David, at The Skeptic’s Kaddish, and I have collaborated once more using the Rengay form of poetry. It is always a pleasure working with a talented writer such as him, and I was happy to take part in this ongoing series once again. A snippet of the poem is below.
db-
razor at my neck each scrape both threat and comfort— smooth with tiny bumps
tll-
risky weather won’t stop me money doesn’t grow on trees
db-
bank notification— I pretend not to see it until tomorrow
tll-
worry doesn’t rest I’m in a headlock adulting is trash
You can read the poem in its entirety by clicking on the link below. Thank you again, David! It’s always a blast!
They come dripping with honied songs. You happily lap them up at first; so cloyingly sticky with promise the sting of their claws goes unnoticed. And just like that, there’s nothing again,
Only now, nothing feels less than that. Got you chasing things you never wanted just to feel something one more time, just to get another juicy taste, just like they wanted all along.
Play at being prey enough times, angles and patterns soon seem telegraphed. Funny how when you see them coming those sweet songs croon on empty calories, leaving you, me, and this naked truth.
Unsheathed, this mummer’s mimic still has fangs, so be mindful how you cast them off. Though a well-dressed no is still a no and boundaries trigger venomous bite, angles and distance out-leverage their reach.
Let them bait their lines again and again. Mimic being moved by their siren song as saccharine curdles into sour nothings as you walk away from their invite to thank them for gorging on your wholeness.
(In Response) Tremaine L. Loadholt:
You love being whole, love feeling like you have it all, and every woman you meet must be craving your attention. A welcome yes may not be the yes you yearn for, but this doesn’t matter, you’ll take what you want anyway.
And the sun and moon watch as you devour hearts that haven’t bloomed into their ripe age. they plot on you–one to brace you when it’s hot, the other to push you when it’s cool. You are so intent on breaking every rule, you don’t realize protecting you is their job.
The distance to sanity from where you are is a two-day journey. Wives and husbands, sisters and brothers; every connected union you find along your path–
To read the poem in its entirety, please find it in its published form at Collaborature. Thank you so much, Melissa Lemay, for hosting our work!Thank you, Barry, for continuing to collaborate with me. Our words have danced with each other for years, and I pray they continue to find each other in the future, too.
Hello, beautiful people. David at The Skeptic’s Kaddish and I collaborated and produced a pretty decent rengay that I’d love for you to spend a little time with.
It was fun creating with David, and the finished product gives me joy.
I needed a bit of a mental literary task, so I was happy to get the invite from David. He’s an extremely talented writer who has many bags of poetic tricks up his sleeve.
Here’s a sneak peek:
tll- rainy days are gifts they hide tears I’ve been shedding fruits of labor lost
db- dew seeps into severed crowns black rot spreads despite soft hands
tll- dank air surrounds me enchanted for a second but no prince charming
db- midnight carriage stops
Follow the link below to go on a Broken Enchantment adventure.
We hadn’t realized how important life was until we were all doomed to accept unmitigated, exhausting change. The stroke of every clock sounded, and we ignored them–content to wade in our sullied waters until the next defeat. And now . . . we wallow in a sea of mesmerizing tears, unable to fetch the happiness we prayed for four years ago. How odd–the way life jokes around and pulls its highest card when we believe we’ve won at a game of spades.
Sorrow flows from hearts Life’s unfailing trials spin us Another hand’s dealt
It’s a beautiful thing to see this magical book published in all its glory. I have five haiku included in this anthology, and I am beside myself with glee to be amongst a whole host of talented writers.
Dearest Contributors & Followers
Literary Revelations is delighted to inform you that Tranquility: An Anthology of Haiku is now available on Amazon. It was our utmost pleasure to publish everyone’s work. Thank you for your contribution, and please help us spread the word.
Or you can get it here:
The anthology is already racking up a plethora of accolades (which is no surprise) and Gabriela Marie Milton and Literary Revelations have been nothing short of stellar with informative posts, purposeful marketing, and a genuine excitement dished out to everyone. It’s glorious!
We, the oppressed are still chained — still bound to the walls of the majority. If we breathe the wrong way, a shot to the lungs while we’re blinking could be our demise. Yet . . . they tell us we are free. If we were free, we’d be able to roam the streets in our skin — black as night, beautiful as a half-moon, without fear.
They plummet in our direction — bullets with no names, claiming our souls one at a time. And if that’s not enough, we are being stripped of our bones while we’re already bare — naked as a newborn, cooing in the dark, crying to be held — yearning to be loved. The Powers That Be see no wrong in their ways. They’re going about business as usual while we pull at the air disappearing from our sight.
One by one, rights are being struck down — laws put in place to keep us in place, and pockets are being laced with almighty dollars to keep the loud ones quiet. Soon we will be wombless, wounded, wound up, and worked into the plan they have to be rid of us . . . And then, what?
And then, nothing. Split from the bone, the many, now the one lone splinter flees this madness seeking silence, solace, solitude; a peace, apart from malicious eyes; the swarming hornets of untended, weaponized trauma, wielding perverse justice as both heirloom and cudgel, endlessly frustrated by never striking flush with it.
They lash out in all directions — targeting the Other with retribution — both of the self-proclaimed divine and the self-indulgent, profane type — never pausing long enough to reflect, to witness that there is no They, nor is there an Other; there is, has been, and will only ever be Us. Many claim to follow someone named Jesus, who tried telling us exactly this before being killed for it.
We, the oppressed are still chained — still bound by rusted yoke of crumbling society failing to see how the tie that binds also limits their own roaming; existentially tragic how we diminish our horizons by diminishing fractions of life over the whole, all while labeling this farce Justice.
But someone says, “Have faith. Have hope. Remain open to the possibilities of change,” and we all stand on tired feet, shuffling to distant places, wondering when that “Change” will ever come.
This isn’t our first rodeo. We’ve been collaborating with one another since the early 2000s. Here are a couple of our other pieces. Thank you for reading.
A Cornered Gurl 
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