The Knell

I write because it's my lifeline... it keeps me breathing rather than gasping from breath. So, really, I write so people won't stare at me. ;)
Everything I write is mine alone, and no parts, tidbits or whole, may be reused or posted as someone else's original thought. Come now, why would you? Use your grey matter! There's great stuff in there... I promise.
I am also found here: http://knellbells.tumblr.com/

Twenty Dollar Bill

I pulled my last twenty out of my pocket and unfolded it. It was so little, but so very much, could buy so very few things, but could buy just enough. I rubbed it between my fingers, like I could not bear to give it up. Just money, just currency, just green paper. I smoothed it out and looked at carefully, at the serial number, at the signatures, at the missing corner and the burn mark in the center. Such a small thing. Such a large thing. Then I passed it over, handed it away. I bought nothing much, just a token or two. Tonight I bought apology and forgiveness, purchased contrition and consolation with a twenty dollar bill. Sometimes it is that easy, sometimes it is that hard.

(Source: skyisalandfill)

Repose

The sound is rain
and wet leaves
caught in the storm’s
brisk wind
It feels like
contentment
and time
to sleep
away the days

Ruby Red

I taste your failure
on my ruby red lips
Do you like the colour
I picked it just for you
Are you drawn to it
like a dying moth to flame
You’ve never understood
just how much I hope
I can take the lovely
and make it something else
Is it dark to you
because it is my joy
To taste your failure 
on my ruby red lips

To Marry Words

I set you softly to the side
and smiled as I pondered you,
how you were painted
on the canvas in my mind
begging with large 
pleading eyes
that I would transfer
your likeness to words
and free you into my world

Full

your words slip soft into
the myriad of half dreams
that is my exhausted barely
waking mind
I feel the moments melt into 
a timeless place
and nothing moves 
against the need that your words
fill
and fill
and fill
to far too
brimming full

The Guitar Cries

You made the guitar cry
and every pluck
of the strings
was one of my tears falling
and landing on a note

These I Understand

I will never understand
the need for flirtations, 
although I have attempted them
to more than adequate result.
But to duck my head and simper
to laugh and joke at things
in which I have no interest,
to become for someone
something I am not
this is not something
I will ever understand.
I don’t understand the need
to be desired,
to need to be admired
by many.
Everyone I meet is not
a potential lover,
not a potential anything,
just souls living day by day 
as I do.
I don’t need a long glance
or a wolf whistle to feel lovely.
This I do not understand.
I don’t need to be set up,
to find a mate because I am alone,
I don’t need someone
to find me someone. 
This too, 
I do not understand.
But I do understand need, 
I understand desire.
I need someone, 
some days,
in keening,
burning ways. 
I desire touch,
and glances,
and long flirtations,
and a voice filled with words
that mean something
to only me.
I understand this.
Some days I want to be part 
of someone else, 
and for they to be part of me.
This I understand.
So today
when you saw me 
in my less than 
quiet fury consuming me
and still made eye contact
smiled
and made harmless small talk
anyway
I knew those needs
and those desires.
Thank you
whoever you were
for quelling 
fierce a soul
by drowning it
in disbelief 
and desire
for these things
I understand.

Poets of Past

You couldn’t help but love him
and I understand 
for I love not only him
but you as well
for your love of him
Our loves were selfish
sad
and safe
The dead cannot ruin
our love of them
from beyond the grave
they cannot shun us
or shame us
or refute our loves
They can stir our muses
and fill our
cracked hearts
with something akin
to love
without being just quite
what everyone else calls love

Cold

She is leaning back against the smooth stone
the cold seeping into her
and her warmth slowly stealing away
She lifts the bottle slowly
and sips small sips
of the liquid fire
“Hey,” she whispers
“I still love you, you know”
She laughs soft
and sets the bottle down
tilted against the stone
and she closes her eyes
as hot tears flood down her cheeks
She writes the impossible ending
in her mind
one more time
The ending where he walks
across the freshly mowed grass
and lifts her from the ground
The ending where he laughs
rich and full
as he crushes her in an embrace
and kisses her hair,
her eyes
and her lips
The ending where there is more
than the earth beneath her
more than the bottle next to her
more than the cold headstone
behind her
with his name inscribed
in its marble face
The ending that she longs for
the ending that wakes her
and breaks her
It is not fiction
this life
It is not a fairytale
this ending
She turns to kneel facing
the cold headstone
and kisses the name
and smoothes her hand
over the top
There is no changing this story
no bringing the dead to life
again
in a surprise revival
There is only the story
that she continues to write
with his name at the top
of every page
living for him
taking the breaths for him
of cool country air
Living for him
because the living live
even when
their hearts are buried
beneath cold
smooth marble
headstones.

Ink and Paper Cuts

His long fingers guided 
the quill in smooth
quick movements across
the paper
Ink settled into his 
fingerprints
and into the paper cuts
that split his skin
here and there
His eyes glittered 
in the lantern light
and widened 
and closed
and his pupils expanded
and retracted as 
he wrote
He dried the words
carefully with
sand and soft
breaths
before folding them
up into the paper
and sealing them 
with blood red wax
He stood to his feet
and wavered to his
full height
and turned in the night
to find the door
and follow the 
shadowed hall
to its end
There was her 
door
and her silence
and her life
and her pain
and her withheld love
and confined possibilities
of loving
He touched the handle
with his ink stained 
fingers
and felt the cold 
seep into his skin
and then
deep within
causing his will
to falter
He turned the knob
and opened the door
and softly found 
the steps
to her bedside
and placed the 
folded missive into
her sleeping hands 

Born Fierce and Lonely

bathed in the starlight
of a moonless night
set to my feet
on the rocky ground
pushed along a turning path
in the shadow
but it was beautiful
and it took my breath away

Slow Simmer

you found me tangled up
in my knotted sheets
in my restless nightmares
you pulled me out of them
from the smothering linen
from the cloying terror