2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 7

Wow! Somehow, we’re already a week into this year’s challenge. That seems impossible, but we’re there.

For today’s prompt, write a poem describing a scene in which two or more people interact without speaking. Such moments happen every day. Some are happy; some are sad; and some are angry.

Here’s my attempt:

“Where It Counts”

As the editor makes more copies
without counting them, the office
manager huffs into the supply room
and yanks open a cabinet before
slamming it back closed. Then, she sighs
as if the world has mounted her back
and pushed all the air from her lungs,
but the editor rolls his eyes and keeps
running out copies. He knows only
too well that paper does grow on trees.

*****

Write an amazing story!

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393 thoughts on “2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 7

  1. maxie2

    DA CAPO

    The music stood in between us
    (a cloud too thick to pass through)
    and in lieu of conversation, we just
    swayed in its banter and cantered
    around a puddle of dischord,
    choosing each other’s arms
    on which to write a symphony
    of new memories rather than
    entertain the wary demons
    beating their way of disarray.

    My ear was pressed to your chest
    until your chin rose from my hair
    and there, in the key of
    forgiveness, our duet began anew;

    your eyes held a melody
    for which my tears
    were the only harmony.

  2. Anders Bylund

    Warning!
    =======
    Two headlights rip the night apart
    Southbound, empty highway
    Greeted by another pair, blinking twice
    Then passing on, unthanked and unknown
    Another traveler makes it on time,
    The universe shudders in appreciation of
    Entropy decreased.

  3. donnellyk

    Just a Moment

    In the Home
    housing old souls
    where old souls go unwilling
    and young souls with minds broken
    wringing hands and furtive glances anxious
    from the flock stopped dead in her tracks stiff
    she locks eyes with me and I am paralyzed momentarily
    her hair still coppery shimmery scrubbed skin
    parchment papery yet girlish eyes watery
    bright blue looking for just a little more
    time on second thought hoping
    the last sands are slipping
    through the hourglass.

  4. ellanytdavve

    Long Lived

    Trembling, she moved into
    the circle of his arms
    A long shuddering breathe,
    weak kneed
    He pressed her to his chest
    lifting, embracing, touching her
    by the kindness of his love
    and buried his face
    in her auburn hair.

  5. carolecole66

    Fading Light

    Outside in the yard, an owl calls—
    a great horned, I think, though
    the dogs’ barks obscure it.
    It’s rare enough for me to stop,
    put down my book. My wife and I
    stand at the sliding doors, shoulder
    to shoulder. This is a moment
    of peace among so many
    that I savor. She and I, standing
    side by side, witness to the miracle
    of fast approaching night.

  6. cajun75

    Mardi Gras

    People jostling, juggling, pushing to the front
    Arms outstretched, gesturing wilding, not to the sky
    But to the riders on the floats
    Passing by

    Pointing to themselves, begging krewe members
    Riding on the passing floats
    No sounds these people make
    Through stricken throats

  7. Rosemary Nissen-Wade

    Invalid

    Noises off.
    Has he fallen?
    Dropped something vital?
    She runs to the bedroom.
    It seems he has just been
    turning noisily.

    He scowls
    brandishing his hot water bottle.
    She takes it
    from his outstretched hand
    and exits stage left,
    heading for the kitchen.

    Returning it refilled
    she shoves it at him abruptly.
    He hunkers down in the bed
    and closes his eyes.
    She sighs, and rolls hers.

  8. Charles Cote

    AFTER THE PHONE CALL, BEFORE SUSHI

    He shoves his bowl of seaweed
    to the table’s center, pushes back
    his chair to leave, her frown a question
    no one answers, her sigh a signal
    for the waitress to bring a pot of tea.

  9. Linda Rhinehart Neas

    The Look
    Like ducklings in a row,
    the sit, hands folded in prayer
    Until the youngest begins the dance
    of all four year old, bored by the mundane.
    From the corner of her eagle eyes
    the mother perceives the wiggle
    A snap of the head, a look
    all action stops!

  10. gtabasso

    Side by side we bathed this horse,
    tenderly keeping soap from his eye,
    rinsing a year’s worth of dirt
    back to the ground from which it came,
    where he rolled and galloped,
    where we watched as the sun set.

    As coyotes came to the fields,
    we picnicked in the grass
    with horses grazing around us,
    never said a word.
    Why was that silence so full,
    and this one so empty?

  11. Joseph Harker

    Ghazal of the Painted Body

    We enter chambers lit only by violet bars
    and luminescent plastic shaped as flaring stars.

    Mannequin bodies circle, glow in the prudish dark:
    wrists and fingers striped with green, their shoulders bearing stars.

    The illustrators call their trade as we strip off shirts,
    turn skin to canvas, mix neon paints, preparing stars.

    For we (I think) will become spangled lovers tonight,
    our nightly grind galactic, the joy of pairing stars.

    A sawtoothed slash of orange runs my chest; and yours is
    stained with amulets; and black the rest, save glaring stars.

    Our sweat smudges constellations as we sway our skies:
    drops of water gone blue– gold– pink– drown despairing stars.

    This is contentment: till a new hemisphere rises
    and presents her own designs to you, comparing stars.

    Where has my love gone? Some treacherous horizon has
    stolen him away, as punishment for wearing stars.

    I can see them kiss, the green paint smearing naked chins
    and hands running disaster down the uncaring stars.

    This will dim to empty night: the chemical glow will
    fade to nothing. So much for novelty, sharing stars.

    And Joseph will wash off his coat of darkling colors,
    sleep bare and faded underneath still and staring stars.

  12. Genevieve Fitzgerald

    You wash and
    I dry
    And the room is so heavy,
    Holding the heat,
    Like a cast iron skillet,
    Of words from last night
    And the night before that.
    Backs to each other,
    You put the dishes
    On the shelf I can’t reach
    And I brush the crumbs
    From the table…
    Miss my palm;
    They land on my foot;
    The dog,
    Ever watchful,
    Makes show of requesting,
    Then laps them right up
    And you snicker;
    It tickles,
    I giggle,
    The silence is broken;
    Nothing is better
    Except the air
    In the room.

  13. zevd2001

    VOICELESS

    The loud speaker calls them

    to fasten their seatbelts. She nods

    at the man in the seat in the middle,

    wearing a trim, fitted blue suit, with blouse

    with a floral design, she steps over

    to the window seat, blushes . . .

    She unbuckles, glances

    at the gentleman. Her mother taught her

    to be polite to strangers, to smile,

    to be careful, lest you utter something

    that might be misunderstood ,

    untoward. She puts her bag on her lap,

    pulled out a book, opens it . . .

    the gentleman turns his head at

    the book. She raises the cover. Thumbs up,

    a woman with good taste. He gets up

    to the rack above him, takes a volume

    to pass the time, raises it up. She laughs.

    Like her father, he likes humorous verse . . .

    and continues to read as

    the tray comes by, the gentleman passes the coffee

    turns to her, two fingers up, she shakes her head,

    passes the cup to her, takes his orange juice,

    makes notes on the pages

    with a pencil She notices the subtle noise

    of the carbon on the paper, catches a word,

    thinks of something better. It wouldn’t do

    to speak up. Who knows, he might be offended.

    A lady might lose her chance

    at the right man, if, he thinks

    she has opinions. Surprise, surprise

    a disc player and a disc. He hands it to her . . .

    Jazz, the Bird. Never heard of it, but

    why not, so it’s not Bach or Mozart. Her eyes say

    thank you, I’ll try it. He hums to himself,

    she rolls her head. Nice, especially the violins,

    someday she, too

    would like to spend an April in Paris. Then

    must the stewards come by with the meals. Unraveling

    the cords of the disc player, she, he puts his book back

    in his bag. They eat. He gives her his dessert,

    she passes him the salt and pepper, and

    grins, pulls out two small bottles of wine,

    contraband, two small plastic cups,

    one for him, one for her. She giggles,

    her first drink, but this, too, is

    her first flight. Cheers, miles above anywhere

    she has ever been. He shows her the flight map,

    points to the places where he has traveled. Pauses,

    hands his volume of poems to her.

    She takes her bag again, a novel

    by her favorite author. Even steven

    deep into the words they peruse

    over the distances. Over the mountains,

    they reach the cities

    of the plain. The loud speaker

    announces they have arrived

    at their destination. She holds the poems, he

    gives her the book that she gave him, to read . . .

    she demures, holding the book close

    to her breast. He presents her another

    copy, signs it, with his address,

    telephone number, and

    writes, “Let’s get together sometime,”. Hesitating,

    she looks at the time, what else can she do,

    tearing a piece of paper

    from a magazine, she places her address

    and telephone number, too,

    “We should talk,” she kisses him on the cheek.

    Zev Davis

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  14. lady maggie

       
    Exoterica
       
       Us three:  yet there beneath a rising moon
                  inside another’s shadow made to fit
                  through hungry thighs, through open heaven split,
                  yet have we not the voice of ancient tune
                  within us?
                              Their own one:   What you impugn
                  creates your only truth.   What you permit
                  destroys your freedom.   What you’ve made of it
                  will lose by midnight all you’d gained past noon.
       
       We never heard a word of it.   They hadn’t let
       their silent moments break into our peace
       so they we three quite easily forget
       as we them can ignore.   So does love cease
       in voided lives born empty, breathless, yet
       their one must keep what we three can’t release.
       
       
       

  15. Janet Rice Carnahan

    A PRESENCE WITHOUT WORDS

    In just a whisper of wind,
    A flash of a tired smile,
    Unspoken yet there . . .
    With a full heart to you all,
    Have a most beautiful Sunday,
    Full of warm blessings and new fresh beginnings . . .

    Of joy!

  16. Janet Rice Carnahan

    A TURN OF THE HEAD

    Sitting in a small quaint restaurant,
    About to order savory Italian food,
    She could just sense without looking,
    He was nearby.
    She glanced about quickly,
    As not to distract her male companion,
    Giving attention away,
    She was silently searching for someone else,
    Hoping to find most interesting,
    Attractive even and who would make her wonder,
    What else life might have to offer.
    Two mahogany tables away,
    Sitting up high,
    He was there,
    It took him a moment,
    To see her,
    He looked down almost shyly,
    As if to be nonchalant,
    Before putting his full gaze upon her,
    Perhaps because she was staring at him!
    A slow smile crossed his face.
    He blushed,
    She did too.
    Smiles held for longer,
    Then awhile!
    She let the full contentment,
    Drift all through her,
    Eagerly glancing back again,
    Distracted, he was now busy and about to leave,
    She hoped almost desperately,
    For one more moment of his delight in her,
    With the others surrounding him,
    He couldn’t look in her direction,
    As she watched him pass by her table,
    Heading for the door,
    In the arms of another,
    She picked up her cell phone,
    To send a quick text to her daughter,
    Far away in Colorado!

    “Just saw a red haired baby boy,
    I think it is a sign that perhaps,
    A baby for you is not so far off.
    There is after all red hair in the family!”

    “Ok, Mom . . .
    Sure, I’ll let you know!”
    Tickled she put away the phone,
    Now anticipating the delicious favorite Greek Pasta . . .
    Her smile reassuring her husband,
    She was now present with him,
    Fully connected, well satisfied and still glowing,
    With all the wonder of life!
    Joining hands across the table . . .

    No more needed to be said.

      1. Janet Rice Carnahan

        Thank you, Rosemary! So happy to hear I am not alone with flirting with babies in public! It is such a moment of magic to me, especially when they delight right back! Glad you enjoyed it! 🙂

  17. Sheryl

    Over and Out

    Two boys laugh and
    squirm in the church pew
    during choir rehearsal.

    Mother’s finger wags
    in their direction. Message
    given and received.

    Sheryl Kay Oder

  18. hurtin-heart

    loving you
    The skies are grey,are hearts are blue.
    Still this day is special for me and you.
    And eventhough there’s no words said,
    just the love we feel within
    As we’re laughing,my heart is crying for you.
    But i intend on loving you,
    till the sun falls from the sky.
    Eventhough we won’t be together
    Your memories will be forever in my mind.
    I can hear the roar of a jet plane,
    as i listen to the wind whispering around me.
    We both turn to smile at each other,
    Feeling the pain in our hearts getting stronger.
    As our time together is almost over.
    Our hearts are breaking as we watch the sun go down
    There’s pain and sorrow all around.
    We know we can’t say good-bye for fear
    it will make us cry.
    So we sit here in silence as the day is coming to an end.
    As we leave,words unspoken,as friends….
    Samantha Tinney

  19. shann

    no love lost

    nor found in the fields of war,
    these are the body baggers,
    the silent ones who gather
    broken soldiers when smoke clears.

    oldest children do the job best,
    they carry weight from birth,
    guilt a familiar companion,
    all their prayers tired out.

    hey don’t talk while they work.
    try to forget when they’re done,
    a good day is when the wind blows,
    the sky overcast, clouds busy.

    A bad day is when a new worker
    can’t hold in the horror, gagging,
    invoking a deity with every breath,
    there are no gods here, no gods.

    They work side by side till done,
    lost in whatever thoughts they bring.
    At night they toss in ugly dreams
    clutching old letters tight in their fists

    1. Marcia Gaye

      This poem made me thank my older sister for carrying the weight for me and our siblings. Thx for making me consider what ‘eldests’ must go through.

  20. randalljweiss

    “Political Discourse”

    Friday. 5pm. Stuck
    in traffic. Impatient.
    My mind turns
    toward reading
    bumper stickers.
    Incumbent President,
    a Socialist. Opponent,
    a Fascist. Jesus,
    slinging guns or
    feeding hungry.
    If these pithy quotes
    represent discourse,
    maybe each should stay
    in his own car.

  21. Jacqueline Hallenbeck

    Stuck in the middle is no fun

    I see them fight for my affections,
    but there is no need, for I have enough.
    Walk down their street with trepidation.
    I see them fight for my affections.
    No words exchanged, no conversation
    between the two people I dearly love.
    I see them fight for my affections,
    but there is no need, for I have enough.

  22. Catherine Lee

    The Library

    He wandered down the aisle somewhere between
    Roman Architecture and Ancient Chinese Myths.
    His vegan burlap Toms squeaked impatiently
    On every other black linoleum square.

    She came in for a landing somewhere between
    Card, Orson Scott and Martin, George R. R.
    Her bare feet beat in silent syncopation
    With the sandals swinging in her hand.

    He sat on the floor with his back
    Leaning against the metal shelf
    And pondered the political legacy
    Of the Anti-Federalist movement.

    She stretched out on her stomach
    Resting her head in her hands
    And daydreamed about dragons
    Sleeping on mountains of gold.

    He looked up as his eyes
    Followed the curious sound
    Of twinkling chimes to the copper
    Beads woven in her hair.

    She answered his gaze
    With a grin almost as wide
    As the span of angel wings
    Tattooed across her back.

    He felt the corner of his mouth
    Begin to rise as he lingered
    On the way her crooked tooth
    Gave her smile a wilder beauty.

    She liked the way the color
    Sprouted from beneath his collar
    And climbed up his neck
    Straight to the tips of his ears.

    He raised his hand to wave
    Even as he lowered his eyes
    To the book in his lap.

    Her own hand stayed up
    Even as her smile faltered
    A moment longer.

  23. competitivewriter

    i’m taking the dog route too.

    Sitting silently
    Among the rushes
    In the darkness
    As the blackbirds wake the sun
    We’ve been here many times
    Yet I”m aware of your excitement and
    You’re aware of mine as we wait for what’s to come

    Sitting silently
    So the the wing beats
    Sound like thunder and
    Catch us by surprise, but in sync we sink
    A little lower becoming one
    With the cat tails and swamp grass

    Sitting silently
    as they circle
    I call with desperate please
    They look in our direction
    You push against my leg and
    I know you are ready when the time comes

    Sitting silently
    Barely breathing
    They make the final pass
    They tuck their wings and I
    Start to shoot and you’re crashing through the reeds
    You have the first as the second hits
    The the third falls a ways off so you look
    To me with expectation
    We established your trust in my hands
    Thousands of times in the baseball field
    After the games had ended
    I’ll point you to a place where you instincts
    Take over and then it’s only a matter of time before
    You return triumphant and I scratch your head
    And you wag your tail and we both grin
    With satisfaction as we return to
    Sitting silently

  24. pmwanken

    AT THE END OF THE AISLE

    longingly,
    I walk down the aisle;
    our eyes meet…
    smiling, I nod toward
    the empty space next to him;
    recognition registers
    on his face;
    silently he greets me
    with movement so gallant,
    as I take my place
    next to him…
    the window seat on flight 2065
    to Iowa

    2012-04-07
    P. Wanken

  25. cam45237

    Sulfur, quick and acrid invades the nasal passage
    As the red tip scars its strip of flint, sparks, ignites, diminishes, sparks again, explodes.

    The matchbook’s almost empty, tip-charred strips of cardboard scattered,
    A chrysanthemum of bursting flame settled to a single glow
    That trembles. Shallow breath
    Struggles for the one deep exhalation
    That marks decision, resolution, conviction, culmination,
    Conclusion
    He is lit!

    The boy’s clothes, thin cotton catch
    The sleeves and shoulders of his shirt are wings of fire
    The blaze assaults his legs
    The drumbeat of his heels hit fast and hard on the ground dirt road.

    His mouth is open
    His arms are open
    His eyes are open, anguished

    On the sidewalk, men and women turn
    Then turn away
    Walk on
    Or lift their cameras.

  26. Golden Rule

    Here is my attempt:

    My Heart sings a love song

    I pulled open the door
    And to my surprise
    There she stood beautiful long hair and full lips
    An Angel in disguise
    No words was mouthed
    Because we spoke with our eyes
    I embraced her with a hug
    And my heart sings her a love song
    With every moment it beats like a drum
    Each beat plays a tune
    Neo-soul, R-n-B, and at times it sing the blues
    My heart sings and great joy it brings
    Like the sunshine at noon.
    We sit in silence
    No need for words
    A gentle touch is more than enough
    To speak what her body has never heard.

  27. Kendall A. Bell

    Dear life

    Her sullen brown eyes stared at the
    cold concrete, slivers of crystal
    glistened in the chilly April morning,
    reflected her sorrow into the sky.
    It was the last thing her mother touched,
    the last thing she placed around her
    neck. The fragile fibers, too frayed to
    hold its weight. As her eyes watered,
    his large, warm hand stroked away the
    wet from her cheek. He spoke no words,
    only knelt to be beside her small frame.
    The last connection to her mother,
    returned to the earth. She hugged his
    waist hard, buried her face into his
    chest, held on for dear life to her
    last life line.

  28. Jerry Walraven

    “Reflective”

    Sitting.

    facing the street,
    looking out the window
    at this rain dampened world.

    but my field of focus
    shifts
    and I’m watching
    a play
    which flits
    in and out of vision
    as it’s reflected
    on the glass.

    there’s this
    old man
    with a cane
    which I decide
    he doesn’t need.
    but he carries it
    for those times
    his wife
    needs to lean on him.

    she fits her hand
    in his
    like she’s done
    thousands of times.
    and I invent
    a time
    when it almost fell apart.
    a time when
    their fingers didn’t touch
    a time when . . .

    He glances up then
    and his reflected eyes
    meet mine
    so I turn away
    and wonder
    who gave me
    the right
    to live
    their lives
    when they
    still live
    them
    here.

  29. Reno

    The One

    I rarely ever picked roses,
    brave a thorn
    to show my love,
    but there was one
    I remember picking
    on a cold February day,
    in the front planter,
    at The Hawks Prairie Inn;

    I always looked
    upon her confidently,
    at a distance that was safe.
    The uncomfortable close spaces
    between us, remained hollow
    only filled with imagination.

    She was talking with friends
    in the big field at lunch.
    They looked toward me
    sporadically, in moments passing.
    She and them giggled together,
    she started approaching me
    confident, with an irresistible smile.
    I, remained poised, yet nervous…
    She started flirting
    with light conversations
    gradually turning seductive.
    Honey flowed from her gloss lips;
    Her: “can you quote a poem you wrote,
    I hear you paint,
    what do you like painting”
    Me: “I mostly paint animals”
    Her: “Have you ever painted people”
    Me: “uh, umm, well”
    Her: “Nudes (coy, velvet tone)
    could I pose for you,
    what mediums do you use,
    do you finger paint…”

    Evergreen trees towering
    all around as we stood
    talking vague earshots
    from other students.
    I was shaking inside,
    my face bursting a warm red.
    She was insanely beautiful,
    practicing dreamy stares,
    while tying invisible
    strings to everything inside me

    I was 18, still a virgin
    Boyish innocence was bleeding
    through my dark adolescence
    Like a charred rose bud
    With bright scarlet pedals
    Just beneath the pitch
    of the burnt ones….

  30. hurtin-heart

    Who does it bother?
    Why do they care?
    When two people together
    Have their love to share.
    The Hatfield’s and McCoy’s
    Two families apart.
    Only coming together
    when love got a start.
    The same long ago
    When two lover’s met
    They all tried to seperate
    Romeo and Juliet.
    So why all the fuss?
    Is love so blind!
    If it was them then in love
    They sure wouldn’t mind.
    So who should it bother?
    Why pretend to care!
    Let those who find love
    Be happy at last………….
    Samantha Tinney

  31. seingraham

    ELOQUENT SILENCE

    He gets frustrated they told me
    And he won’t learn to sign
    They talked like he wasn’t
    In the room but I watched
    His eyes watching me and knew
    Quickly, brain-damaged or not
    He was very much there

    An adult with the mind of a teen
    And the capabilities of a child
    He had to be watched like a hawk
    Or he did things – hmm …
    Like what, I wondered

    After being permitted to back
    Into a pool when he was four
    And lay there submerged, dead
    Really – for no-one knows how long
    What things could he possibly do now
    Certainly nothing to top that …

    We decided to do a trial run
    A week or two; see if I could manage
    him, if he would behave for me.
    Never before had I realized
    How expressive a face could be
    And gesturing hands, the attitude
    Of a body or head … of course
    sometimes I missed the cues
    But not often …

    My favourite? For some reason
    He had an irrational hate on
    For McDonald’s, would get apoplectic
    If I tried to go there; I was hooked
    On their chocolate fudge sundaes

    One day I figured he could
    Man up and told him sternly
    He would just have to be strong
    I was getting my sundae –

    His coffee bean eyes twinkling
    He reached down to the floor
    Of my messy van, came up
    With a white grocery store bag
    Stuck on his head, covering his face
    chortling away; I might be going
    to the McDonald’s drive-thru
    But no-one was going to be able
    To say he was there …

    S.E.Ingraham©

  32. RobHalpin

    Working toward a Goal

    a moment of eye contact, understanding,
    the winger darts across the line,
    the striker feeds the ball into the seam,
    the winger collects it, holds it,
    sends it back, another hole in the defense,
    the striker takes the ball on a dead run,
    deftly passes the last defender, feints wide,
    puts the ball across the face of the goal,
    the trailing winger one-touches the shot
    over the goal…

  33. Melissa Hager

    Angel Vs. Imp

    The tow headed little boy,
    bouncing in the shopping cart,
    takes a plastic snake and
    wiggles it at his grandmother.
    She gratifies with a shiver and a scowl.
    Crinkly eyes full of mirth next fall on me.
    Giggles ensue as he puts the snake’s head into his mouth.
    I tremble at the mere thought of that thing
    between his teeth, even if it isn’t real.
    A most mischievous grin illuminates
    his face with my reaction –
    A grin suitable for an angel that,
    most certainly, belongs to an imp.
    Grandma best check under her pillow tonight.

  34. Jane Beal - sanctuarypoet.net

    “a bird may love a fish—
    but where will they live?”
    Tevia, “Fiddler on the Roof”

    A SPARROW’S LOVE

    A sparrow looks into the water with one eye—
    the other watches her back.

    Her name is not Narcissa. No. She sees
    her reflection but looks through it

    to the beautiful goldfish flashing
    beneath the cool, dark water of the pond.

    His round eyes are amazed by her wings
    fluttering above him, free in air he can never breathe—

    glinting in the light of the sun setting behind mountains
    neither one of them can climb.

    She sings and sings to him,
    but he does not hear.

    She sees herself reflected in his eyes!
    She hops and then flies a little—insistent, hopeful.

    He leaps for a moment
    above the water, brilliant and shining

    then falls back down below.
    They never touch.

    Jane Beal

  35. Mary Mansfield

    Strangers in the Night

    The air in our room is toxic,
    Anger lingering
    In a venomous cloud
    No apology can clear,
    Leaving us almost strangers,
    Love teetering on the brink.

    I queue up that song,
    Our song,
    A musical reminder
    Of what sparked
    The magnetic attraction
    That always leads me to your arms,
    And in a heartbeat the air clears
    And we’re swaying gently
    Around our bedroom.

    Frank always sang it better than we could ever say…

  36. deedeekm

    you walk across a room
    and I read entire
    conversations in
    your footsteps

    sitting in a restaurant
    a nearby loud
    conversation
    says less than
    your face

    sad movie scene
    you grab my hand
    in the dark
    and I know you
    are smiling at me

  37. Arrvada

    Unspoken
    By
    Arrvada

    The sink is almost full
    Of sudsy water and dirty dishes
    Her movements are sharp
    The water splashes out
    Bubbles skitter over the counter
    She ignores them
    Ignores him.
    He watches her
    But she doesn’t see
    He keeps hidden behind his coffee
    The sounds of water, the clatter of dish
    She ignores him and it builds
    Like a brutal hard fist
    The words left unspoken
    Scream loud and clear
    He won’t say
    She won’t say
    So they scream and scream
    Unspoken.

  38. traci

    TOUCH
    Washing the dishes
    Walking past, hand to shoulder
    Just a second of his touch
    Feel his presence near
    Arm from behind to embrace
    Just a few seconds, and on

  39. PSC in CT

    The Last Straw

    he’s had it up to here with her
    moody, silent treatment, selfish ways;
    damn sick of her solo dinners,
    doing her own laundry – omitting his.
    Used to be, she’d meet him at the door,
    all warm smiles and willing; now it seemed,
    he let himself in nightly to a dark house,
    silent sofa bearing spare blanket, his pillow,
    their bedroom door locked. this night
    would be different. tonight he’d tell her
    it had to stop. time for things to go
    back to the way they were. he rams his
    key in the lock, hard twist of wrist, tight
    jerk fails to budge mechanism; she’s changed
    the locks and it’s the last straw. he pummels,
    fists flailing, boots drubbing the door, stopping
    only when the sash above bangs open, he
    watches stunned, as his belongings hurtle down
    landing in a lump on the lawn

  40. Mystical-Poet

    Hard Hearted Soup

    twilight
    disappears
    another cycle
    a single sentence
    shouted between us
    I’ll be back soon,yelled
    lawn mowed, taxes done
    later when our eyes wrestled
    instead of each other we embraced
    stubbornness’s delusional throne
    each wanting to say I’m sorry
    but the special of the day
    was hard-hearted soup
    and forgiveness was
    not on the menu
    still strangers
    in the night
    deafening
    silence

  41. Walt Wojtanik

    TRICKLE

    Latent is her beauty, an air of sophistication,
    laced with a generous gentility.
    From the shadows I watch.
    She, unaware of my hunger.
    The waft of evening moonlight brings her offering,
    I feel compelled. Stepping lightly in rapid descent.
    The heat of my breath reaches her ear
    as the sound of her name, Emmaline, fills her.
    She leans back, trusting that my hands would save her.
    Her head sways drawing her dark tresses to fall,
    exposing her alabaster neck.
    Lips, dipping for ravenous a taste of her flesh,
    teeth bared and nestling on her nape.
    There is no escape. Her collapse into waiting arms;
    arrested by bohemian charms.
    He stakes claim to her very soul.
    knowing her heart and mind will soon follow.

  42. Margot Suydam

    The Blue

    A baby swims the sky:
    a pudgy arm stretched

    forward, pushes through
    the aquamarine wash

    Another breath-strokes
    to catch up, but never will

    Both are gone, softened
    into undecipherable forms

    A gigantic eagle wingspans
    the beach — clouds that float

    like an army, breath rising
    in grand formation. A spectacle

    suspended while summer kites
    fly into evening unguarded

    Rainbow tails slice stripes
    in the still blue swept air

    Neighbors gaze and gawk
    we continue our silent walk

  43. Kitten Thief

    Fifteen Minutes

    The eighth hour has passed and now only a quarter ticks away.
    An old man sips his tea, blind to what awaits him on this day.
    For too long my brother and I have waited for nature’s end.
    His spoils will be ours and from his hands we would happily rend.
    No love or trust ever poured from this man’s black and vicious heart.
    What comes is just, and two brothers will live on never to part.
    And still my joy seems measured when thinking of all we will own.
    My mind is a whirling cloud and now I feel somewhat alone.
    Yet perhaps he ponders what I ponder as the clock strikes nine.
    I sit here wondering what will be ours, and what will be mine.

  44. Rosangela

    Unspoken Love

    They know so well about their differences,
    but they are friends, and they love to interact.
    They play rough, sometimes,
    but all in name of fun.
    Caring and acceptance
    are in their eyes, in their posture
    and in the way the lie down and rest
    feeling secure, after another game around
    the house.

    O’ Pit-bull and kitty Siamese don’t need words
    to be friends, they understand each other with their souls.

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