Posts for June 5, 2018


On My Block IV or Loud On

them sirens sing a song
of despair all night
smoky sits speed trap ready
blue & red lights tinted
by the orange day glow haze
of high pressure sodium
sitting high in judgment 
flash steady on my walls
i turn over hoping 
i don’t hear gun clap



Stopped at the light    
on Main Street.           
Looked up at
the old arsenal.

Reminded myself   
to take my dad there     
next time               
he comes to town.       

Then remembered         
he’s been gone             
for one hundred           
and five days.


Weathering Wonderland

Roses bleed passion
violets cry blue
irises sing in the rain
even when they’re off tune

Hopeless romantic am I 
empathy rules my mood
laughter and crocodile tears
pursue happiness in full bloom


minutes before midnight

people naive
have us believe
there is no harm
in words unkind

“sticks and stones
may break your bones
but words…”
they can break your mind 

Susan M. Stephens

Summer of oh hell yes

when leaves fell around
the corner of last year you
shouldered exaggerated burdens
wore exorbitant layers
lived excessive nos

now the sun is ablaze
befriending happenstance
begging nakedness
beckoning oh hell


Did I Just Spend 16 hours on Netflix?

I could have been writing a poem or a play,
but instead these eyes were glued to a computer screen,
One episode, and then another, sideways, laying down,
blurry-eyed, in French with subtitles.
Could it get better?
Will there be a twist?

You deserve to do nothing Iʻve been told,
though crumbles of Guilt stretch legs on the wall,
roll from one numb arm to the next,
readjusts neck pillows.
I begin to think I speak French,
or at least read with a French accent.
dead hours hope the plot will thicken,
and find instead that it has drizzled into some altered state
of some other personʻs dream that never really mattered
At all.  2 seasons and 16 episodes later… What happened?


Here All the Bombs Fade Away

Waiting for the show to begin
As the sound check wafted through the woods
We found an honest to god octopus
On an emaciated trail
Lined by beheaded trunks
You perched on a throne of them
With your faded Chucks and 90s chic
And although you weren’t quite in your element
The squirrels respected your kindness
So you belonged


There were gunshots

I was going to write a poem tonight,
but tomorrow it’ll be better.
To be continued…



What delight the little bugs bring
from the ground they arise and take flight
Flying and flashing they ascend in the sky
and fill the dark night
with small bursts
of bright light






The child wants to imitate you

whether or not you’re ready

to face that.  Wouldn’t it be better

to just take his soft hand

and show him how to walk 

against all the garments 

unkind folk will try to dress

him in. 



Melva Sue Priddy