P: Nerd Nightly

Prompt:

Write a true story about your nighttime morning routine for NOCTURNAL MORNINGS

Eight p.m.

I need to wake up at twelve to attend a write-in.

I’m really excited to be around other writers, it’s not something I do often.

I think I can squeeze in a few episodes of my favorite TV show.

Midnight.

My need for cheesy drama, spirited car chases and stolen kisses is gone.

I yawn but doesn’t that just mean you need more oxygen?

I go to the living room and pull a book from one of the many stacks littering the room.

Six a.m.

At some point I meant to put the book down, it was just too good.

“One more chapter,” I said but who was I kidding?

This is a nightly occurrence for a nocturnal being, such as me.

Caribbean Festival Shooting

Caribbean Festival Shooting

There they were

scattering like roaches

Filling spaces between tents

 

Pop

Pop

Pop

 

One way in and one way out

Roaches with long arms and legs

Running for their lives

 

The sides fold down like paper

Green spikes of night rise up

Barbed wire bending

 

Crumpling beneath fingers

A hole made from nothing

Pop

 

One way in and one way out

Back the way they came 

A lost one unable to hear the maternal cries

 

“Please make way for the ambulance, someone is hurt”

It repeats though ignored

Steps slow

 

Sweaty clown faces 

Red tinted legs

Huddle tightly on a long trek back

 

Slowly moving 

Silence stretching

Reappear in tomorrow’s light? 

Hometown

Home Town
Thick, glazed, grilled

Dark meat with burnt tips

Sweet mustard

Honey dippings

Sticky fingers

 

Wide sweeping pavement

Tall gargoyle like structures

Fountains made of hopes and dreams

Thick forests of green

Expansive fertile lands

 

Blue, green, yellow city streets

Music of the blues

Storefronts oen to canvased walls

Brick red schools

Metal bridges, glistening heat

 

Thick smog

Painful ice rain

Wispy winds that kill

Mounds of cold marshmallows fill streets

Booze hoppers in clogged feet

 

An Ode to Iris Giana

An Ode to Iris Giana

 

The pain was too much

It’s shard-like fingers tight around my limbs.

Stabbing through my heart

Spearing through my belly.

 

The fear held me fast

My mind on what would come next.

I could barely keep still

Hardly unexpected.

 

Just as I felt alone

He arrived and his face said it all.

I held back my tears

He held onto my hand,

 

And then you were there

Born before your time with wide open eyes.

Your tiny paper thin nails

Your soft translucent skin

 

Told you “I love you” before it was too late

So your soul would always know

Our hearts will always hold you

Although the pain is still too much