“Watchful Flies”

flyDoris’ day terribly ends. Trace, her love of many years, abandons her.  Sleep frustrates the tormented woman. Finally, her convoluted dreams soothe the hurt in Doris’ heart. Upon its walls, a strange poem offers peace:

 

 

Where go I
to find a place,
someplace, I need
to hide

What must I do
to hide my face
dare I, my faceless
pride

A quiet peaceful
loneliness, you
seek me, go away

They  hurt me so
my painful knees, I
broke them yesterday

This plate of food,
how do I eat, its taste
I cannot stand

My throat a web
of spider claws, I
feel its clammy hands

Upon a tomb my
name I read, written
by my fears

A dusty grotesque Eulogy
of wretched morbid
tears

Turn from me,
oh, do not stay, leave
me to my thoughts

To understand this
mind in me and why
to me it talks

The  warmth of you
I cannot feel
your searing cold
I dread

Dare risk I
the bold in you, melt,
should I instead

Inside my heart a
darkness looms, dare
I love you so

A tapestry of watchful flies
warning, “No,”
“please, no!”

The fate of love never risk
its ending is foretold;
watchful flies never bate,
thy youth is much too old.

Copyright © 2014 Delbert H. Rhodes

“Someone He Loved”

Vintage-Printable-Botanical-Rose-GraphicsFairy-sm-664x1024Ninety years since his birth and the old man thinks of his life. In many ways, living blemished his heart; still, he holds no malice. His body, once strong and powerful, is broken and tired. Years ago, vessels burst inside his eyes, he sees only shadows. The old man hears acutely; and his ability to identify voices, quite good.

The hands remain strong and powerful, able to give a hardy handshake or delicately caress a flower. The knees, sickened by osteoarthritis, are puffy and inflamed; his health declining, life ebbs away. Awakening him, soft hands touch his face, a kiss to his cheek.

“It’s been a long time, Xavier.” “I heard of your illness and wanted to visit you.” The woman’s tone, her touch, her closeness seems as memorable curiosity. “I am married now, and have four children.” “Do you remember me?” Xavier’s brow bends, “Who are you, how do I know you?” “I see only shadows.” Leaning closer, the woman says, “We once worked together, a long time ago.” “When…where?”

Xavier hears nothing and then recognizable words. Written about thirty years ago, the words and phrases, the metaphors, the style, his; a poem written for someone special, someone he loved.-“D’na?” “Is it really you?”

Although from the shadows, her eyes touch him; her smile warms him-the ravages of death nearby-holding him, shielding him from fate, D’na’s tears slide down Xavier’s cheek. “Yes, yes.” “I have missed you, D.” “I have missed you terribly.” For long moments they tremble.

“I’m sorry, Zavier.” “I should have talked more about it.” “That was a long time ago, and I never blamed you. We loved each other, things and people got in the way. Sometimes, even loving is too difficult.” “I know,” she sadly agrees, “you’re right.”

“Tell me about your children.” The weary man reclines, her lovely voice relaxes him. D’na returns to the beginning, her life and family clearly before him. She speaks of marriage, husband, job, pregnancy and excitement; but, does she truly know happiness. D’na sketches the faces of her children and a mother’s impregnable love-somehow, Xavier stares beyond the shadows, blue eyes, greying blond hair, lithe, and a lovely face-and her hands, Xavier always loved her hands-gorgeous. Customarily, D’na’s hands rest inside his, sweetly, she leans forward.

Still, Zavier’s kiss electrifies the woman-his lifeless body collapses in her arms-even after thirty years, she could not talk more about it; she could not tell him about Bobby.
Copyright©2014 Delbert H. Rhodes

Why Winter

winter-clip-art-royalty-free-winter-clipart-illustration-93476

Windows reflect a gloomy sky. Dreary light stains the panes with gray mustard. Clouds cluster as smoky spiders awaiting juicy treats.

In the trees, leaves brown as the season changes, and Tony frets because he hates winter; he hates cold.

His favorite seasons are spring and autumn; Tony cares nothing of the remaining months, mostly wishing that they would disappear, especially the humid sticky months of summer.

His youth insulated the lad from winter’s wrath; he even enjoyed sledding, and ice skating and other things that his friends and he would do.

These days Tony fondly remembers excitement, and as much as he promises himself, rarely would he venture out to play; those days are long gone. Always, tomorrow, maybe. Fantastically, the wishful man draws lines in the sands daring winter to cross. Naturally, folly is a labyrinth of fools, and the path to “fool school” is unattractive, perilous. The inquisitive man ponders (just) one simple question:

Why Winter

Slowly, as winds chill the trees,
an icy tail sweeps the skies.

Trees stiffen as frigid fingers stab
and pierce crusty barks.

Dank puke sprays the lands as
swelling clouds slap high fives.
Coursing, birds fly inside the misery.

Everything ripe for the picking;
summer evolves from plush greenery
to ice, snow and muddy plaque.

The air grows colder.

I cannot help but wonder; why winter
smiles with invasive discomforts,
unwanted perils and devastation,
with her cold and frozen face.

Why is she wantonly brutal.
Why must we surrender.
Why not simply go away.
Why? She never listens.

A cool sun lights the sky;
tree limbs supplicate as apples dangle.
A cringing canvas displays the fruits
as cold candy reds.

Then a bird trills, I languish inside
its harmonies; I stir its chromatic fire.
Does the creature wary of winter.

Cold hurts me.

Mornings, I discipline my bed;
“How dare you push me out!”
Mocking the day,
I wish for better times.

I wish for spring.

Copyright ©2014 Delbert H. Rhodes