Poetry of my love for her

by ZacharyWGilbertMarch 5, 2017March 5, 2017

Love for her, prompts

heated black ink to caress blank pages.

A lively dance of the quill pen begins.

Rhythmic circles and purposeful slices,

capture love within eternal letters.

…

Scented ripples flung,

out of the flow,

of your long brown hair,

smell like fresh garden air,

passionately kissed by, lavender.

…

Graphic, the memories of our love,

falling into my memory,

like rain made of white light.

…

Evocative, your smile is devoured,

by my eyes, love’s sensation, wraps

fuzzy strings around my heart,

and squeezes.

…

Eloquent, your movement captured,

forever, in the theater of my mind,

in darkness, the gray light flickers,

the screen is stolen,

as you dance upon it.

…

Vivid, the curved letters of your name,

tattooed on the surrendered shell,

of the love, that swells,

my glowing red heart.

…

Dear Writer, it is parlay time!

by ZacharyWGilbertMarch 4, 2017

Dear Writer,

The vivid portrait hanging over the morning sink, glistens in yellow light. It is dawn, and you have met the person that controls your fate. Why do you remain in a prison of self inflicted doubt and submission? If you work at something, at anything, you will get better. If you stay where you are, you will remain where you are. Yes, yes, you created a book, you wrote and rewrote it. It may need to reside on the shelf for a moment. Now you know the rhythm, you have the discipline. Small bites, small bites. Write to an Op / Ed! Good, now people who you have never met, have read something you have written. Now, it is time to be brave dear writer, write for money. Paid articles, gain experience, build that portfolio. Then, then to the book. Use what you have learned. Edit it. Give it joyfully to beta readers, then listen. Remember that you will soon etch your words in stone. Carefully shape your writing… then, soon dear writer… that wonderful portrait, that hangs over the sink will depict a happy and successful writer, who was once brave enough to parlay their talent.

Desire

by ZacharyWGilbertMarch 3, 2017

When that reddened pump, wrapped in love catches fire…

Desire, like a hungry caged predator leaps out, and devours lovers…

When soft lips float on top of stilled breath, and eyes close…

Desire, no longer an endangered species, its coat grows thick and warm…

When every touch flashes bright lightning, deep under hot skin, stealing kisses…

Desire, is a fire that will burn orange for all eternity, roaring and popping…

When the night wind, whispers away the burdens so abundant, in days light…

Desire, cannot die, as long as lovers hearts share often in romances blaze.

Doubt is a disease

by ZacharyWGilbertMarch 2, 2017March 2, 2017

The body is full of cells. They carry out various functions according to their design. A virus enters the micro world, invisible to the naked eye. A virus, by itself is tiny, and insignificant. Floating toward the massive cell. Like an evil satellite landing on planet, the virus pukes its RNA code into the cell. The cell is doomed to reprogram itself into a virus producing factory. It’s purpose is compromised, it’s existence soon to be over, and the virus shows no remorse.

In the case of the villainous bacteria, it consumes the cell, and dedicates rot. The body becomes sick, in an altered state. Sometimes the damage is stopped and people get better, and sadly sometimes it does not.

In the social world, there are toxic people. Bacteria and viruses that seek to infect you, change you, and they will do so without regret of any kind. That is what they have designed themselves for. I have listened to and believed this blight as comments and suggestions enter my brain.

“You can’t do that!”

“You will be overwhelmed.”

“You probably won’t understand this.”

“Your not good enough.”

It is important to realize, that without your submission, the virus and bacteria can infect. If you build up an immunity to the lazy and foolish word, you will kill the infection. I trust in God. I know he didn’t create me to fail. I know he didn’t create me to hurt, and to hate. As I have crossed the marker in life that says 40 years, I am going to work on my immune system. I have races to run, books to write, and people to help. I can’t do those things if I am sick in the brain, because I let some weaker organism take over my thoughts.

Heavy Silver Circles

by ZacharyWGilbertMarch 1, 2017March 1, 2017

The silver coins are heavy, and cold on my fingers. They make a light pinging sound as I count them in my sweaty palm. I drop them in a cloth sac like feeding pain pills into the mouth of a monster. 28, 29, 30, they are all there. The back of my neck is hot, the mob is restless, I lead them out into the garden.

Black night holds silver clouds aloft, they float above, watching. I know the place, I know the man, we find him easily. The mob is watching. I call him teacher, and kiss his cheek. They take him. The cold silver coins in my pocket are red hot. My neck grows cold as a rippling chill falls from my neck, down my back.

I learn, that my friend, my teacher, that I betrayed is going to be killed. It is early morning, I haven’t slept. When I find the group of leaders, they are angry and proud. The man I sold out is going to die. I tell them I made a mistake. They growl at me when they like a pack of wolves. Yet it is not me they want to devour, their bellies are full with the satisfaction of the lamb they caught, my teacher, my friend. I tell them I made a mistake, they don’t care. I throw the silver coins at them, in a burdened toss, yet my burden remains. The coins ping, and pling on the hard stone floor, as hard hearts laugh at my torment.

I am in sorrow, heavy black, sorrow. It feel like I swallowed a barrel of mud. I deserve to die! After three years, I am a fool, and a failure. I climb a tall tree, I fasten the rope around my neck, my face is red and hot with tears and snot. I don’t hesitate, I let myself fall of the branch. I think, “Dear God, please…” as I fall. Crack! My neck breaks, my breath is stolen from my mouth and locked in my chest. My mouth opens and closes, like a fish pulled from the water. In a moment I pass out. Darkness doesn’t have far to look to find me.

Zachary W Gilbert, Author

Encouragement Perhaps