Syrup drips dry
to finger and key, translate
into stuck Writer
Sick kids cry loud
tissue and tears meet floor
Sleeps lost phantom
The clocks hands
moving in slow circles
the day is soon over
One blog per long day
Haiku, typed rapidly
un-sticks fingers
She flew high into gray moonlit air,
Glittered dust, falls from freshly found wings.
Warm summer air tickles her face,
Toward the moon, she glides on a dream.
And yet,
black shadows of night, veil a villain.
His trap, invisible to innocent eyes.
Sticky white treads, the hair of a ghost,
Her flight ends in a twisted wreck,
he has caught her.
In a panic, she twists, and struggles,
the cords, too powerful, for the caught.
A threaded coffin, crafted in moments.
She is mummified, yet still alive,
he looks her up and down.
Looming over the freshly caught moth,
the spiders eyes hold, true terrors gleam.
Under the fullest deep quiet of the moon.
He dances with her.
She is beautifully subdued by his desires.
Under his sharp fangs, he smiles.
She cries,
the killer drinks,
her juicy life away.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
She remains there, beneath life, under a heavy world.
Kids, events, age, career, household, her man,
she holds it all, on her shoulders,
in a labored squat.
He looks for the perfect polo, the best cologne,
he drives a shiny car into the sunset of career advancement,
he thinks he has it all, in his future,
because maybe, he doesn’t know squat.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
Laying scared, clicking magnet coffin
shows, black and white, thick, eerie, claw marks
damaging a brain, a demon within,
scratching electrical storms sparks.
A round white pill, within me embarks
with a purposed journey, storm to kill.
Empty mush brain, sentences try to fill
drifting void, paying the shadowed cost,
loose the Devil Claw, my souls, tortured bill,
safe dulled shell of mind, sacred fire, lost.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
Gravel roads, softly covered,
dust, like powdered sugar,
Trees, thick and red,
larger than a mighty metal bus,
higher and warmer,
than a tall cold building,
“Have we traveled back in time?” I ask my wife.
The 2004 Prius, rolls quietly,
tires massage the earth,
a gentle slow respect,
I am fearful,
the moment will soon be
lost.
On the Pacific Coast,
a warm summers day,
Jebidiah Smith Redwoods,
natures pure moment
planted in my heart,
without a sound.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
Zachary W Gilbert, Author 