The Cage | Heath Brougher
The door
to the cage
has always
been open
but unfortunately
very few
people ever
choose to
walk out
of it.
More at https://facebook.com/heathbrougher/.
fear poems
Maggie and Max | Donal Mahoney
Our son married a flibbertygibbet,
my wife says, and I agree,
but he loves Maggie very much
so I say let’s keep quiet.
It’s not our place to criticize.
Max is 33, and not long
back from Iraq.
I remind my wife
that Maggie can cook
better than most
so let’s give her a chance.
Max works two jobs
and he’s never home.
Maggie’s young.
Maybe the baby will help
but I doubt it.
Too bad Maggie
didn’t take to quilting,
my wife points out.
The ladies at church
did their best to teach her.
But quilters, I remind her,
don’t go out at midnight
to places nobody knows.
My wife keeps asking
why Max married Maggie.
I don’t know what to say.
Finally I tell her I never saw
any woman walk like Maggie.
My wife says I never will.
More at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/.
The Nest | Krushna Chandra Mishra
They were all very sure their nest there
Was not broken despite the storm and there
Still in the same old good condition to
Welcome them in smiling for the rest
They knew best they needed having not slept
Ever since they heard of damages the storm had
Done to most houses in the neighborhoods.
They knew nothing their nest would succeed
Doing if it sought to face the force of the storm
For the wall that held it was safe like ever
And the wall as they saw standing seemed
To tell them in comforting whispers
Everything was safe – their nest or their dreams.
The Girl with Fear | Keith Russell
She was always living the life of horror and fear,
In this world she was living in, nothing about her seemed too clear.
Everything she came across in her life, she was petrified,
She believed in God but always thought in her heart the devil was
alive.
She was scared to kiss, hug, scared to touch,
Scared of sex because love is a lie and the pain is too much.
She was scared to open those beautiful eyes and see,
Scared she might see something gruesome, including me.
Scared to be happy so she would always be in an indecisive mood,
Scared about gaining weight so she wouldn’t eat any food.
Never had goals and dreams to spread her wings and fly,
Always hated her life and even tho she never understand it she still
was afraid to die.
She never liked being by herself so she was always afraid of being
alone,
But she never gave a dude a chance because she was scared they would
leave her on her own.
Scared of getting old because her beauty might fade away,
Scared of keeping friends because she can’t trust anybody and they might
just turn on her one day.
We all are human beings and we all are afraid of something here,
But this is a girl who has always lived a life of fear.
Daddy's Shoe | Edgar Law
Daddy’s shoe, what do
we do, he’s long since gone,
Daddy’s shoe, the one
he wore when he picked us
up from the corner store,
He’s a ghost now, invisible,
we hear him in the halls,
if our voices had walls, he’d
be rapping on them,
Daddy’s shoe, he’s the fear
we knew, too trembling
to take a step, too furtive
to make a leap.
The Night Isn’t Silent | Mary Bone
The night isn’t silent
there are screeches all around.
Bugs are zapping,
wings are flapping
something is crawling
on the ground.
I hear the barking of a hound.
Enough of this hodgepodge.
I am getting the heck out of Dodge.
Separation Anxiety is Just Fear of the Future | Sabrina X.
She’s taking the first steps
out from under the wingtips of her mother. Leaving.
She’s shaking, stepping deliberately in
every puddle she can find, her sneakers and bones
soaking in the frost as it thaws.
She’s sinking, wishing the blurred reflections of
naive children’s dreams in the sky could be more than that.
She only wants to wash away what memories she has of the past,
because she’s more afraid than you can imagine, wishing
on every burnt out match she can find, stealing
glances at the clock, shivering alone in the newfound cold
like a child left on a doorstep, crudely wrapped in term papers
and school reports instead of warmth.
It’s not about the future, not about the blue and the red and
the inevitable black that comes afterwards.
It’s not about the past and the yellowing photographs of
happiness and safety that are stapled
securely into thick photo albums collecting dust
on the shelves of a childhood home.
It’s about this moment, her toes catching fire as they touch
the wild infernos for the first time, caught like a fly in amber,
eyes wide open, tears threatening to bleed out
and obscure the carefully written words on her cheeks and lips.
She’s leaving and there is nothing more terrifying
than standing alone beneath the open skies,
not a cloud to shield her from the cold, hard stare of the universe.
I try to hold her hand, but she’s already gone, faded away in the
moments between the flickering out of night lights in her
childhood bedroom and the sputtering beginning of
the slow, persistent hum of a dorm room air conditioner.
Sitting alone on a foreign mattress,
she takes out a photograph and
sets it on the bedside table, brushing away
the marks of time from the frame.
Her heart falters along with the air conditioner
as she lies awake, praying to smudge away
the letters carved into her skin
and retreat back into the dimly lit haven of a mother’s arms.