kuroi akumu: black nightmare

Today Claudia, one of the founding members of the dVerse community, is prompting us to write about our emotions, about how we feel – not the feelings of the world, other people – but how we feel and to avoid using generalities. Metaphors might also be used. Come visit us at d’Verse Poetics. I have a feeling you may be amazed.  Linked to:  http://dversepoets.com/2015/11/24/poetry-as-a-vehicle-to-transport-emotions/

kuroi akumu
I move through the days like our local
weather report. Sunny and cold
and on the inside a storm is raging
threatening to obliterate me and
like many of those storms in dreams it
cannot be escaped – it rears on the horizon and
then it is there on top of you sucking the breath
from your lungs.

A restaurant.
They specialize in rare natural foods.
A friend and I go – we have been friends
since 1975 –
in the middle of the room dividing the eating areas
a huge fish tank with
fish like flashing jewels.
and then,
and then…
there are creatures in the water
like hairless black cats or small dogs
being held in the water with wires
as they shake and jerk
trying to escape and
waiters stand on ladders and with long tongs
extract long sprouts growing from seeds
embedded in their flesh – and the animals are
almost but not quite dead because they continue
to jerk and jerk and jerk and the water
slops over the side of the tank
wetting the tiled floor with water
stained with black and red.
In horror I scream why is this?
Why doesn’t someone care?
Why doesn’t someone stop this?
How can we eat this food pulled from
the flesh of dead and dying animals?
I turn to my friend – an animal rights activist
and I grab her and scream into her face
and she says but it is delicacy here.
And I stand and scream and no one cares
and the animals on their wires jerk and jerk
like tortured puppets and no.one.cares.

My husband awakens me and holds me but
still I shudder – no.one.cares.

Midnight Run

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Meeting the Bar, Bjorn is having us us write 14 line poems with a volta. This is not my usual style and truth  be told, it is probably one of the worst poems I have ever written.  I don’t know if I will even put it in my “to be polished” folder.  But I tried!  And it does rhyme, after a fashion – badly. I’m not even sure if it is a legitimate poetic form. Mea culpa.

night

Fitful winds tear brittle fog
swirling it erratically about the street.
Hollow taps of running feet –
behind her she knows he follows –
into an alley she slips to hide
and silently into shadows she glides.

Silent still she crouches and hears him pass.
still hiding, waiting – should she go?
softly, slowly rising – walking on tiptoe
to the street, looking both ways.
there, on the corner under the light
He turns and has her in his sight.

He freezes – shoulders high she begins to run,
Leaps onto his chest and bares her teeth – this is going to be fun.

 

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