Gray clouds hovering.
Weary hearts, ooze purple worry.
Yellow sunlight, lost.
…
Copyright 2017 © Zachary W. Gilbert
Uncategorized
Haiku Whispers
Words sail on air
landing upon ears shoreline
evil ghost ship.
…
Organize paper.
Organize words of story.
Reader’s Reward.
…
Love is a magnet
lodged within another.
Invisible pulling.
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A snake is a snake.
Lie of feathers and of feet…
A snake is a snake.
…
Waterfall of words
splashing loose on the page
upstream masterpiece.
…
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert
The Spicy Earth
The fire in earths belly is spicy. Spicy on the soul.
Like breathing, a mouthful of hot sauce,
then gasping, gasping, in a burning panic.
A force swirled around me, like a cloud of ink.
If hatred could take shape, if anger found form,
it would be the black smoke.
I asked the burning fog if it was sorry. Sorry it was evil.
Black garbage bags, shredded on barbwire, whipping in the wind.
Lava orange eyes, full of rage, with no lungs to yell,
seared its gaze into the theater of my mind.
Like the hum of an electrical transformer, it ‘whoomed’ and ‘werewa, werewa”ed,
its tale of hatred. It burned my mind, like a spicy nightmare.
A crackling hum, of violent energy. The forever evil,
was soon spat out of my mind. Yet, the choking smoke hangs,
over all of the earth, without sorrow, full of hate.
Even now as you read,
Millions of angry fingers of forged in dark smoke,
grab sweet hearts, and turn them black and spicy.
…
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert
Life
A giant wooden circle spins. Old drawings of children riding on animals and laughing, cover the center hexagonal pillar. The roof is like an ornate hat for a spinning round house. Wood shaped into framed swirls and borders. The paint is faded. This ride has been on the Earth for some time. An old group of people occupy it. The music plays, yet the looks of blind joy, knowing sadness, and silent fatigue hangs on the face of the riders. A voice booms over their heads, the music fades, the lights dim and the ride stops. They make a line, some are wailing, and trying to hold on for one more time around, but when the music stops, everyone must leave. They begin walking slowly our of sight. The exit gate is closed as new group populates the circle. Riders sit on plastic animals impaled with vertical poles. The frozen faced beasts of burden drift up and down, limited to their evolution, or their design perhaps. The moment is brief. The ride starts. The ride ends. As the gate closes behind the old riders, children run to the animals, laughing and telling their own stories of how it all works.
…
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert
Amble 15 to 10
Amble up the narrow trail, 15 weeks smashed to 10.
Amble through the vastness, rocks named and microbes studied.
Amble to the peak of the mountain, the journey defines my nature.
Amble under the wind, looking for whispers from a lost mother.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert
