They say I’m cold
but I’m just old
not easily moved
by beats oversold
I bide my time
and hold out to find
the rhythm to make me
shake and unwind
to a place and time
where nothing matters

Rats scurry by
the idle chatter
of plans laid in the dark
only to shatter
when the morning comes

But I’m the keeper of secrets
the stasher of lies
I hold them neatly folded
pressed tight to my side

Though they be small
their weight is immense
they pull on my skin
and on my bones
until I hone my senses
enough to remember
only bets against the odds
count as a win

Though I thought
my heart would splinter
seems I’ve made it
through winter
still I’m only tinkering
with the thought
of letting go

So I place my chips
on red again
though everything is black
and nothing seems
even to hint
of colours coming back


release and

Thoughts of you
dangle round my head
threads entangled in
a vague source of dread
So I won’t pull
lest you unravel
and all I’m left with
is a drabble of memories
bedraggled and worn
barely enough
to keep me warm
or patch up the pieces
torn from my heart
each time we parted

the moon is high
traffic streams by
thoughts of you
now cling to my sides
clumps of words
that burr into my mind
making me rewind
back to times
I best forget
lest they spur
acts I’ll regret

Seems I’ve yet to understand
why acceptance is so grand
when it forces its demands
and leaves nothing
So I sing this dirge
of mumbled words
in the hope I can purge
my need for wanting to hold
and have some control
before I choose
to let you go


Suddenly ideas beamed towards her. She could see them streaming through the window. Smell. Cookie. Stairs. Lots. Sunshine. Porch. Chicacoos, chicka, chickadoos. Birds. Crumbs. Up. Chair.

She could.

Her mother was talking in the bathroom.

Go downstairs. She did that before. It was hard but she could do it.

No falling. To the kitchen. To the cookies. They were up with the red chair. She could climb. The big part against the sink, like John did. He gave her a cookie too.

She pushed off her blankets and rolled her legs off the bed. This was the hard part. Reach the floor, almost, and let go without falling, without Mom coming.

“Mrs. Gerakis! You know you shouldn’t get up alone. Robbie will be here at 8:30 to help you wash. After breakfast, maybe we’ll sit on the terrace. But no hiding bread in your pockets. Those pigeons are dirty.”

She slumped back on the pillow, legs dangling. Words. “No,” was all she heard. No cookie. No stairs. No chickadees. No John. Not ever again.


 Daily Prompt: Agile


I won’t talk about your lips
or the taste that I miss
I won’t picture your smile
or the miles walked to see it
I won’t mention mistakes
made in the wake
of better judgement
or resentments brewed
stronger than any stewed regrets
I won’t show the sore parts
of my torn heart
or share the spots
of buried thoughts
crushed with duty
as we moved on
I will conjure images
stark and bare
stained in pink
strained past caring
a setting for you
to exhale my name
and for me to redeem
my dignity

so long

it’s been so long
since I’ve heard
anything new
of your days
or your dreams
or the nights
in between
so though it hurts
I must conclude
I don’t know you


this cusp belies
of winter’s end
though I know
it won’t bring spring
I should learn to enjoy
the warm itch of wool
than wane yearning
for the touch of your skin

you and words

life goes on just like before
contracts signed and others torn
though I rarely read a single line
like I did between yours
just to find I would be
the only one bound
to no gains
and expected to refrain
from expectations

I have no reasons only rhymes

to excuse the time I wasted
offering views to the blind
I preferred the words
and how they swirled
in my eyes and mouth
so much more than you

but without you they scatter
I’m adrift amidst a mist
of letters that refuse
to gather into clouds
and rain a relief
I can turn into words
to drown my fear
that you have all
I wish I did not need

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