have no other godsbroken nailsMore Like This
digging into palms
made of soft and foolish skin
made of lifelines made of heartlines
made of veins spreading out like spiders
like trees like rivers
paper skin made of stories
made of the sleeping beauty sopor
beneath scrubby khaki trees
made of salt-scented prayers and
glitter-shot sighs and a tension
swollen and creaking as
damp wood as concrete
cracking in the heat. still as a statue,
lungs’ hushing hum, restless
like the sea. summer
pressing a hot and heavy breath
on the back of
adoration and sweat
gathering beneath my clothes.
heavy like a stone, you
know i’ll never let go. you
know. i am –
i am devout.
A Tribute"Yeah, this is Wilson in 7290."More Like This
Every conversation I had with Lloyd on the phone began this way. As soon as he said "yeah", I knew it was him. He was not pretty, or tall, or appealing in any sense of the word. In fact, he kind of frightened most folks in my office with his gruff appearance and attitude. He appeared to most as someone you didn't want to mess with. But when he came in the office and I greeted him with "good morning Sunshine", he always smiled. Just for a second, but it was enough to show the man inside. A man I gained a lot of respect for in the short time I knew him.
Most of our driver recruits these days are youngsters, and have never had to risk their lives driving trucks with a million miles on them, abused and driven hard by many drivers before them. Trucks these days are the epitome of comfort and functionality. Those of us who've been in this industry for a while remember equipment held together with baling wire and electrical tape. Air conditioning was non-existe
SweepAs soon as he stepped into the open field, he slung the minesweeper from his shoulder and pointed its nose to the ground. It was old, worn and heavy, and old and rough, calloused and breaking, and old. The metal between his hands was cold and chilled his fingers. If he was not careful he could step on the very mines he was trying to find. They would have to pick up the pieces of his body and to send the tags home where his wife would cry and hold his son and daughter close with nothing to show them of their father but a piece of metal engraved with "Ajeet Singh".More Like This
One sweep, than another.
This war had taught him to never trust open spaces. Open spaces were where the mines were planted, where Prets lay in wait. France was green and damp just like the uniform he wore. It had been days since he was separated from his unit, and now the Allies were breathing on his neck, searching for POW’s, searching for the enemy of which he was one. &
WickedMorgana, in the cowering darkened city; neon is dead. Theatres all play the same movie, over and over again. No one watches; they’re all in their basements or ancient fallout shelters. Morgana’s heels clack pavement, and the echo goes on forever.More Like This
Feast on your tins of peanut butter and crackers; Morgana feasts on minds. Minds like yours, soft like veal. Everyone said this night would come, but no one believed it would be now. How could it be, when just yesterday the playgrounds were filled with sunlight and laughter?
Lightning cracks sky and illumes devastation, wretchedness, emptiness. Lions have escaped the zoos, and roam the streets hungry and fierce. The wind howls your name as you sit in the darkness wearing your foil hat. Morgana laughs, and laughs, and laughs.
And the echo goes on forever; like carnival music at a funeral, like a grave robber’s laugh, like handbills flying down an alley for a play that was never produced; like a child lost in the crowds, like t
Shedding Stars IIyou were the sky i wasMore Like This
the sea, with the sun
in an offering of light
you wore the night as i
called your stars down
AbsenceΣαν φύγεις,More Like This
τούτο το παρατεταμένο καλοκαίρι θα τελειώσει
και τα έντονα χρώματά του θα ξεθωριάσουν.
να είχα περισσότερο χρόνο
για να σε χαρώ.
Your LoveYour face floats in the DarkMore Like This
a drifting... white petal
close to the Moon, loose
a flower... without a name
that kisses me with lips of flame
a sort of spell with soft warm skin
against me... a lost dream
Your eyes are an hazel colour Arc
that I wear around myself as the Saturn rings
they could be feathers on the Angels wings
passionate by the Winds
or my enchanted haven shell
where, in your love, I wish to dwell,
so, I leave my last gold into the glass well
© copyright of KAY MARCH - All Rights Reserved.
Lovers PlaygroundHe stood still, a turquoise monolith,More Like This
staring at the patterns of the blue sky
waiting for its complete dissolution
within the dark cradle that night would bring
He looked to the hill, the portrait of Lilith
beginning to fly
dancing over the clouds layers and their ways
greeting the stars evolution
skin coloured from his jeweled hands shifting
She sighed at him, with a smiling lit
sending him a kiss
loving the bliss
of being with him
to win the stars that were coming
She opened her lips
blowing words to the wind
carrying her messages to him
spring birds wishing, wanting
the awake of morning...
© copyright of KAY MARCH - All Rights Reserved.
Tipping the ScaleWe always sayMore Like This
they come in three’s,
but I lost count after six.
That’s not to suggest
there haven’t been good times;
they’ve just been over shadowed
by the rest.
You can’t appreciate life
without catching a few stones,
but as always,
balance is key.
Of course it’s hard to tell
when you’re tipping the scale,
it’ll all even out
in the end.
Backdrop SkySunset is early;More Like This
when we part for the evening,
my muse is a shadow,
A lonely field
under summer heat--
the burden of a secret
Sun JaundiceThe sun bleedsMore Like This
and the moths
guide you home.
falls, and I blossom,
a temple of skulls.
Danathey sayMore Like This
what you do defines who you are
she is taking an estrogen pill
she is shaving her legs
she is keeping her hair short and her patience long
she is helping her friend put an injection into his leg because he is scared of needles
she is drinking a Corona at two lesbians' housewarming party
and learning how to flirt again
Tomorrow, When They Find Mei.More Like This
Swallowed whole. When the churches
Overshadowed fields of salvation
And all I could see looking down
Were the fresh prayers on my arms.
Still born and still alive in a still life
Painting. Those types of prints weren’t
Intended to be hung on a parlor wall.
Before your house collapsed under the weight
Of a needle. Before my standard of God was replaced
By memories of locked doors and open windows,
I was the shy boy on the playground and you were the
Girl who never resisted getting her dress dirty.
I could only forgive you when your mother
Showed me your baby shoes, cast in bronze.
And only for that moment, when I know I heard
The laughter of a child bustling down the hall.