eakwithoutasound

side: itsgettingdarkinher <3 “I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.” — Jorge Luis Borges A whimsical space of poetry and prose from a thirty-something female who just likes writing prompts and reading.

[eakwithoutasound]

Fossils of Home

A skeletal sky Leading us away from home: The bone-deep reminder Of our yesteryear drowned.

The ocean’s salty fingers tickled the sand Clawing higher and higher onto land Slowly unbuttoning the shoreline Swallowing our houses whole.

We ballooned like spiders, adrift on the wind; in search of higher branches.

We looked back.

At a village beneath the tongue of the sea: The ribs of our rooftops peeked through the flood, permanent cracks in our memories The fossils of home.

Under the deluge inundating our past, we are wandering spiders, our houses tied to our backs. We rise with the sun. We carry on.

The same skeletal sky, Points us anywhere but yesterday.

We wander on: Far away from the village. Far away from home. Image: Atlantis by RaVirr17

[eakwithoutasound]

Carwash Haze

Rainbow brushstrokes paint my windshield; a tri-foam burst smears beneath my wipers, water reflects on every surface: A clean, shiny car. Image: "Purple Sky" by artist Talts Jaanika.

[eakwithoutasound]

Tele-vised

Distant, far, Observing from a distance As if watching from a star; Transmitted signals Like waves, though less relaxing

The world beyond me is static. A green, suede couch with rips and snags, Covered by blankets to hide the years Of toddler masterpieces and animal messes. But, I have watched from afar.

Isolated, remote, The midnight gaze of withdrawn lovers, Eyes glued to my light To detract from the years of fading dreams, Over fading signals and lost connections.

A stagnant room around me idles, The faded, patchwork walls with crooked pictures Of children now grown with a few of their own. No longer their eyes affixed to my face, Yet, I remember the days.

Transmitted, connected, Reunited from across the land, Brought together by a simple broadcast: A movie night hosted by Nonna and Pa, The excitement of popcorn ready to explode.

A dark room alight with family, Gathered together ’round the tele- For the annual reunion; A house full of laughter resonating around me, And, I enjoy the show.

Disconnected, muted, Pixelated memories of bygone years, Of the good days and the bad, Downloaded to my motherboard On a loop behind my broken screen.

I may be piled with the other unplugged objects, Though I replay the day the happy couple brought me home And the children’s Saturday cartoon tent forts. I hold onto the glow of faces on the couch, For, their family portrait is a burn-in beneath my glass.

[eakwithoutasound]

The Day I Stepped into the Sun

I once lived a life of cruelest shadow,

under the weight of boot and thumb,

behind a deepest-blue front door

which shut out the world and sun.

I lived a life of nameless days,

within walls that screamed of silence,

upon forgotten floorboards

where keepsakes and memories wept.

I now live a life of endless possibilities,

after stepping forth across the threshold,

beyond the faded-blue door,

into the dawn of tomorrow’s dreams.

[eakwithoutasound]

Work Day-zed

Today, tomorrow, Tuesday, two days...

Been here, been there, don't want to go again.

City-scape, skin-scrape, sky-scrape, work-space.

Pay is top-rate; commute I hate.

But wait... it's the weekend:

Two days of dazed overtime

[eakwithoutasound]

The Steel Road

'Twas steel beneath our humble boots,

that raised the skyline's gleam;

a road across the open sky,

that built the American Dream.

Beware the dizzying cloud-height sights,

the bustling Big Apple far below.

Onward with a high-rise lunch break,

where only brave dreamers dare go.

Now share your bread with fearless friends,

who join you on the steel road so bold;

By humble hand and honest heart,

trust in the American Dream of gold.

[eakwithoutasound]

Fossils of Home

A skeletal sky

Leading us away from home:

The bone-deep reminder

Of our yesteryear drowned.

The ocean’s salty fingers tickled the sand

Clawing higher and higher onto land

Slowly unbuttoning the shoreline

Swallowing our houses whole.

We ballooned like spiders,

adrift on the wind;

in search of higher branches.

We looked back.

At a village beneath the tongue of the sea:

The ribs of our rooftops

peeked through the flood,

permanent cracks in our memories

The fossils of home.

Under the deluge

inundating our past,

we are wandering spiders,

our houses tied to our backs.

We rise with the sun.

We carry on.

The same skeletal sky,

Points us anywhere but yesterday.

We wander on:

Far away from the village.

Far away from home

[eakwithoutasound]

A Meadow Song

Meandering between old oaks and maples, a spotlight of sunshine blinding my eyes, Branches part revealing a pristine air piano, like the curtain call to a sold out concert so I jam out my solo in the meadow, backed up by the whistle of the breeze.

[eakwithoutasound]

Serenity Safe

To be a bird in the setting sun, or waving branch of an elder pine. To be the placid river reaching, protected by the mountain's hug.

[eakwithoutasound]

Cloud Brain

Head in the clouds no doubt.

Ditsy. Distracted. Devoured by thought.

A nephelogist sees a thunderhead of stormy contemplation. The nephophile recognizes a billowing cumulus of cotton-ball creativity.

Head in the clouds no doubt.

Carefree. Charismatic. Consciously in reverie.

[eakwithoutasound]

All that Remains

Women are goddesses; crowned by jewels of the stars. Gemstones outlive borrowed breath, love outlives fragile flesh.

Soulmates return to nature, cherished in moonbeams which whisper to dying ivy until spring slips love, back upon the finger, returning hearts home.

All that remains: a ring, inked in ivy, gold beneath the morning sun, promised to stone.

Women are gods, the strength of love eternal, vines rooted at heart, forevermore.

[eakwithoutasound]

scrubbed clean

In a timid, tepid shower, tiny, taciturn screams rained down of flighty, fury; fodder for our thoughts.

Salty, sadness drowned in water, scarlet, sodden eyes of sorrow, dissolving, dainty; droplets of our secrets.

A tear, scrubbed clean.

[eakwithoutasound]

Rotisserie-Sweet

Hen Henry hears the knife blade slicing, and thinks, What luck for me! The humans prep the fresh, green veggies, and set the table on the patio. Charcoal sizzles in the silver chimney; Hen Henry gulps and keeps on snacking on four-leaf clover in the yard.

Smells incredible strutts through her mind, as she paces through the flower garden; Hen Henry kept ba-gawk-ing at the sky I’ve never seen them this excited for my birthday meal before.

The humans laugh, Hen Henry trembles, jittery legs dancing among the tulip sways; the guest of honor, rotisserie-sweet, sings proudly in the evening chill; as the humans call Hen Henry nearer.

The grill was glowing hot and ready, humans gathering at the table now, almost ready for the pomp-n'-circ'; around Hen Henry the family gathered, to deliver a delicious birthday feast: wilted kale and crunchy broccoli ends, a supper-favorite of the pet chicken.

Hen Henry savored the tasty nibbles, of the summer family barbecue.

[eakwithoutasound]

Claustrophobic Timelapse

I am in this room I am the room I am gone and back. I belong as a question. I am me. I am we. I am a stranger. Cracked Tessellated

I am plural against the wall. I am here and there and nowhere, Deciding whether to exist, Where to exist, When to exist. I am me. I am three. I coexist. I am under. I am over. I am under again. I’m in the shadows, traveling, frozen, glitched. I am a mirrored image, a reversal, a transformation.

I am here. I am me. I am not here. Am I me? I am there, and here… Where is here if here is there? I am folded and stretched. I am compounded. Overlapping Misaligned

I am a version of me. An identical, non-agreeing self. A picture of myself. I am split into four corners. I am double-vision on the couch. Duplicates Reprints

I am tessellated through the room. I am a pattern of misunderstanding. I understand me. I am here in this room and here and there. I am sitting, standing, moving, leaning Edge-to-edge Over-filled Sardine-squished

I disappear through the door Over-and-over-and-again-and-again And out the window, once. I am here. I am me. And that is me. I am distributed, redistributed. Looping Reappearing.

I am in this room. I was in this room. I will be in this room. I am overlapping. I am me. I am not me. I am in and out, myself. We are all here, in some time. Paused Existing.

image: Jr Korpa

[eakwithoutasound]

Night-Glow

At night, the house glowed blue-bright, a blinding cage of artificial light; screens flickered over sleep-drawn faces, digital worlds draining quicker than footraces.

Outside, Wind called softly in the darkness.

No child looked up, stuck in a technological trance, as Mother Nature fought to have any chance. The electronic chirps of games clashed across couches, while arguments sparked between restless slouches.

Louder now, Rain tapped at the window.

Yet the children scrolled on uninterrupted, malleable, sponge-brains slowly corrupted, overtaken by algorithms built for addiction, unaware of life beyond their screen-born affliction.

Attention was called, when Thunder did rumble.

A side-eye of reassurance across the room, then back to button-pushing in the tomb. Enough is enough when children need rescue, from the glare of media they cannot see through.

In a final stand, Nature cut the power.

Huddled together, with no fantasyland, removed from technology by Gaia’s command, the youngsters crowded to the picture window, mesmerized by the flash of the wild light-show.

and Mother Earth, in quiet starlight, lulled tired eyes to night’s moon-glow.

[eakwithoutasound]

Headstones of a Corpse Planet

A planet once-alive, now extinct.

The oceans cracked first, dust-shattered plains to nowhere; shriveled worms of dried-up rivers crisscrossed the barren land.

Ebony-dead, crooked-tree headstones, marked the loss of a breathing world; the sky, a perpetual ash-choked slate, charred beneath dying-starshine.

Life gone, a corpse-planet adrift. image: NIR HIMI

[eakwithoutasound]

A Non-Terminating Lullaby

I recited the pattern against my pillow, 3.14159 sheep leaping behind my eyelids in the slow rhythm of a dripping faucet -2653589 fractions of a moment when infinity no longer frightens me.

And then the digits slide down the roof, -793238 fear pouring in a never-ending storm, fractures of lightning split the night, -46264 thunder in my mind drowning out the tessellating fear.

The sea expands beyond the horizon -3383779 waves colliding endlessly I drop my anchor into the unknown -5028841971 gently swaying repetition my favorite grouping of the ungraspable.

This fear of an eternal cosmic slide, -693993 sprinkles on my Cosmic Brownie, banana splits and frozen yogurt, -7510 licks to the center of the Tootsie Pop, at least the numbers taste of pi.

And in sleep, the phobia tightens its grip, 3.1415... repeats again to infinity, a memorized lullaby to ward off apeirophobia.