Unimaginable to tender minds

d’Verse prosery In every generation, words were left unspoken between parents and children. Some, unimaginable to tender minds. Some elders harbored the traumas of their youths to their families' detriments in ultimately futile attempts to protect them. Others remained incapable of acknowledging, let alone processing, the damage they'd suffered. These were the most dangerous. Beaten… Continue reading Unimaginable to tender minds

Empty, or: Broken

Poetry Partners #44 A poem by Saint Gaona of 'Saint it so' Looking in the mirror, carving a smile out of the broken promises, watered down dreams. Unable to relate to the reflection , feeling like an out of body experience, experiment for their sick pleasure. Your body a burden to your soul, your soul… Continue reading Empty, or: Broken

Bark, or: Bite [Part III]

A quadrille In the form of an Etheree [click here for Part I] [click here for Part II] "Sir? Mister? It's awful, ain't it? What she done to that poor dog..." He tore his eyes away from the screen in the window to the waif and grinned wickedly. "Yes," Mister replied, "And to think this… Continue reading Bark, or: Bite [Part III]

Bark, or: Bite [Part II]

A quadrille In the form of a Reverse Etheree [click here for Part I] the barn had been her only home, padlocked, dank, dark, with rats scurrying around; rotten scraps of food even Rex would only paw at thrown in once daily. She, more beast than girl, had crushed his skull when Mister, drunk, left… Continue reading Bark, or: Bite [Part II]

Bark, or: Bite [Part I]

A quadrille In the form of an Etheree a shiver goes through her, as she looks down at the shards. She can't afford to lose this job; she just can't. His shattered skull lies by the patio, dark blood staining her apron. She'd forgotten to check whether the neighbors kept a dog. [click here for… Continue reading Bark, or: Bite [Part I]

Memories, or: Dreams

My 2nd blank verse EPIGRAPH: We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they’re called memories. Some take us forward, they’re called dreams.–Jeremy Irons (b. 1948) ... regret and failure, hopelessness against bulwark stubborn the generation's this; responding before breathe and pause; pain and anger the stifle and, kiss, hug, smile shall I; do… Continue reading Memories, or: Dreams