A free verse poem for Scrittura’s 4th Friday Prompt: instruments of direction — A compass would’ve been ideal prior to becoming a corpse. But what good would a map do when the mass grave is all around you? Here lies the lifeless. Here live the lies of those living peacefully. Here, they want you silenced or deceased, and while either would be ideal, for…

I’ll just shoot my shot — Hey sweet-thing. You’re a fine young man — beautiful even – Though, mature women like me know better than to say it to your babyface. Not that it’s frowned upon in our modern age, but there’s an unspoken etiquette baked into these intros. You see, I’ve watched you from just…

Perhaps tomorrow, the sun — This morning it is raining. No, it is really raining. It is raining hard. No, harder than hard. It is raining the type of rain where out the window, all there is to see is rain, no tree line, no foothills, no color besides grey billowing above, streaking below, just…

Perhaps a lewd form of lunar worship — So I’ve taken to calling you Moon Pie. I don’t recall exactly when, or even why. I don’t particularly like them much, while I’ve longed for you for so long and so deeply that I can scarcely recall a time that I didn’t. That’s a lie, by the way. The…

Hybrid poem for Scrittura’s 2nd Friday Prompt: let it go — Beaded bit by bit, theoretically threaded upon string, woven, perhaps as cross-stitched footnote, spontaneously strung together — or perhaps born of unknowable Infinite cosmic design – but certainly accreted from symphonic supernova — or supernovae, who could say? – one or more of them, from far-flung, long ago stellar-decay –…

A free verse poem —

A free verse poem — “Doubt everything. Find your own light.” -Gauthama The Lord Buddha One glass bottle half-empty flung in full-rage discharges instantly with shattering’s soulless shriek upon stone wall, into countless shards catching light of sunset slivers briefly, then nothing; only silence. No guidepost, no sightlines, save for lone unseen ricochet slicing cheek …

A free verse poem — Forgive me, Yemọja. I’ve lost my way; our Mother’s face long lost to strange currents; Please shine favor upon this wayward soul, show me the way to you; towards myself. No one ever said anything about life’s frothy wake dovetailing into null; about how contentious, roiling topics, once overflowing with…

Speculative fiction — Erik frantically keyed in his access code, hastily donned the blackened visor of his VM-Viz, and jacked into a new session, breezing through parameters as if on autopilot. Per his specs, a holographic construct of a middle-aged woman appeared before him with a neutral, empathetic smile. He meticulously included every…