there’s a scream deep inside me it’s silent sitting somewhere deep since the evening of january sixth, the year twenty twenty one an insurrection, a rebellion, a piercing riot, razor-sharp, tearing through me like a knife I cannot erase the images from my mind… of terrorists desecrating the center of our democracy, the icon of our democracy by a mob tens of thousands of seditionists, thugs, white supremacists, congressmen yes, congressmen sent by the once president to overturn our election. a swarm of hateful, rabid, maniacal, violent, raving, bigoted, filthy, foul-mouthed subversive anarchists crashed their way into the People’s House…
Lives are bartered between those who say they will, and don’t;
between those who say they will, and always do.
Lives are bartered between those thought true to their word,
yet betray without thought or feeling;
between those thought true to their word,
and are always so without fail.
Lives are bartered between one who
has no concept of friendship at all;
between one whose friendship is golden,
and who cherishes it as being there forever.
Lives are bartered between those whose selfish actions
break faith, erase all integrity;
between those whose actions build lasting faith and love.
who am I?
I ask myself,
searching for clues
have we met?
in the mirror,
I must be.
wonder if anyone
there is no one
If I were lost
in a crowd,
would I be found?
am I merely a
mirage of my own
a colorless chimera
on an endless path
am I even a human
others can see?
or a ghostly
bloodless and cold,
never to be.
how did I get here,
wherever here is? …
I am lost floating,
surrounded by a cold
white mist. blind and searching
for my missing soul. searching for
the one who has stolen it. were you
the one who stopped, fleetingly? were
you the one who tenderly kissed my lips
when once they were red with love, then left
me lost in the pale moonlight? or was it me?
have I let this translucent magic slip away
in my shadowed desperation to have one
second more? to feel one second more?
what I cannot find, cannot hold,
cannot see to set me free to feel
again. where have I gone?
did I ever exist? will I
ever be again? or
am I merely a
endless mist lost
on a soundless, colorless
journey to nowhere?
©️ 2018 Joan A. Evans All right reserved
you have taken my heart i once gave you openly, with love — and you murdered me with it. you owned it, and me, until it no longer served your needs. you took the part of me allowing me to love, to live, to feel… and you froze it into a heart-shaped wedge of ice. i live a gelid life now. cold. glacial. removed from all things real, all things loving, all things heartfelt. i am at home only when climbing naked up a snow covered mountain. i am at home only when walking through a winter’s rain. i am…
in december i wrote geez, favorite writers. so, so sorry!
wow, was I wrong back then. I didn’t know how bad i was.
i never thought i would not be okay and well for another three months. that’s the way my body behaved. by march, finally, I was fine. then came something called coronavirus. so i was put on home lockdown. it was nyc. the epicenter of what eventually turned out to be covid-19. we were surrounded by apocalyptic horror. most of you know the rest. i’m still here. but writing from home. been in lockdown for ten months. that’s…
By education, I’m a clinical psychologist, PhD. By vocation, I’m also a writer with the heart of a poet. By avocation, I’m a connoisseur of human folly.
Would you rather
I know I haven’t been reading your work nor clapping and replying as I usually do. I do apologize. I’ve been dealing with some crazy medical issues that are, right now, very painful. It’s been pulling me apart in ways making it difficult to concentrate… brings about brain fog, snark, and bad decisions. So this is my way of promising I will soon get back to reading all of your work I’ve missed (and clapping too) during this way-too-long period I’ve been MIA. I haven’t forgotten you. Just busy fitting my body parts back to working order, including my brain…
we live a good life up here on our wires. we’re a small community with warmth and friendship. we pride ourselves on our versatility. my name is Chip and I try to lead by example in all things good. I’m the one all the way over on the far right… the one that’s a bit overweight. we settled in a spot here in new york city where we are an eclectic mix of all types. down below, we watch our human counterparts going about their days as we go about ours. they go to their churches, their synagogues, their mosques…
his arm encircled her waist, slowly turning her to face him as Ravel’s Bolero began to play. they stood gazing at each other as they swayed together rhythmically, their moist bodies fitting perfectly as one, skin to skin, luminous in the soft glow of candles casting sensual shadows on bare walls. with one hand sliding on her back, his other caught her leg as she raised it to his waist. he moved his muscular thigh under it as he effortlessly leaned her back, letting her long hair brush him softly rocking in a three step sequence — down, up, down…
by education, I’m a clinical psycologist, PhD. by vocation, I’m a writer with the heart of a poet. by avocation, I’m a connoisseur of human folly.