…actually, why not?
weird, that.
suddenly a
particular certainty’s just
gone
a phone call
et voilà
no more
like they just got up
and walked out
mid-sentence
left the room
except this one’s
time, space
all coordinates
huh
like turning up
at an old house
that was always open
busy, bright
full of weird things
like history, life
and finding the doors locked
all the windows dark
curtains drawn
and one permanent note
taped to the front door:
gone
©2017 threegoodwords
crickets chirping
another kind of silence
love-
leeway is a tricky thing
how much exactly is needed?
all this outside
reflecting off the green
caterwauling
confusing garfieldinfused
day-
dreams are so damn tricky.
reach for the stars
they say, and mean
“not too far”
because events so big
shift horizons
and suck you in
tonight, tonight
so bright
tonight, tonight
you better take care
of that pumpkin patch
before fairy god-
vraaaaaoooooooooooom!
mother******!!
it’s past midnight!!
ah,
these are the times.
©2017 threegoodwords
two nightmares, r and g
both alike in their utter lack of dignity
in a well-known land
where there are too many such scenes
and that’s where it ends
since there is neither rhyme nor reason
to this violence
this continuous cruelty
so organised, so repetitive
it has become the unthinkable:
commonplace, everyday
predictable
just another news reel.
how is it that death walks the land
with such impunity
and we still think we’re at peace?
we document the seas of tears
we tape the cries of anguish, terror and disbelief
and yet
eyes turn blind
ears tone-deaf
and words are written, spoken
stating repeatedly
‘yes, but’
‘not all of us’
‘not me’.
© 2016 threegoodwords
sometimes
darkness beckons
longingly
whispering of peace
that is oblivion
only there’s no
solution
in that soundlessness
hope is brittle
when harshly set against
possible/actual
may be, maybe
that could be anything
but bad dreams
nutshells aside
forks in the road
can look eyre-bleak
without howling moors
greying the sky to ceiling.
infinity, vast
or so it is written
lies quietly await
endlessly patient
like a golden summer’s day
and yet it’s in the earliest hour
when you see the light
in its most crystalline shades.
there is this:
perseverance. keeping on
never mind scraped knuckles
chapped lips and bleeding knees
invisible muscles screaming
‘mercy, please!’
but there is that peak
the summit
all sky, no ceiling.
and so: keep on
one more step, and another
until the desert is crossed
and you can rest
among the calm leaves
of brilliant green
the lush cool
quenching clarity
where those days of exhaustion
are only memory
where plenty is true, real
and sunlight warm, serene.
strange little world, this.
© 2016 threegoodwords
on giving your
self
over
to the moment
dropping deep down
into that endless
ocean
splish-splash
no, I wasn’t taking a bath
and it’s Monday evening
a sudden rush of
words and water
rolling off the tips
of several tongues
I speak
to myself
and others
aloud
in the quiet
to the other
that insists, insists
me, moi
moi-même, I
ay, ay
the famous Greek
“outshouting seas”
and again
snatches
bites of words
maybe wisdom
drip-dropping
flip-flopping
hip-hopping
and there it goes
an entire video music awards
that shows
such roll of song
(it’s sad, isn’t it
how that space for music
no longer is a home of song)
anyway.
every way
time, space
written monuments to bad taste
that glue themselves to your memory
slipping out suddenly
in cravings for sticky-sweetness
whispered kisses, ma chèries
another time, really
leave me be
I need to write this
I need to see.
©2016 threegoodwords
Words, images & collages tossed from a window.
Essays, notes & interviews on why literary fiction matters to human living
small press. great publishing.
but don't take my word for it
Home hub & scribble space of Prose Writer & Poet Kristiane Weeks-Rogers (she/hers), author of poetry collection: 'Self-Anointment with Lemons'.
A journey from one end of the bookshelf to the other
three good words 