Category: Writings

The Open Mic in My Brain

lindastudleyLeave a comment

My subconscious was working on
harmony lines till the wee hours,
singing the same snippets of songs to me
over and over and over.

At 4:00 a.m. the snow plow across the road beepingly took its turn
In this open mic I call my brain,
scraping up my last nerve with the snow,
apparently all in reverse gear.
 
And as one more string of disconnected thought winds its way
through synapses and dendrons,
my brain screams “Quit it!” and I awake,
head pounding, ears ringing from
nightly noises, dream fragments, and the
sound of my own heart beating.

#31

Some Assembly Required

lindastudleyLeave a comment

Insert characters A and B into
Plot Line C (some twisting may occur).
Do not operate this Plot Line
while making toast in the shower.
Do not run with this Plot Line or allow small children
to play with it.
Plot Line C operates on synaptic batteries
Recharge these regularly for optimum results.
 
A wide range of accessories are available for your Plot Line C.
These include Settings, Supporting Characters, Foreshadowing, Conflicts,
Denoument, Climax, and Sequels.
Accessories can be found in a cerebrum near you.
Misuse of accessories or incorrect installation into Plot Line C
will cause pink slips to begin appearing in your mail and will
void all warrantees.
 
If Plot Line C stalls or refuses to move in the forward direction
place in your bottom file cabinet drawer and leave for several years.
Then remove, scan, and recycle.

 

#30

Mike to Zulu

lindastudleyLeave a comment

“Mike,
November is gone” I said “It’s January already.
Oscar and
Papa went back to
Quebec months ago.”
“Romeo?” Mike asked, though I knew he knew the answer.
“Sierra Leone” I whispered. He laughed. “It takes two to
Tango. I should have realized it was bad when I saw you were in
Uniform.
Victor left some
Whiskey behind. I don’t suppose that would show up in the
X-ray would it?” He gestured to a bag beside the bed. “Some
Yankee crap, but Vic never was a connoisseur of good whiskey. Probably
Zulu hooch.” I smiled. Anything Mike didn’t understand or like was Zulu.

 

#29

I suppose some rationalization may be in order here, considering the above poem is really more prose than poem. It was really just a bit of creative fun, sort of an excerpt from an ABC book for adults (see yesterday’s poem for Alpha to Lima). So please don’t look too deep for meaning or you might bump your nose, it’s that shallow! lol.

Alpha Through Lima

lindastudleyLeave a comment

A leaf pauses, held aloft,
Breeze rider, ancient, veined, ovate.
Caught, hovering above real life. I expect
dreams end like this and
even captured hearts only  
fuel our xenolithic tendencies, resting on the
ground, on leafy floors.
 
Hope often-times emulates leaves.
I never doubted I’d accept.
Joining us, like Ieaves, embedded to the end.
Keeping it like our
Love; innocent, mindless, absolute.

 

#29

A Woman, Her Mirror, and The Space In Between

lindastudley2 Comments

I
The mirror always tells me lies,
shows a backwards world.
Shows things farther away than they really are.
I once had a mirror that showed me ridges
across my face
that rippled when I moved.
What a lie.
 
II
I never promised perfection,
only my truth, my vision
of how you reflect
in me.
You search for a girl who had
your eyes long ago.
She is farther away.
She has moved on.
 
III
Back and forth you travel.
Waves and particles through me, in spite of me,
an endless conversation circling,
circling. I grow tired.
Turn off the light, perhaps
you’ll agree on something
tomorrow.

 

#27

In a Cave by a Fire

lindastudley4 Comments

I can’t really distinguish
Between twenty five below
And minus thirty three.
At some point it just feels
Cold and I wonder
If there really is a difference.
Before numbers were invented
was there just cold, colder, damn cold,
and ‘stay in the cave by the fire, Stupid.’
 
But I don’t have a fire anymore.
Just a looping video of a fire that
I can play on the fifty inch screen.
No hauling wood or ashes but no
actual heat either.
So what if the power goes out one day
and never comes back on?
Back to the cave by the fire, Stupid!

 

#25

How Many?

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How many days have gone?
How many days are left?
Will I be marked on what I’ve accomplished?
Will I get an A for effort?
 
How many days are left?
How many days are gone?
Will all my poems and pictures still matter
Will anyone sing my songs?
 
How many hours to go?
How many hours have passed?
Will I wish I had spent them more wisely?
When vision dims a last?
 
How many hours have passed?
How many hours to go?
Will I care that I could have done more?
Will I even know?
 
How many minutes before?
How many minutes behind?
Drink my tea before it gets cold
Go to work and find
 
How many minutes behind
How many minutes before
I start again with a smile in your arms
Then go off to war.

 

#24

Winter is a Carnivore

lindastudleyLeave a comment

It’s twenty three below again.
The sugar frosted world bares its fangs,
gnaws at my window pane, leaving diamond scars
that will not heal till spring.
 
Its twenty three below again.
The winter wonderland erupts in a howl,
banshees at my door, keening incantations
that only endurance will lift.
 
It’s twenty three below again.
The fluffy blanket of snow drifts into traps,
wraps me in a carnivourous embrace
that sucks the heat from my marrow.

and I wonder one more time
what the temperature is in Arizona.

 

#23

The Longer I Live Here (Here being Earth)

lindastudley2 Comments

The longer I live here
the easier it is to see shades of gray
and the harder it is to see small print on the back of my cereal box.

The longer I live here
the easier it is to give stuff away
and the harder it is is to avoid attracting more stuff.

The longer I live here
the less sense crossword puzzle clues make.

The longer I live here, here being Earth
The more I feel like a visitor waiting to go home.

 

#22