The Price

Open up your heart,
She banged on the door,
The pain of striking it
Shot up her arm and
Still she struck it
Again.

To her, the pain
Was nothing in comparison
To the pain she
Felt in her heart.

A pain that wormed
Its way into the
Tight spaces in her
Chest and squeezed
The one organ that
Made life possible.

I love you, you know.
Her striking the door
Ceased and in the
Silence, she spoke
Her truth.

It made her feel
Naked, her skin
Exposed to his
Possible rejection.

The door opened and
He stood in the doorway,
His eyes searching her face,
Her soul.

Do you really?
Say it again,
When she did,
He smiled.

Taking her hand, he
Pulled her into an
Embrace.

I don't love you,
His words were
Whispers in her ear.

He stepped back
And closed the door.
She stood, jaw slack,
Spirit crushed.

Was this the price
Of being vulnerable,
Of loving a man,
Of walking in her truth?
Was it worth the price.

Turning around and
Walking away from
His front door, she
Closed her heart,
And with it the
Pain. For her,
The price was too high.

His Smile

His smile never reached
His eyes, instead it
Was oily and as a
Result my smile was
Slow in coming.

His smile set off
A chain reaction of
Disgust in me as it
Made me feel as though
He was stripping me
Bare with his eyes.

A smile is supposed
To make people happy
But his, his was
The Rumpelstiltskin kind
Of smile and I
Was grateful I had
No hay to spin to gold.

His smile did him
No favours and I
Was grateful when
It faded away in
Disappointment when
For the tenth time
I said that I
Was not interested.

His smile was
The one smile
I never missed.

Of Time

With each passing day,
A jewel formed on
One of the many chains
That hung about her.

It was not long
Before they weighed
Her down, curling
And folding her body.

It was as though
Time was returning her
To the earth with
Each trinket
Representing a day.

It was not long
Before her existence
Was reduced to
Her bearing the pain.

But one day it
Was too much
And she fell under
The weight, crashing
Down to the earth.

Time paid no heed
And more jewels appeared
'til she disappeared
Under the trinkets
Of time.

The Arena

In the center
Of the arena
They stood, a
Mindless throng
Yelling at them
To do the
Unspeakable.

They looked one
Another over,
Trying to determine
If one or the
Other will leave
The arena alive.

One uttered words
That were a mess
Of sounds to the
Other. They did
Not even speak
The same language.

Strangers being
Forced to kill
Strangers.

With the energy
Of the mad crowd
About them,
They attached,
Not out of anger,
Not out of malice,
But out of the need
To survive.

Before long, one
Was struck down,
And with the crowds
insistence the other
Rendered his opponent
Lifeless.

As the arena
Grew quiet,
A sense of clarity
Descended upon
The survivor.
Small hands released
The bloodied axe.
The child fell
To its knees.

They were but
Children, not quite
Men and women,
And yet they were
Forced to do
What we are
Reluctant to do.

As he wept
Over the slain
Child, a girl
Who would never
Become a woman,
A guard scooped
Him up.

The guard would not
Return him to the
Cage that had been
His home. He
Would be taken
To the barracks,
He would become
A soldier, serving
The empire.

But before he
Ever serves his
Country, the empire,
The child had to
Lose his soul.


Image Credit: galleryhip

Untitled

His body was
Nothing but a silhouette
Among the shadows.

If I knew not
That he was there,
I would think him
An illusion formed
By an over-active mind.

He sat beside me
And the heat
Emanated from his body
Made me wonder if
He had absorbed the heat
Of the sun and now
It was seeping
Away into the cool
Night.

Yet when I touched him,
When our bodies
Became one, he was
Cool to the touch.
It was my body,
He said, that was
Heated.

It was not long
Before both bodies
Became heated, minds
Lost in a pre-climatic
Trance. The mind,
Body, soul enveloped
In a singular gasp.

Falling apart,
Bodies spent,
Minds drifting to
Parts unknown,
We reached for each
Other. An intimacy
Followed by an intimacy.

One kinetic.
One latent.
Both connecting us
To each other,
To this moment,
Which quickly slipped
Away to slumber.

From the shadows
He came,
In my arms,
He remained.

When I Grow Up

When I grow up
I want to be different.
I want to be the
Person people point at
And say, “Wow.”

When I grow up
I want to hold life
By the hair and swing
It around and around
'Til it got dizzy
And puked all my desires.

When I grow up
I want it all to be
Sweetness and light
Edged with a darkness,
So dark it rivaled
Black holes.

When I grow up
I want the sun
To shine unto my face
And the breeze to
Lick the sweat from
My brow.

When I grow up
I want it all
To make sense,
That I would understand
Why people claimed
Their sadness.

From the outside,
I appear to have
Grown up, but
It isn't what
I thought it
Would be.

Somehow, I get
The feeling that
Someone is lying,
Is it me or
Is it society?

Somehow, in the depths
Of me, I believe
That the truth is
Buried under the many
Layers of crud placed
Lovingly around me
By those who
“Know better.”

So I believe
I am still growing,
A plant buried
In a seed
Buried in the earth.
And when I grow
Up, I will make
Life puke all
My desires.

Pay Day

This is my contribution to a challenge put on by two friends, Random Michelle and Charlie Roots, called Zombie Apocalypse 268. For more information on the challenge, visit Random Michelle.

“Eh, what's that Cheryl?” I make my last walk through of a warehouse on the outskirts of St. John's where I am stationed. My shift is coming to an end, and the last thing I want to hear is that I am not going to get my pay check this afternoon.

“Eh, the boss turn into a zombie and didn't sign the checks and dem?” I return to the guard booth and fill out the log.”You not serious,” I shift my cell phone to the other ear. “What kind of zombie 'e turn into?”

I sit down heavily on the piece a chair they say they giving us to sit on. “What you mean you don't know?” I sigh, “Is 'e walking about slow and clumsy or is 'e rushing about?”

Hearing a shrill scream in the distance, I get to my feet and slam shut the door, locking it. Then I crouch down behind the desk, pulling the chair close to it.

“Okay, 'e jumpin' out 'im skin?” I ask after Cheryl gives me a description of the zombie my cheapskate boss has became. “Alraight,” I ignore the scratching at the large plate glass window that looked into the warehouse. Most likely the guard stationed outside, but that's his problem, not mine. “Now get a bunch of de men to 'old 'im down' and make Mr. Browne sign de checks.... I very serious Cheryl.”

“Look Cheryl.” Now the fool guard banging on the door. “I don't care if dere is a zombie whatever, I got to get paid. My rent due next week, I have to send money back 'ome and de Migo man sure to come 'round on Sunday. I can set my clock on dat one.”

The banging stops and it gets real quiet. Too quiet. I'm tempted to take a peek but I know better than to let the guard outside know I'm in here. A loud explosion of something going through the window destroys the silence, glass skitters under the desk. Shit, when did zombies get so resourceful?

With a chupse, I tell Cheryl that I will call her later. Still, I don't come out, if Mr. Resourceful was going to get me, he was going to have to come for me.

I listen as he lands on broken glass. He slowly walks around the office, glass crunching under spit shone shoes. But something is wrong. His stride is too purposeful, not hurried or wild. He comes around the desk and stands but inches away from me. It is now or never.

Pulling out a metal nail file from my shirt pocket, I raise my hand as high as the desk would allow. It is now or nev-

“Peaches?” it is just above a whisper. “Where you, Peaches?”

“Donovan?” I push the chair out, forcing my co-worker to step back. “Donovan, you not a zombie?”

“Do I look like a zombie?” he replies, watching me get out of my hiding place.

Looking him up and down, I say, “Is questionable.” Turning around, I take in the smashed window. “Now why you go and do dat for? Now anything can get in.”

“You not glad I come look for you?” Donovan has the heart to say. “I coulda left you 'lone to face dem.”

“I woulda managed,” I turn back to face him. “Plus, I t'ink you de one 'fraid being alone.” Not even waiting for a response, I pull out my phone and call back Cheryl.

“So you get him to sign the checks, Cheryl?” I ask when the phone is answered. “What?!? Mr. Browne get she? He's gnawing pon she right now? Jesus.... but, hear nah, did y'all get Mr. Browne to sign de checks and dem? Okay, good good, I coming just now.”

Seeing the shocked expression on Donovan's face, I ask, “What?” as I disconnect the call.
“You nuh 'ear?” He responds. “Cheryl pregnant.”

At first, I was speechless. That little mite of a woman get herself with child for that cheating boy she call a man. I wanted the best for she but maybe it's for the best she died early. She would not have survived anyway and then for her to be pregnant, too. She would have gotten in the way, but I don't utter a word of this to Donovan as I heard he had feelings for Cheryl.

“Lets go,” I say at last. “We'll give her a decent burial when we get a chance,” I lie.

“Where we going?” Donovan asks, not making a move to go. He isn't the smartest man to put on a security uniform.

“Where else?” I say, walking over and removing the gun from the holster that hung at his side. I check the clip and remove the safety. “We're going to the office to get our pay,” I look up at him.

A scream broke the silence that hung over us like a heavy blanket. It is closer, they are closer. There are miles between us and the office filled with unspeakable horrors and I am asking him to travel through them to get a piece of paper. But it is more than a piece of paper. We worked the week and we have to be paid. We have responsibilities to meet and it doesn't matter that the world has gone to hell. I want my money.

“E safe,” Donovan says, his eyes veering to the gaping hole he made in the plate glass window that would have separated us from whatever gets into the warehouse.

Following his line of vision, I see a woman staring at my co-worker. She would have been beautiful if it wasn't for the sunken eyes that seem see nothing, the slacken jaw from which dark blood leaks from the corners. A gaping wound on her arm has little maggots squirming as they consume her at their leisure. She doesn't care, her attention solely on the man in the room.

I put a bullet in her head. The kick of the gun new to my small hands but I could get used to it.
Looking back at Donovan, I hear her drop to the floor like a sack of garbage. “You sure?”

He pulls his gaze away from the window and blinks at me. The gears in his mind moving ever so slowly as he tries to decide on what he should do. Should he come with me where he is sure to encounter more like the corpse on the floor beyond the window? Should he stay and deal with whatever gets into the warehouse?

With a chupse, I put a bullet in his head. He took too long to answer and a second's hesitation means life or death in this new world. As I search his body for extra rounds for his gun, I rationalize my actions as a mercy kill. It is either I kill him now or later and I might be busy later.

Pocketing the extra rounds, my phone and a few odds and ends, I sneak out of the guard room. As I creep through the warehouse, I hear them, but I was prepared for when I see them.

Standing in the doorway of one of the exits, I can smell death in the faint breeze as it blows through the open door. In the distance a small group of undead walk slowly towards the warehouse.

If it was Monday, I would rethink what I am about to do. I would have hid out in the warehouse, surviving on dried goods and bottled water. But it's Friday, pay day and I'm going for what is owed to me. I'm going to get paid and it's going to take a whole lot more than a zombie outbreak to keep me from that pay check.


Image Credit: Bilder

Strands of Hair

The strands of hair
Curl and coil
This way and that,
Refusing to stay
Straight, to fall
Luxuriously down
One's back.

The strands of hair
Stand out in a
Tangled mess as
Fairies go about
The business of knotting
A few out of idleness
Or vindictiveness.
Either case, thy leave
Behind knots.

The strands of hair
Never heard of gravity
But soon discover
Whey they are braided
Together and soon
They are aware of
The Law.

The strands of hair
Are rebels and misfits,
Hated and loved,
They are my own
And are me, the hair,
They come together
To make my crown.






Image Credit: Dope Black Art

Imperfect

I'm not perfect.
I'm not beautifully
Constructed with
Bone, Muscles,
Blood, Organs
And sinews.
My imperfection
Is so evident,
Can you not see it?

I'm not perfect.
I don't continually
Walk in the light
Of self confidence,
Half the time,
I shiver with
Insecurities as I
Walk blindly into
The unknown.
Can you not feel
My fears.

I'm not perfect.
I can never be
Perfect for the
Word itself is
Conceptual with
No true example
Existing in
The world.

Each flower has
Its blemish.
Each man,
His flaws
And yet everything,
Everyone is
Perfect in their
Imperfection.

In my imperfection,
I have room to
Grow, to reach
Beyond the limitations
I place on myself,
Placed on me by others.

I am no perfect.
I am gloriously
Imperfect.


Image Credit: Jacqueline Harriet

Samuel and Jessie

Samuel and Jessie
Lived at the end
Of the block.

He had a shock
Of black hair
That seemed to rule
Him more than he
Ruled it.

He would walk
The dog, always
Waving at a neighbour
Or speaking at length
With one or another.

He would be seen
Every morning navigating
His beat up Toyota
On the way to work.

We never say her,
He physical description
Fading like an old
Photograph, making
Her features soft and
Blurry to our mind's eye.

I think she used
To garden, her small
Figure kneeling down
As she planted, pruned
And tended flowers
That were now neglected.

One day,
A woman came to the
Door, asking if
We had seen
Her sister, Jessie.

Then a police officer
Holding up a picture
Of a woman who
Looked like the
Jessie who lived
At the end of the block.

They eventually found her,
Jessie's remains were
Found buried in the
Basement. Samuel
Was carted away in
A squad car, wrist
Bound, eyes haunting.

Samuel and Jessie
Lived at the end
Of the block.


Image Credit: ImageBack

Let Me In

Let me be lost
In the forest
Of your thoughts.

Hopefully, I will
Find some sense
Of understanding
That will make
What we are doing
Make some kind
Of sense.

Yet you keep
Me locked out,
Never to see
You in your
Entirety, to see
Your complexities.

And somehow,
I was still able
To find something
To love, as well
As something to hate.

Perhaps that is
What makes what
We share so
Special.

I love to hate you
And I hate to love you.

Let me in
Or let me out,
Let me in
Or let me be.
Let me in.


Image Credit: Imageback

Who Am I?

Where am I?

I woke up in
A gray world,
Devoid of colour,
Devoid of life and
I, I was devoid
Of identity.

At first,
I searched the space
In which I inhabited,
Four walls spoke
Nothing of the time
Or place, date or land.
But a door led to
Somewhere.

Somewhere was
An old house
Where people once
Lived. He was
A scientist and
She was a writer,
And they had
No children,
Just dreams.

Dreams of changing
The world,
Dreams of keeping
A record of
The world but these
Dreams remained
Dreams locked in
An old house.

On surfaces,
I found words
And formulae,
And thoughts and
Concepts unfinished.

In the air,
I found harsh words,
Angry words and
Hints of regret.
And these regrets fed
The words that were
Spat into the air.

Looking out a window,
I could see that
What lay beyond
This room, this house
Was no different from
What lay within.

I sat at a table,
Now not caring to
Know where I was.
In a way,
It didn't matter.

In a world so dismal
It didn't matter
Where I was,
It only mattered
Who I was an
What I was going
To do with my reality.

Sitting in an old
House filled with
Unfulfilled dreams,
Incomplete thoughts,
Angry, regret fueled words,
I decided on
Who I was going to be.

One thing I knew
For sure, I was
Going to be the colour
In a world satisfied
With being devoid of it.
I was going to be
The life.



Better late than never. This poem was inspired by a photo prompt from my friend Michelle Toussaint's blog, Random Michelle. Click here to check out her blog and be sure to check out her book, Now Taking A Lover, which is available as an ebook and a print book.