Metal known, by the meddle shown

Hallowed void creates a vacuum, and in that desperate pull, one chooses do meddle.

Tell me, scholar of my life…

Enlighten me, one who has intimacy with my circumstance…

When did I in fact hire you, as my handyman of my life?…

When in history, has one chose to meddle, by request.

Dear lost soul, perhaps it is time, to meddle within your own void.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert


Guilt. Written in bone, not stone.

To survive life, guilt must be pulled from thought,

like a festering rotten tooth.  Negative self image

poisons the brain.

The twisted notion of forgiveness, is often lost,

upon ones own self.

Inside the sparking flesh of the entombed brain,

thoughts dance with dark lightning.

Violations carried out upon humanity

swirl in memories,  like a growling tornado.

Guilt of transgression, becomes the script

on the stage of life,

yelling again the wrongs,

that are already carved in bone,

behind the eyes of the accuser.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert

Bones of Yesterday

What is that notorious place, in the caved hearts of the weary, the bones of yesterday lie?  Not lay, LIE.  They lie to those who would hold them, study them, and define themselves by them.  Life, and biology are systems that demonstrate renewal.  A cut heals, rain replenishes rivers, and everyday, the Earth spins into a fresh morning.  From days ago, from years ago, from lifetimes ago, yesterday rots in the hearts of the weary.  Sculptures made of rotten bone,  are erected as memorials to hurt and failure.   When someone lets their mine remain captive in the grasp of yesterday, others join into the the lie.  Others will take the lead of the one who gives value to the bones.   Lost love, bad grades, failed employment, heavy words, all litter the hearts of the weary.  Unfortunately, the land of yesterday is dead.  Let yesterday be a book on the desk of today, to be used a reference, and not a guide.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert


Qualm: When humans meet

Two human beings, just met, yet they are burrowed in their own qualms.

An atheist, A christian.

A man. A woman.

A conservative. A liberal.

A Broncos fan. A Packers fan.

One rich. One poor.

Yet, both… are human.

Existence is here.  Right now.

A monologue of opinion,

fire hoses spray

water comes out,

nothing goes in.

How can anyone be wrong,

if everyone is right?


Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert



Boneyard, Writers Garden

Writing, like growing,

the next chapter demands risk,

stories sent to die.

Dear friends,

It is time for me to begin sending submissions out to be considered for publication.  In 2016 I was comfortable in just sending out Opinion articles to the local paper.  Short 300 word musings.  That was an amazing experience, I think 16 made it to the light and were read by people I never met.  Now, I need to get brave and start sending out bigger and bolder pieces.  I read ‘On Writing’ by Steven King about 10 years ago.  It was supplemental reading for a 200 level English credit creative writing class.  I remember him saying something about the large spike he put on his wall to pierce rejection letters.  For those of you old enough to remember the deli’s numbered ticket dispensers, they would have that spike on their desk to skewer the numbers as the customers placed their orders.  Anyhow.  My plan, is to submit, and see what happens.  Rejection letters along with silence, will bring my writing to the boneyard.  Meaning, I will post them for the blog community to perform salvage, or perhaps hold services and say goodbye.  In either case, I want to set a goal of 100 rejections, as in, I will submit 100 writings by the end of 2017.  If my writing gets better by 101, then it will be worth it.  The ‘Boneyard / Writers garden will be my digital spike, and I think I may grab one from the hardware store today.

Fellow readers,

Fellow writers,

Shall we begin a salvage writing collaboration?

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert