Dry Eyed – A Poem By Carol J Forrester

Roll my shoulders,
crackle spine of dry flesh
smoked fractures and boiler hiss,
hiccup of breath in a radiator.

Airless and unloved,
in the dank basement of the mind
snow cannot refract any light
into these shadows.

Still it aches on the backs,
eyeballs tight against their sockets
straining past the crisp,
no bounce in the world outside.

Imagine melting into dust,
slithers of self pooling at the foot
of all this make believe.
As endless as this frozen season.

“Airless and unloved, in the dank basement of the mind” L. Igloria ~ A Reparation

When The Apple Trees Shake Loose – A Poem By Carol J Forrester #DVersePoets

It takes three minutes to brew black tea.

English breakfast, china mug,

steam lifting lazy from the spout

in a long, spiral stretch,

my own arms raised from the blanket

for the glass bottles stowed up top

just waiting for autumn and wind falls.

Rain Will Not Be Left Out In The Cold

She brings it in with her,

the rain,

clung to the tip of her nose

and through her hair

so it’s blacker than night.

 

Strips out of her waterproofs

till she has shape.

Colour,

risen high in her cheeks,

on the knuckles of her hands.

 

Reveals the desperation of it,

crept through

zips and openings.

Slid a caress down her neck

till she bears a collar of its touch.

 

Trails it deeper into the kitchen,

Siren kettle

a song to sodden socked feet,

printing a vanishing trail

across the tiles.

dverselogo

Hot As Hell And Then Some More

We warp in the heat,

buckle beneath the buzz

of thick cut air

pressing in on all sides.

Can’t blame trains

for stumbling.

As unsteady on tracks

as we are.

Yesterday they seemed

straighter, smoother, solid.

Today everything is

melting,

running into gutters.

I would stop too.

Choke my mixed signals

and lurch into whatever

station offered refuge.


Poem for the hottest July day on record.

Heatwave

The Spring was wet,

enough that the trees still look alive above the yellow grass,

their roots searching out hidden wells to keep from losing too many leaves.

In their shade the heat has baked the ground into a bad ceramic,

the glaze already chipped and cracked in this overheated kiln.

Camouflaged by brittle stalks the sacrifices go unnoticed,

dust to dust, ashes to ashes, the trees can only stand so long.

dverselogo