Ghetto Girl

October 24, 2012 § 1 Comment

ghetto girl
ready to stay

The Reassurance of Plain Jane

September 17, 2012 § Leave a comment

the problem
with loving
the Builder

intimacy deep ends on honesty

other projects
set him free

gifts like

after all

don’t win
the prize


the prize=alone

what a
lash out
jealous bitch

I take words
I know I wont like

he reminds me~~~
I’m just a child

you told her my name
and it wasnt
your baby

but it sure was plain
so thank you
just the same.


September 11, 2012 § 1 Comment

The tracks thrummed with energy as she raised her arms to feel the sun. Roderick was behind her, trembling like the gravel, but Vanessa held her ground.

“Nessa?” His voice was frightened. She tasted his doubt and in her head, pronounced it delicious.  What she would do? Slowly she lowered her limbs and turned to him.

“Rod, calm yourself.” She said with cold calculation. The hurt look that crossed like cloud winking sunrays gave her more burn, more fury.

“Let’s go. I’ll take you to Patterson’s for shaved ice, my treat.” Cotton ball puffs appeared first, happy puffs that made Vanessa scrunch her toes up in a clinging gesture, as if to defy gravity.

“I am going to do it.” She hated the plaintive tone in her voice, hated to sound like a pouting child. “You don’t believe me either.”

“I don’t WANT to believe you, Vanessa. I want to go home.” She decided to calm his fears, sensing she was pushing him too far. She needed him to witness, Craig and Trey wouldn’t just take her word for it. But they think Rod is a sniveling baby, she thought, and not above lying for her. She felt weakness, like an animal wrapping its round, warm body around her brain

The train blew its whistle to indicate its approach to the station just over the hill behind Vanessa. No faces filled the early evening windows, the surrounding mostly rent-a-rooms and boarding houses. A knot of doubt started to tighten in her belly.

 “Rod, it will be fine. I promise. “Rod glared at her with wet eyes, then turned and started to walk away. Then he surprised Vanessa by sitting on the rocky ground.

“Fine. Do it then.” A new look, one of defiance filled Rod’s whole persona. Her stomach dropped. Bottom floor, time to get off. She turned back towards the approaching train, her heart thudding in her throat. The glass bid a final farewell to the reflecting sunset. Silhouettes of mild slopes and tucks, clapboard dresses on classic America cookie-cutter domiciles; she hated the finality of it.

“Okay then, let’s go.” She stepped off the tracks and reached out her hand to help Rod up. He was kind and said nothing.

At Patterson’s, she got lemon and he got watermelon. On him, as promised.

Dearborn’s Backyard by Eric Alder


September 6, 2012 § 7 Comments

Monday Morning Photo Prompt from/by Eric Alder

…empty yourself, go ahead and pour, when I promise you no more, you wont agree, you wont even see me, look in my eyes and see me, don’t echo, don’t call the Bunnymen, I only need silenceful noise, fanciful thrill, moist, sheer fun…

“There is a crack, a crack in everything, thats how the light gets in”

~Leonard Cohen


August 26, 2012 § 5 Comments

you leave your shoes
when you go out hopping

between her and me and baby makes three
swimming the grey puddle betwixt

its amazing fur stays fixed, murky white after your nights
you leave your shoes

cant say I’m bothered by the silent
on my porch, at two or three

cuz when you’re with me, its dirty
not the fluid putty pile

that makes me, her and her smile
you leave your shoes

by the bruised tile mile
then you usually float a while

and baby usually rocks a while


for dVerse Poetics , gorgeous painting is by Borg de Nobel and its called Dreamhopper.

Surveillance I

August 19, 2012 § 1 Comment

Graziela started sitting outside the cabin in the woods 3 weeks after she found it. It was a culmination of odd behaviors that were a direct result of its discovery. The introduction had been because of Ron and his favorite clearing in the forest. Ron and Graziela we neighbors and secretly friends at home. Lou and Prince Bonnano had been chasing Ron all year for his lunch money and then, his grandfather’s watch. Ron hid in the clearing never once discovered by the Bonnano boys. But it did seem to be made to enchant Ron and lead Graziela to someplace. And it did both in one summer.


July 17, 2012 § 9 Comments

most times
isn’t it about
jumping without a net
below you
believe enough
in yourself
to jump
without a net
below you
I believe
in my strength to land
safe or
crash well
or pick myself up

Not After All

July 11, 2012 § 1 Comment

not one to shirk
heard your first confession
with ears like saucers
and a yellow butter cup heart
not once but twice
tasted the salt of your belt
training wheels and all
as you were in the wind,
on the lam, emotions like bars
of a jail unguarded by skeleton deputies
not just one thing but many
wrong and seldom forgotten things
trig and trying
hard reliving
unyielding relieving
hesitant reviving
split shoot striving bullet
trouncing a path for the wicked
not forever but maybe
misclassified heart-flashes of clarified mutter
whoopsie daisy
after all

Will Rise and Fall

July 3, 2012 § 3 Comments

Be volant, wings above all things,
the angst and sorry patchwork pieces
squares away where verdure grassland
borders in the past had touched, blades
intertwined there annuals grown to
bewail don’t forget don’t forget, it
wasn’t the right, parting like lips, imagined
hope perhaps too much to miss, too much
it would be an itch under skin till
fingertips would be back with
measured words and new plans and
new rules that would move forward
but be volant as good as pretending,
all a’glide, never a’fly, each thing was
felt with that part of so hard to see
how that could be, but believe an idol builder
crashing to our ripe land, soon fallow and
out of rotation yet receptive of a melted
wing beauty who cannot help but be volant
there are wings, above all things.

Too EasyGirl

June 11, 2012 § Leave a comment

It is so easy to descend
don’t want to be, mediocrity
fling ring toss my poems to the bed posts
too EasyGirl
I’m no goddess.
I’m no cupcake.

Tussled Daisy, by Eric Alder

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