I’ve been here before, loving someone else more

Than I love myself.

How many times will I lose, if I choose

Another person of poor character?

Fairytales fed me lies, while my unacknowledged cries

Will go on, unnoticed.

Meeting someone heartless and cold, you are no longer bold

You’re just a shell.

Loneliness is my closest friend, I wish God could send

Me an Angel.

Is there anything to ease the suffering and pain, what does he think he has to gain

From committing endless acts of cruelty and selfishness?

Why go on and pretend we have something real, when he can fake what he feels

I am no longer the person I once was, but rather just a shadow because

I am a person with unrequited love.

When the rain stops, I put on my boots.

It was worm-stomping time.

I put on my coat, all ready to go,

to go commit my crime.

Glorified spaghetti noodles rise up -

My rubber boots stomped DOWN!

As I committed my massacre,

I mused if worms could drown.

I tested this in a puddle,

squishing their soft pink heads.

They didn't really react,

so I stomped more instead.

Worms are worms.

Make them squirm.

That's all I have to say.

he wakes his love

dark rumble

over lush surface

she feels his insistence

a building deluge

that can no longer be denied

cloudbursts profess

his love unbound

as she achingly pulls

every aqueous droplet offered

into her substratum

for she knows

this is life itself

spent, he deeply inhales

the rising aromatic nectar

of their liaison

upon her landscape

at the drugstore

counter

the childish sat

as Uncle Golucki

chuckled in rolls

over colored candies,

flavor spiked

milkshakes, root beer

floats, n' other

harmless drafts

as well as

cigars in big cartons

lines to the ceiling

behind his back

with lights strung

from cigarettes to

brown strands of

chewin' tabac'er

too many to count

rounding the door

and windows

to the street corners

where one turned...

maybe he went loco

or maybe he went

native, or just was

always part Navajo...

they say his eyes lit

scanning the labels

behind glass after

glass baricade

waiting

to quench the

unquenchable

thirst everyman

has from birth...

they say, so the

story goes...

he paused

when he saw

"Mountain Dew"

it was green

and plastic

it hailed Neon

like from some

Alien God

foaming

at the mouth

they still see him

out on the trail of

the Appalachians

teaspoon in hand,

I hear he's getting

his own even now

gathering drop

by drop

sweet and clear

off the morning bluebells

and deadly nightshades.

11.24.2023

Mountain Dew challenge @Huckleberry_Hoo

I need my log cabin now.

I need my 50 acres.

I need my fruit trees to tend to and flowers to pick.

I need my peace.

I need to pet my daughters‘ hair in the simple afternoon.

No one rushing me or to impress.

I need to hold my son as he rests.

Feed him the best food and smile into his eyes.

I need to start teaching my little one all about the plants.

I need it now.

It’s getting late and they don’t know how much I Love them.

They don’t know what hopes keep me going.

They are the Lights that lead me and keep me on a path.

They are the Lights that keep my eyes open, my heart open, my hands open.

What's to love about a mountain, you ask?

It's in the way it stands,

unwavering, ancient, a testament

to time itself.

It's in the way the dawn

kisses its peak,

bathing it in gold,

while shadows play along its vast expanse.

In its silent strength,

it whispers stories

of the ages,

of storms weathered and skies embraced.

Its slopes, a haven

for dreams and daring,

where eagles soar

and rivers begin their journey.

In its presence, we find

our own insignificance,

and yet, a connection

so profound it roots us to the earth.

To love a mountain

is to admire resilience,

to seek solace in its unchanging gaze,

finding peace in its immovable grace.

For in each ridge,

each crevice and peak,

lies a story of the earth,

an unspoken promise of endurance and time.

There is a mess inside the city

An ugly place adrift from hands...

An appellation sprayed in paint describes

It's termination;

Right here infected methods stand

Long after the deaths, and endless

Heart aches...

The screams of protest in the night...

The people walk with shoulders hunched,

Their eyes pad-locked

To their feet...

No sympathy regards their plight...

There could be Wars;

They'll never see them...

Another campaign

Came and went...

Who's been elected,

And does it matter?...

The coffers empty...

Energies spent...

Where are the ones who could take notice?...

Why are these tarnished streets so stained?...

The men walk dead...Eyes grey as gravestones...

Young boys get high to feel no pain...

In each gas station you'll see a crack pipe...

Their burning candles at both ends...

Where can a precious soul find work in waste?...

New seeds are scattered as gales descend...

The women pregnant with more failures

Are part and parcel of this scheme

While realtors sell off the world in pieces...

The average Joe dry humps his dreams;

Remaining blind to how each mounting vice

Works like rat poison to the poor...

In coffeeshops I overhear Vampires

Massage their egos, and employ more rich...

Exploiting charities; they funnel smuggled funds

Like cocaine up their nose

Without a flinch for what their doing...

Their just high rollers on a wave!...

They use hype words like "Aid"; "Relief"

So they can scalp another day,

And sleep right through another evening...

While the cockroaches plague the lives

Of all these phantoms who will not be counted...

Not fit to tailor or survive...

There is a mess inside the city

An ugly place adrift from hands...

An appellation sprayed in paint describes

It's termination;

Right here infected methods stand

Long after the deaths, and endless

Heart aches...

The screams of protest in the night...

The people walk with shoulders hunched,

Their eyes pad-locked

To their feet...

No sympathy regards their plight...

11/19/23

Bunny Villaire

Edit #2

Ronnie’s at check-out. I’m three back— adrenaline's pumping. Fuck, I hate him— never taking no for an answer. I devise a plan as the line thins. Soon I’m next to be offered the “Kool’aid.” Before the bottle hits the counter—

“—Ollie's card?”

“Nope."

My card's swipe-ready. He excites.

“You want—"

“—No thank you.” I sneer. “Just. Pepper." It’s working!

His eyes roll.

“Oookayy.”

Fuck yeah! Got ’em! Just gotta pay and leave. He turns to the lady behind me.

“Ma’am. Number? You get his points.”

No! What?! She spouts off digits like she won the lottery.

Ronnie got me again!

I dragged your body

for miles

across rock and sand

to the river of Life,

trying desperately

to make you drink.

I felt your heartbeat

in my ears,

tried to hold the thumps

in my hands,

but blood is slippery,

my fingers frail.

I lie in rest,

beneath the Mulberry Tree,

capturing shade,

soaking you up

to wring my body dry

of your voice

I turn my face

to the Yellow Butterfly,

whose fluttering wings

bring the air

only I

can breathe.

You once told me

I could not

save everyone.

Better,

to watch them drown,

than lease my life

for theirs.

Purple ribbons wrapped in pink.

Icey kisses grazing cheek.

Asphalt drumming underfoot.

A whitetail alerts the bevy.

Stubborn apples softly swaying.

Blurry blanket loosely hanging.

Gravel quelling underfoot.

A warbler performs her shanty.

Starry pupils fading faster.

Dragons’ breath exhaling vapor.

Acorns grinding underfoot.

A rabbit scampers the gully.

Smokey Mountains blue and grey.

Mindful troubles drift away.

Sandstone scuffing underfoot.

A human inhales life’s privy.

© 2023 Chris Sadhill