Lost Pleasantries
It
very well may be …
If
you allow me …
The
politeness of words continue.
A
riddle, a game.
They
are all the same.
We
have not come so far.
Is
the answer the question,
or
the question a ruse?
We
all abide our time.
There
is no reason or rhyme.
In
the beginning,
the
end is near,
yet
that is what we all fear
The
page, dog-eared and marked,
turned
so gingerly.
The
journey on which we embark,
is
not for all to see.
And,
words once so polite,
now
crumpled on the floor,
while
correctness and etiquette
go
flying out the door.
* Published by Free Lit Magazine, September 2018
Darkness Unfolds
It’s
Friday night.
The
wolves have devoured their
portion.
Now it’s time for the
scavengers
to come out and feed.
Ignoring
a distant storm,
eyes
close, ears shut. Pain
forgotten,
but not erased.
Beyond
all comprehension
night
breaks through the
dawn,
with only so much
salvation
to go around.
The
smallness of our lives,
filled
with such desires and
greed. Yearning for
Friday
night once again.
* Published by The Rye Whiskey Review, May 2019
Dust to Dust
Apple
pie mornings,
childhood
scraped knee,
take
me away again.
Words
spoken in secret
to
ears that won’t hear
rattle
around in the wind.
Once
upon a times
don’t
exist anymore,
the
universe swallowed them whole.
Hand
held friendships
hopscotch
off,
chalk
washed clean with tears.
Distant
moves,
letters
few, then none.
Woeful
news arrives.
Missed
laughter,
tucked
beneath the earth.
Another
venerable sidekick
dances
with the dust.
* Published by The Pangolin Review, April 2019
No Turning Back
Parting
rivers.
Parting
ways.
The
truth laid bare
at
my feet
Deep
dark secrets hide
within
converging storms.
A
cadence of emotions
marching
by.
My
words are not your words.
We
speak in different tongues.
It
is as if you know the answer
before
the question is posed.
You
know me so well
yet
not at all.
Fragments
of life
falling
into oblivion.
Forlorn
and forgotten,
forsaken
and lost.
Death
closes the door
that
love once opened.
Parting
ways,
there
is no turning back.
Time
does not allow
such
luxuries as that.
* Published by Ariel Chart, June 2018
A
childhood full of nursery rhymes,
as
violent as her past.
Restless
sleep with monsters
under
her bed.
Nightmares
fill her days,
as
memories creep back in.
Now
morbid, unreal images
wake
her in the night.
Her
heart races wildly,
as
sweat pours from her brow.
Forgive,
she has done,
forget as she tries,
feelings never really go away.
She
has learned to live with them,
but
it is not an easy task.
Time
does not heal,
it
merely blunts the pain.
Fear
is the real enemy,
as
demons battle on.
Reliving
a childhood
full
of nursery rhymes.
Ann Christine Tabaka was nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry. She is the winner of Spillwords Press 2020 Publication of the Year, her bio is featured in the “Who’s Who of Emerging Writers 2020,” published by Sweetycat Press. Chris has been internationally published, and won poetry awards from numerous publications. Her work has been translated into Sequoyah-Cherokee Syllabics, and into Spanish. She is the author of 13 poetry books. She has been published micro-fiction anthologies and short story publications. Christine lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and four cats. Her most recent credits are: The American Writers Review, The Scribe Magazine, The Phoenix, Burningword Literary Journal, Muddy River Poetry Review, The Silver Blade, Silver Birch Press, Pomona Valley Review, Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review, The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig, Foliate Oak Review, The McKinley Review, Fourth & Sycamore.
Website: https://annchristinetabaka.com/
Very nice, very musical, form is great... thanks.
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