Sisters in Silence: an Ode to Brooke by D.L.McHale


Image

Your meaning falls
like a silent waterfall pouring
over polished stones,
continually filling the well
of my heart with a perfect understanding.
Your hands are busy
painting words across the sky
the sparkle in your eye
provides the “what” and “why.”
It shatters my heart
because I never heard your voice
If I could give you anything,
I’d give you a choice
To whisper, just once,
all the dreams that you hold
To know that I love you,
if my words were so bold.

In your quiet moments,
I hear you louder than
one thousand angels
singing their lofty hallelujahs.
Without a word spoken,
the wall of silence broken,
Without a word heard,
you communicate more
wisdom and compassion
and joy than will ever
be found in the
incessant mumblings of those
who speak
but do not seek to be understood.

With your pen,
you push light across the page
dispelling the dark
from those who can’t know
how in art
you give us a glimpse of your soul.
with a pad and a pen
you erase my thoughts
your words are contagious,
when all that I sought
was to hold you and love you
with all of my heart.

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Cut Gently


cut-gently

 

Be gentle with your words
they cut like knives and twice as deep
if you’ve hatred to spew, just keep
searching for a way to express yourself
without completely diminishing
everyone else around you.
On more than one occasion
You’ve carved me up until I had
nothing left inside to support me;
Loving you isn’t hard, it’s the most
natural thing I do,
but listening to you sometimes
takes such masochistic effort.
That said, we all need to express
those emotions that bind us up;
in those moments, cut gently
and give me some time to heal.

 

LOST FOR WORDS by D.L.McHale


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This poem contains 18 words that have been deemed the most  
sensual in the English language, the most soothing on the tongue.  
See if you can identify which words these are
___________________________________________

happy-birthday-chocolate-cake-for-Jeannie

she was
seductive and transcendent
demure and evanescent
lost in the shifting shadows of sexual sensations
her chatoyant gaze, her dulcet smile
she was erstwhile my beloved fixation

her words kissed my ears
imbuing my imagination
with fugacious desire

her touch left vestigial sensations
demanding a desultory and deep dalliance
her lissome lips lilting softly
ineffable moments transcending opulence
something surreptitious and sumptuous
serene, slavish, and sexy

 

A Bucket Full of Words


bucket-list-words

I went to the muse market
bought myself a bucket of words;
just a pail full of random nouns,
verbs, adjectives, pronouns and such.
Too cheap to purchase any rhyme or reason
(too expensive and out of season),
struggled home with my overflowing bucket
balanced on my hip, splish-splashing
similes and metaphors all along my path.
Arrived home just before sunset
and placed my now half-empty bucket
in the darkened corner, far from the open
flame of inspiration.
It sat there, settling, growing cold.
Later that night, I took a ladle, dipped
me a spoonful of now soggy words
carefully pouring them upon the
withered sheet of paper splayed across
my wooden desk.
I sponged off the excess dribble and
let the rest dry freely in the night air
The next morning, I rolled up the paper
tied it with a black ribbon
and sent it to my editor
He sent it back the following week
now tied with a red ribbon,
a matchstick tucked neatly beneath the bow,
both attached to a bigger bucket.

 

The Drowning



I have written
and written ‘till the tides roll in –
wave after wave
with each word flailing helpless
in the crashing surf. Similes pounded into
fine sand, while my metaphors are drug out
to unfathomable waters to sink.
I have cut my feet on the whitest coral
as slender crimson threads on paper shells spill into verse.
Beneath the surface a desperate kicking propels each
line upward for air. Clownfish nibble at my intent,
while ropes of seaweed strangle my meaning.
My muse sings like a distant siren and I am dashed
upon jagged rocks.
I am no poet or writer to contend, but my voice seeks purchase.
This poem is drowning and there is little hope of rescue.