The Price of Gold

Flame Artwork by Audrey Howitt

on the advice of counsel

he threads lies with metallic colors

twisting them into Gordian knots of deceit

to make them more attractive

to starved eyes.

he sits on glittering mountains

counts gold

with sinful fingers, as he

pulls himself up to view the horizon

eyes shaded against the pale light.

overcome by his own beauty,

he fails to see

anything.

copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2017

Fragile Lives

i sit, cracks iridescent
in blues and greens,
the color of the ocean,
of the sky on a clear day.

the softness of my sadness
has filled each crack slowly
time's trowel
busy with the memory's putty

i trace each line
replete,
as i am reshaped.

i am fine with that

after all,
i love blue and green.


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2017


Note: Kintsugi (golden joinery), also known as Kintsukuroi (golden repair) is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver or platinum to highlight imperfections.(Wikipedia)

Posted for Poets United and D'Verse Poets Open Link Night

Sasha

Sasha

some losses are boats

built of unknown timber
they float between piers
unmoored

i wrestle with their gunnels
feel the nature
of the woods used
for hull and rail
which separate me from
water's long, hard swallow

i trace whorls
sanded and varnished
smoothed by long fingers

i hug myself hard
on salty air
hold fast
and remember to breathe

copyright/all rights reserved 2017

We had to say good bye to my darling girl two weeks ago.  I am a bit adrift.

Posted on Poets United Pantry

Patience Frayed

MorgueFile

by Galina Gorlova

words fail
their tricks
subtly fraying
the edges of patience
until all i have left
is silence


copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2017

posted for Poets United

after a dry spell. I did NaPoWriMo elsewhere than my blog--and wrote nothing at all for days afterward--

No Yams For me Please

i knew her when the years had rubbed the edges
              off her hunger
              off her fear

she was able to leave
a bit on a plate at dinner
         then

though she still felt
the need
to push it in her mouth

sidelong looks
at a piece of pork
left near the edge
             a taunt
                or a game

but there were months,
years ago
when she eagerly
pushed aside a corpse
or       two
to get to the yams underneath

she knew they were there
death's stench
only an
       obstacle.

copyright Audrey Howitt 2017

Process Note: I should probably change the title of this piece to Refugee's Tales or something along this line--this is a true person and this was her history during the Second World War--I wrote this piece originally as Trump's first Muslim ban came out--

Posted today for Poet's United and for Dverse

The Ferocity of Weeds

weeds bloom.

their ferocity pushes tiny heads up
next to the lettuces,
their heads so alike
that discernment
is discretionary,

an ambulatory experience
of chance.

The Sky At Fourteen

standing, with knees dimpled,
she watches the sky turn.
its colors, impermanent;

yellows and browns
fill her mouth
as the sky staples itself to her tongue
and whispers into her ears,
silken threads, lay down its symbols.

in the distance,
clouds rob the horizon of trees,
pocket them
into snow's cotton,

the remainder, are but
chess pieces on a board
yet to be played.
when the rains come.

silent,
she feels tiny lacerations
in the corners below her eyes
where cardboard cheeks
can catch the tears that fall.

Audrey Howitt copyright/all rights reserved 2017

Posted for Poets United Pantry