…actually, why not?
it starts in the heart
and sweeps out in a wave,
up the larynx
into a mouth, wide open
a cry so loud
all who have eyes shed tears
and all who can see
weep
with anger
and anguish
for now
and again now
and again
now
and again now, now
now
there is no time
between the call
and response
there is no time
to wait
for now it is life or death:
the care of peace or the chaos of despair
© 2020 threegoodwords
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I remember this anger
the slow-simmering boil
clenched tight just above the gut
that sleepless certainty of knowing
you have been wronged
on every scale.
‘Stupid is as stupid does’
But I’m no Forrest
I can see the trees for what they are
the beginning of a long Heart of Darkness
where everything is warped
and wrong and upside down
because even the mood is toxic
and suddenly I can trace the battle scars
fading into the foreground
like that tattoo you forgot about
or those combat boots out back
grown dusty in the shed
the ones that helped you cross
that violent overgrown desert.
And now it’s time
time to take down the gas-mask
and strap on the worn leather
find your trusted binoculars
the ones without the fancy bits
but excellent night vision
now it is time to get out the maps
the combat notes, the exit strategies
and scout almost-forgotten terrain
because you know this is no joke.
this is as real as it gets
this is the old and known
enemy.
Â
© 2017 threegoodwords
the sun once in bloom
now alive, hidden
in a land of green and black and gold
O, what grace is given
to know
all that we have known
and seen amongst us all
paved along the waves
once crossed, bound in stone
built in those days
when we still knew forever
a time of tears and laughter
flesh and bone
not lost
but no longer known
and so it goes
or so they say
the bells chime
the wind blows
and time is born once more.
© 2015 threegoodwords
quiet steps
across sunny stone
scaling the depth of summer
white stairs
solemnly clear
bright
in their commemoration
of a cruel time
now used daily
as a resting place
by those visiting from abroad.
*
after sunset
voices rise
to glasses raised
laughter rippling
across fountains
sparkling in fanning light
lives lived
among strangers
together
on ancient steps
once built by a great power
then everpresent
now lying low
among the weathered stone
remembered
but no longer known.
© 2015 threegoodwords
where do you draw the line?
now that your reading’s done
and you’re aware of lives
lived by codes outside and beyond
everything you know
the accepted nastiness lingering
behind the famed glory
the casual cruelty accepted
behind the ingenious order
praised since time untold
…
and yet, there is such a thing as reception
that old question
how much is too much
and what of honesty?
what of that which happened
often, far too often
and must be thought of
retold
clearly, without softening
without any lenses blurred
sharp contours of thought
and feeling
of all those grey areas in between
painful, upsetting
without clear lines from A to B
but that’s what it’s really about
or not?
exploring the edges
diving down into darker depths
drawing out the essence of storytelling
finding new ways to reach
what we all strive for
clarity.
© 2015 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 