In the Breath of Wolves

In the Breath of Wolves

It’s been a fortnight or two
Since the wolves howled
Near the edge of the prairie…
Hungry beneath the moonlight…
Eyes that glow through the thickened brush
Searching for those of imprudence

Paws… in their silence
Pressing quietly the forest floor…
Their mouths tasting the night air
As if the mist itself were filled
With the taste of ambrosia
Warm… against their tongues…

Twas midnight of the half moon
Shadows dancing neath the black oak…
Flutterring sounds from the wings of the wise
Evading the thirst of the hounds…
Sagacity roused in patience of time
Searching for the scent of innocence

It’s been a fortnight or two
Since the wolves howled
Near the edge of the wildflowers…
Hungry beneath the waxing moon…
Yet warm moist breath lingers in winter’s night
While the prairie bides in its silence

A breeze is stirring through the valley…
Willows crackling in the cold night air…
The distant sound of the nighthawk
Echoing across the meadow
As I stand in wonder on the edge of tomorrow…
Listening to the hush…
                                              before the howl…

Michael33

Thank you for dropping by and reading “In the Breath of Wolves”.  Now I would like to ask you to take the time to read it once again with the thought… that just perhaps… this poem is not about furry, four legged animals……….

May your day be filled with beautiful moments…  while “listening to the hush…”

Namasté

Copyright © 2017

Hiding the Moon

Hiding the Moon

When the muse is convulsed into darkness
And the moon hides its light neath the trees
The pen lies bloodless on parchment of time
With visions unable to breathe

When minds linger blind into darkness
And moonlight casts shadows on runes
Words keeping secrets between tempered lines
While the rhyme hides the man in the moon

Michael33

Copyright © 2015

Forbidden Fruit

Photo courtesy of Pixabay.com

Forbidden Fruit

He wandered midst forbidden fruit
Where pleasures dwell in shadows
And no one finds his way past heaven’s gate…
Yet he smiled with no tomorrow
As if in the promised lands
But no one knew the truth of twisted fate…

He pandered to the weak of will
To satisfy their lust
And no one dared to break the braided chain…
No blood upon the shovels blade
He buried secret souls
But no one knows the depth of their remains

He dwelled beneath the pauper’s lair
Disguised in parson cloth
And no one cared enough to save the lamb…
Molding minds in mortal sin
Before the shepherds eyes
But humankind just did not give a damn…

He straggled into heaven’s gate
Then climbed aboard the craft
And no one even knew that he had passed…
Hoping there would be one soul
To care for what he lost
But there was not a soul that even asked…

Michael33

Copyright © 2015 All rights reserved

The Notebook

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The Notebook
 
 
She finished writing in her little notebook
The black one…
Where she hides the secrets…
She opens the drawer in the nightstand
The white one…
And carefully slides it under all the pill bottles
No one will look for it in her medicine cabinet
The full one…
As she removes the eleven pills she takes at bedtime
Getting the other nine ready to take when she awakes
If she awakes…
It’s never something that she takes for granted…
 
She puts on her ear buds to listen to her peaceful sounds
Metallica…
The music stirs her brains into turmoil
Yet more peaceful than her existence without it…
Sleeping naked
Longing for no one to join her in her nakedness
Lusting for no one… for nothing… except her fix
And the notebook
 
As the CD comes to an end it startles her awake
She leaps from the bed like she’d seen the ghost of herself
In the silence
Pulling open the drawer in a frenzy
Pushing the pill bottles aside like she was chasing a varmint
To find the notebook…
She grabs hold of her book of secrets, yanking it from the drawer
Frantically searching for that oh, so important ink pen
The blue one
The only one she dares to write her secrets with
The only one that she trusts to hold the silence of her truths
Of the darkness
 
She picks up the three pill bottles lying on the floor
Quickly stashing them back into the drawer before they’re seen
By no one
She leans against her pillows, knees pulled up close
Using her legs as support for the notebook
The black one…
She tries to gather her thoughts of what was so important
To write down at this ungodly hour of the morning
Of three a.m.
The cold winter night sent a chill through her naked body
The fireplace holding onto only faded embers of Oak
And of memories…
The same memories that she so carefully saves within
The notebook
The black one
Where she hides the secrets…
 
She searched across the room with her saddened eyes
The blue ones
The ones that match the blueness of her pen so perfectly
Attempting to find the words that had escaped her mind
But finding naught…
She thinks she sees a shadow at her window
In her fear she shrinks beneath the covers
The striped ones
She pulls them up completely over head
And starts to write her thoughts upon the page…
Beneath the sheets
The pink ones…
 
The way the ink flows on the paper
Calms her nerves with its smoothness and the feel in her hand
The left one
She scribbles pictures on the page
And words of the magic falcon that dwells within her room
The one of Russian green
She tells the story of an invading force
That can only be seen through her special glasses
The rose colored ones
The force arriving only at night, in her dreams of other worlds
While only the falcon can protect her soul from the creatures
The ones in her head…
 
She writes another twenty pages of secrets
Secrets that the creatures whisper to her in her dreams
The purple ones
This time she received the final message they infused into her mind
She very carefully placed her notebook of secrets upon her pillow
The cerise one
She crawled back beneath the covers
Cowering from her own internal fears
The dark ones…
 
There was a knock on the door
She knew it was them… the creatures from her dreams
The door opened
The falcon flew into the sky through the open door
Past those who had come to save her from her dreams…
They entered cautiously, professing that they had
Always cared…
But once inside…
They found no one…
There was nothing inside her tiny house…

Except…

Lying perfectly placed,
In the middle of her pillow
The cerise one,
Was the notebook…
The black one…
Where she hides the secrets…

Copyright © 2014 All Rights Reserved

Sweet Dreams…

Michael33

Picking up the Pieces

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Picking Up the Pieces

 
I cleaned up the mess…
Again…
This one being bloodier
Than the last…
I’m growing weary of
Picking up the pieces
From all the lives you’ve shattered,
With what is seemingly
No conscience whatsoever…
I’ve asked you for nothing…
And that is exactly what I have
Received from you…
Not even a mere thank you
Or a kind word,
As if all that I have done for you
Has been expected of me…

You act as if it is my fault that
I am unable to clean out your closet…
The one where you keep all the bones…
Your skeletons are beginning to talk…
They’re telling epic stories of your
Misinterpretations of reality…
Even these darkened and stained walls
Are echoing the screams…
Yet you continue to leave your
Severed bodies scattered
In every room of which you wander…
I met your most recent victim
In the hallway outside your study…
She seemed so unsuspecting of her fate
That I found exceptional doubt that she had
Even made your acquaintance…
I hope you can find it within your soul…
If in fact there is one to be found,
To understand my attempt to warn her
Of her wellbeing…
But of course we both realize that
Your understanding of my actions
Has never before found a rational thought
Within your depravity…

Do you remember all of their names?
Do you even remember your own?
Her name is Kachina…
The one I met in the hall…
Her name means sacred dancer…
I cannot stand idly by
And allow one who is known
As sacred dancer to be led
Into the darkness of your mind…
I will lead her away from your mortuary
Before your embalming fluid reaches her
Still bleeding veins…
I will then return for you…..
To clean up the mess…
To pick up the pieces…
To the applause of those whom you
Have led into other worlds…
And when I lead you into the cellar of your torture
I will do so with what is seemingly
No conscience whatsoever…

Copyright © 2014 All Rights Reserved…

I don’t know about you…
But I won’t be going into the cellar anytime soon…

Michael33

“Nothing”

Eyes in the Darkness

Nothing…
 
I have nothing to say…
Nothing…
I have tried writing but what I find
Is nothing…
Although nothing would be far better
Than what currently plagues my weary mind…
 
If you mysteriously think that you are
Reading words in this very moment…
Then you have been mistakenly led astray
By your very own imagination…
These are not words…
They were not spoken
As my lips have not uttered a worthwhile sound
Within this lifetime…
They were not written with a pencil
Nor with a pen…
As my pen lies dormant, clipped to my shirt pocket
Like the nerd I proclaim not to be…
And the only pencil I have has broken lead…
Words were not scratched into any surface
With my fingernails
In my attempt to claw my way out of this
Nothingness…
They did not magically appear as automatic writing
From my psychically unconscious mind…
No ghost writer has attempted
To write my words for me…
Although my mind is most obviously haunted
By torment and anguish lingering from other lives…
 
Since it is apparently only
Nothingness
That is standing between us…
Then there must be
Nothing that is wrong…
There is nothing that is keeping us apart
No words could have possibly come between us…
Then…
Why do I search this house…
This room…
This moment in time…
And find only
Nothingness?
 
Perhaps it is only my disillusionment
Of the absence of my words
That has taken you from me…
The quiet is so deafening…
The darkness penetrating so completely
Into the deepest hues of ebon
That the wisdom of the owl
Could not lead him through these depths
Of nothingness,
Of darkness…
 
Will I perish in this moment?
Will the nothingness just absorb my being?
Will there be no words on this page
To explain my disappearance from this world?
 
My eyes are so heavy
I can no longer fight the sleep…
My head nodding repeatedly as I fight
The approach of my own reality…
I must sleep now
To awaken within my new existence
A new reality…
Where darkness does not exist…
Where nothingness cannot prevail…
Goodnight my love…
 
Wow!  What a dream I just had
Crawling through the caverns of the mind
I dreamed I lost my way within the darkness
I could not speak, my eyes were going blind
 
I awoke and found you lying by my side
Sleeping peacefully upon your feathered bed
It was only dreams that left me feeling empty
Words of my illusion left unsaid
 
I touched you to awaken you from sleep
My breathlessness had left me somewhat huffing
You spoke to me and asked me what was wrong
I smiled and spoke the truth when I said…  Nothing…

© 2014

I know that I usually have some comment placed in this area
Concerning the poem from above… but since there are really
No words there…
I’ll just say nothing…

Michael33

The Quiet One

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I don’t really know what to say prior to posting the following poem.  This subject is something that I, along with the rest of the country have found no answers to either explain nor to cure.  I use the word ‘cure’ because this is definitely some kind of illness that has taken over the youth of our country.  It happened again today… near Seattle.  What do we do to fix it?  What do we do to take away the fear and anxiety involved with the simplistic action of sending our children off to school every morning?  It’s got to stop.  It won’t fix itself.  We have to be the ones to find a solution.  Is it the hundreds of violent video games that allow the children to sit in their rooms half the night killing people?  Yes!  Is it the violence on television and in the movies?  Yes!  Is it that parents don’t spend enough time interacting with their children?  Yes!  Is it the breakdown of the family unit?  Yes!  Is it at least a thousand other factors that are adding to this horrible, irresponsible, lack of love and respect for every other human being?  Yes!…..

We’ve got to find a way to stop their aloneness, their sadness, the hurting inside of our children.

How long will the human race allow this plague to continue to kill our children?  How long?

The Quiet One
 
A child of reflection
He did what he pleased
Although he often
Seemed very displeased
 
Quietly he pondered
On killing and hate
To peers and to parents
He couldn’t relate
 
He knew that his knowledge
Was far above norm
Knowing his madness
Would soon stir the storm
 
He purchased the weapon
With funds that he stole
Removing the essence
From Mom’s heart and soul
 
He loaded the clip
His backpack was ready
His mind was intense
His hands not so steady
 
He arrived at the school
In camouflaged pain
About to ensure
That the boy was insane
 
The killing began
At eight twenty seven
In forty five seconds
He’d wounded eleven
 
A teacher jumped in
A girl of small build
To stop him from adding
To the one’s he had killed
 
He shook her away
Placed the gun at her head
His blank vacant stare
Assured she’d be dead
 
A nine year old child
Small but with flare
Hit him in the head
With a small wooden chair
 
He then kicked the gun
Across the slick floor
The little one and teacher
Ran for the door
 
The shooter revived
And ran for his gun
He hadn’t quite finished
What he had begun
 
The police had arrived
And crept down the hall
The students had scattered
But some had to crawl
 
The hunter stepped through
The classroom door
Stooped down to touch
The blood on the floor
 
He looked at his fingers
The tips soaked in blood
He rubbed on his pants
To mix with the mud
 
The marksman bore down
The crosshairs aligned
A tear blurred his vision
A child in the line
 
The hunter stood proud
Facing the crowd
Placing the barrel
Firm on his brow
 
A teacher spoke softly
To put the gun down
But Tommy heard nothing
And fired his last round
 
Silence then echoed
Through hallways and minds
Bodies fell lifeless
With blood on the blinds
 
Most of them wept
For the horrible cost
Heartbroken children
With Innocence lost
 
They all stood in awe
In their small sleepy town
The lives that were lost
Just wore them all down
 
They made a new law
Just lock up the guns
But it won’t stop the madness
From daughters and sons
 
I’m not sure there’s an answer
For the home of the brave
It seems we keep digging
Our very own grave
 
© 2014
 
Have a safe weekend… and hug your children…

I mean, really hug your children….. for a long time!
 
Michael33

In the Name of Love

photo credit: Toni Blay via photopin cc

In the Name of Love

 
I stood before you bleeding
From the sharpness of your misguided words
My rapid, shallow breathing
Attempting to pull the oxygen back inside me
From the blood spilled on the table
 
I’ve seen you walk out through that door
So many times before
Knowing that you would, soon…
Realize how very much you loved me
And return to the scene of the crime…
To pick up the pieces of me
You so easily left lying on the floor
 
But never before tonight,
Had you left me in such a large pool of blood
Gasping for the air
That you had sucked out of me…
My heart pounding so hard
That my body throbbed back and forth
Like the pendulum of the clock
With the broken glass…
Scattered along the wall around it
 
You had practiced it so many times before
That you could slam that door so hard
It sounded much like the shotgun blast
We heard in the hallway of our first apartment…
Right outside our door…

Your ex…

The one before me… 

I thought he was going to kill us both
Until you threw some of your things into a trash bag
And left with him…
For nearly a week…
With not so much as a phone call…

My heart nearly leapt from my body
When you walked back through that door
With that smile of yours…
And your ‘hi, sweetie’ greeting
With an explanation that wouldn’t have
Fooled a two year old…
 
Your explanations never mattered to me though
With the excitement I felt in my soul
Each time you returned…

I easily forgot about the scratches on my face…
My blood stained clothes…
The multitudes of deep scars ingrained within my skin
Serving as reminders that will last for a lifetime…
 
And of course… my broken heart…
 
None of that mattered…
 
You were here with me now…
Longing to stimulate the passion within me
That you know can so easily be aroused with
Just your touch…
Your kiss…
 
I know that you’ll stay this time…
And feel the enormous love that swells inside me
For your passion, your presence beside me
And appreciate what I am so readily offering you…
My heart…
I know that you’ll stay this time…
 
At least for a few days
 
The scratches are healing nicely…
The bruising around my nose and eyes
Have turned from black into hues of greens and yellows…
There is only a small stain left on the carpet
And only a slight discoloration of the table top
Where I so carelessly spilled my blood upon it
 
No one ever told me that love wouldn’t last forever…
I wouldn’t have believed them if they had…
No one ever told me that you’d leave again with whomever…
I’ll try real hard to never make you mad…
 
No one ever told me that love wouldn’t last forever…
I wouldn’t have believed them. lying together in our bed…
No one ever told me that the news man soon would say
That you walked out through that door…
 
And left me dead…

© 2014

Okay… admit it… this one took you by surprise…

Please have a
Safe…
Peaceful…
Affectionate evening…

And please…
Don’t live with domestic abuse of any kind…
Physically, mentally, or emotionally!

Michael

Absence of Malice

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I suppose that I had only one visitor last night that was brave enough to comment on the post and I thank her for her courage.   It was just a little temporary rage… sort of… temporary… well… maybe not exactly temporary… Oh, alright… it’s ingrained in my soul and will never leave… but the rage has now passed… Temporarily.  However, tonight’s post approaches a subject that will always invoke rage within me.

Absence of Malice

The rhymes had vanished.
The door was left ajar from their escape.
The music echoed softly,
As if it was a part of the mistake.
 
Taking too much time
Stalling any form of reparation
Justice truly blind,
Adding to the state of desperation.
 
Truths had gone awry,
As if the blood had somehow disappeared.
Footprints by the door,
Belonging to the one who persevered.
 
Glass from broken mirrors
Reflecting broken hearts upon the wall.
Scattered shards of light
Casting shadows of their dreams before the fall.
 
Nothing stopped the tears
For those left standing naked in the rain.
Absence of malice,
For no one’s left to wear the mark of Cain.

Copyright © 2014 Steven Michael Sanders

Don’t let the shadows of your dreams
Leave you standing naked in the rain…..

Have a peaceful evening!

Michael

Dark Secrets

Today has been…. Well… unpleasant.  Tonight’s poem is appropriate for the occasion.

Dark Secrets
 
My mind is occupied with pain
It’s nobody’s fault but my own
Sometimes we keep dark secrets there
We deal with all alone
 
Of course it’s bad for circumstance
To hide our inner heart
Often when we hide despair
It keeps us far apart
 
But what if I disclosed my hurt
Imbrued upon another
Then they’d be burdened within my pain
And both of us could smother
 
I guess some things you keep inside
Withdrawn from helping hands
Ladened with encumbered soul
Like the hour glass sifting sand
 
Often it will take its toll
Absorbing all that matters
While darkness clouds the rhymes of life
Leaves broken hearts in tatters
 
Of course you never really know
A person’s soul to bear
Cause every soul with consciousness
Will hide dark secrets there

© 2014

Extend your hand or sit down and listen…..
You might just be what matters…..

Michael