Sep 03
poem 0 comments challenge: General
lodestoa's picture

My Father’s Seagull Promises

The road was an ocean
The potholes,
whirlpools of swirling opportunity.
The cars weren’t moving fast.
They hovered across the road 
like tired-eyed seagulls.
They flew slowly
and slugg-
             -ish
               -ly
over the black sea of asphalt.
That didn’t stop your threats.
Your words smelled like tourist lemonade,
Full to the brim 
with false vows
only to disappoint.
(It was an alter marriage after all.)
Your speech traveled through the air
like blue lightning.
Each word CrAcKleD.
The charge struck momma’s
cherry ice cream cheeks
as she pleaded-
I was blanketed in thunder
in a room of glass.
From the back porch,
I could see everything.
My leg tapped the sand-colored rug,
bobbing up and down
like a buoy
on ominous water.
If your rage were a fish
momma would be a net.
Catching everything,
Jun 07
poem 4 comments challenge: General
lodestoa's picture

Silence

Silence screams.
Silence laughs.
Silence listens.
Your constant voice is blistering.
Silence lies.
Silence deceives.
Silence hides.
The only time you hold your tongue is when it benefits your side.
Silence,
It's the only true language I speak.
It echoes through my mind.
It bleeds,
It leaks.
It stitches together my very existence,
I'll discover on my own.
That, and I'll listen.
Tired of all the meaningless conversations.
Acting like small talk’s going out of season.
The squeaky wheel gets the oil.
Well, maybe I'm fine rollin' in the soil.
Sometimes silence says more than words,
And to that I say:


 
Mar 25
poem 0 comments challenge: General
lodestoa's picture

Golden Rain

A milky white waterfall disperses into the muddy sea.
The white fluid travels in all directions,
Running away from the threat of the unknown
Only to disappear in the murky water.

A thick golden syrup rains down from the heavens
As the sickly sweet smell of danger fills the air.
A long silver wand gently stirs the concoction together,
Swaying the calm ocean into a crippling tide.

Small beings float to the surface.
Occasionally collapsing if the silver wand twirls with too much force.
They huddle together
As the ground beneath them shifts with internal movement,
As chaos pushes them to the edge of their known world,
As the raging ocean slowly pulls them under.

The walls that enclose their chamber of torture are tall and smooth,
Made of thick concrete
That stretches to the sky.

The silver wand flies away
Leaving them at peace.
The ocean starts to calm
Feb 15
lodestoa's picture

The things i told myself

Apparently my silver skin does not reflect anything more than an unseen image
My spirit as gossamer as running water
Spiraling down a drain

Apparently i am a ghost
Who roams the halls of the forgotten
Only to be lost in my own disease invested thoughts

Apparently the world moves faster than my heart beats
Because I'm always spun around in a haze of confusion
With the slow thump of a drum beating in the distance

Apparently i am invisible
My shell of a body too hollow to see the person that lay inside

That's why you avoided me
That's why you all avoided me
At least that's what i tell myself



#vtwrites18
Dec 04
poem 4 comments challenge: Ask
lodestoa's picture

Sunless Mournings

I thought I was alone in the house,
But your ghostly apparition still haunts me.
Your room now bare and desolate;
Your last moments are forever engraved in my memories.

I thought it would be easier to let you go,
But no light can penetrate this dark enclosed prison.
Our home now an isolated cage
Where I can't escape my own delusions.

I thought summer would be warm,
But my frostbitten hands say otherwise.
Winter’s icy glare almost unbearable,
With his cold, frost like eyes.

I thought this laceration in my heart would heal naturally,
But it takes all my strength just to wake up on these sunless mornings.
The inky blood that leaks from my chest,
Only a battle wound in this never-ending war of mournings.

I thought I was alone in my sluggish recovery.
But I still see your gossamer reflection in the distance
Oct 26
lodestoa's picture

Unseen Magic

I used to visit my dad every week. He lives in this old run down brick apartment building on the west side. The chill had just set in; cloudy skies and frigid weather were common. That's when the snow storm hit. It wasn't a big one. It was the kind that slowly passes through letting you get a whiff of snow before it all melts away again. I was staying at his apartment that day. The windows were open because my father's apartment always ran hot, even in freezing weather. It was evening, the deep gray clouds hung so low in the sky you could almost touch them. The busy city hummed with life, even in the dead of winter. Wind gently ran through the trees ever so slightly, swaying the branches, just strong enough to reach me. I was standing at the window awaiting the storm eagerly. The icy air from the river smelled of pine, gasoline, and slightly of rust. Immediately my lungs started to loosen. I love the feeling of cold air rushing through my lungs clearing out my sinuses.