Dear Writer…

by ZacharyWGilbertFebruary 5, 2017February 5, 2017

Craft for me a tale, dear writer. Craft for me a tale.

Within title, I require enticement.

Upon the first sentence, our relationship, as reader, and writer, hangs upon a thin silky spider web…

At this crossroads, many books die, soon after they are born.

More dust than readers, are captured in the cool night air, on lonely metal shelves, fat with static inventory. Waxy covers hold tight, to pages that will never feel the caress of a reader. Chapters are entombed, hungry for eyes, minds, and hearts. They starve, in silence. Pages suffocated from wine spills, coffee stains, and greasy fingers, they long to be touched, and turned.

And yet… you are strong, and wise dear writer. Your tale may yet live! Now, craft for me a paragraph!

Ahh yes! The first two trials, dear writer, you have conquered well. Now, the true test begins. Fortify my conquered heart. Your won battle, can become of lost war, if the first paragraph is stale. I am interested, I am engaged, I suddenly care, like rose petals reaching for warm morning sunlight.

Chapter 1 falls valiantly under my sharpened eye. The smell of new paper, slimy wax, and fresh ink fill the air. My mind is fed, and fed well. You have given me power in our journey, I suspect, I wonder, I want more. Have you heard the term, “Harry the explainer?” Well, that is certainly not you, my new writer friend. Not you at all. I shout, “Well done!” Everyone in the coffee shop gives me a funny look. I hold your creation high. Look upon this book that has enticed my outburst. Look upon it well, for you should read it too! Bravo, you have respected me, your reader with polished and refined word play. You know your craft…

Onward writer! Craft for me a tale! Soon you will win the war, and I shall sing of your tale, to other hearts, that are hungry, for you dear writer, to consume your crafted tale…

2017 © Zachary W Gilbert

Calloused Eyes

by ZacharyWGilbertFebruary 4, 2017

Ragged plaid blanket, all that remain,

Skin dirty, face faded, crowd in disdain.

Broken spirit, by dark shadow swallowed.

Calloused eyes, dead heart numb and hollowed.

God has not forgotten, the hurting lost.

He is waiting to see who will sacrifice the cost.

To love, beyond ourselves, and see the weak.

Helping others, seeing pain, may be good to seek.

Leaves fall, seasons decay, life’s dwindled flame.

The engorged, and the starved, share the game.

One day, perhaps, callouses will fall like scales from eyes.

Humanity, has value that may be important to recognize.

Mysterious Push

by ZacharyWGilbertFebruary 3, 2017February 4, 2017

The drive within, that mysterious push,

enraged orange fire, twists its fingers,

around my red throbbing heart, my blood is hot.

Cold statues entombed in green moss,

an overwhelming warm yellow light from my eyes,

dances for a moment, across their empty faces.

Fingers desire, to dance upon ‘clicky clack’,

Letter keys, become faded,

Stories, become clear,

Warm paper erupts from whirling printers,

releases a flat inky odor, and electric puff.

Reader, and Writer, embrace within,

cozy blankets of words, and worlds.

Life’s moments captured in text,

a waterfall of ideas, water of the mind,

The mysterious push of the flame,

forever, overwhelming.

Clean Heart

by ZacharyWGilbertFebruary 2, 2017

Murky, mud stained windows, block realities view.

Painful memories like thorns ache, lodged the mind.

Black talons, a dark grasp, tears the woven curtain of thought.

What solvents can clean, a muddy cake, from a fouled heart?

The vacuum is loud, brushes are spinning in a blur.

A tornado of dust, vacant from the plastic cylinder.

Turn it off, unplug it.

An emergency surgery performed.

A clog is discovered,

of faded green pine needles,

black cat hair,

and gray dust.

Plug it in, turn it on.

A dust tornado,

dances in the cleaners heart,

alive in purpose, again.

Before God, a heart is removed,

Green slime, like dragon snot, falls.

Thick smoke, like burning bread, floats.

A daily surgery is performed.

Stand up, start the day.

Pain and worry, daily, cleaned away.

Existing happy, no longer hurt, and mean.

Because, the heart is light, the heart is clean.

Rattlesnake or Butterfly

by ZacharyWGilbertFebruary 1, 2017February 1, 2017

A Mountain trail, gives off a sweet scent, like exotic perfume.

The taste is sweet, like a warm cupcake, seductively placed in the moment.

Silence permeates surrender, as the trail chooses a hikers fate.

Rattlesnakes are under the rocks, and butterflies are in the air.

Devil’s Backbone, juts out near where the Rocky Mountains reach the plains in Northern Colorado. Rocks and dirt, iron red, dry and crunchy, populate the trail. The thin air blows in a warm swirl one mile (1.6 km) above sea level. Trails twist and climb amid sparse vegetation. The view is amazing, tight shoulder muscles and stiff necks, melt into natures embrace.

Rattlesnakes like to bask in the warm sun. Their fangs are like needles that deliver a murky white venom. It is a powerful coagulant that makes the victims blood congeal, and turn into a red gelatinous mass in seconds. If anti-venom isn’t administered quickly, the tissue becomes necrotic, and limbs may be amputated.

Butterflies float on the breeze. Silent and beautiful. They land on bright mountain flowers and drink sweet nectar. Dusty wings colored yellow, and black, open and close. Their tiny legs cling to flower petals with poetic grace. Butterflies don’t sting, bite, or hurt anyone. They are beautiful. They don’t force their presence. The moment is fragile and soon they fly away in the bright blue sky.

On the trail of life, hearts are vulnerable,

to what lives in the air and under the rocks.

One shakes a rattling tail,

bites hard,

gooey poison is spilled

through curved fangs.

One floats silently in warm air,

loves peacefully,

content in its own business,

sharing beauty, in tender flight.

Rattlesnakes and Butterflies,

resist each other

in purpose,

in function

The two, live within us all.

Of the two, which one,

will arrive,

when our paths cross?

Zachary W Gilbert, Author

Encouragement Perhaps

Daily Prompt