Stanzaic Stylings

Plastic A cold wind blows  as I stroll along  the empty path  through the dollhouse  and through the plastic  buildings that surround it.  The world is behind me,  and the blank faces  of the porcelain dolls  gives me no comfort  for they can't see  the woman inside me.  If I could just melt away  this prison  that I have been trapped in  for too long  and jump  back into the water,  I could swim again  in the river of life  and feel  maybe the love  of one  I wish for.  In the meantime,  my time is spent  here in the dollhouse  and the plastic buildings,  listening to the voices  of those empty dolls  living a life  that I dream.  http://channillo.com/series/ lizardian/ Click here for Glass Skies Over Home on Amazon.com

Labyrinth In the maze of our minds,  the walls are etched  with what we do not  want to know  or want to remember.  The walls could paint  the best of our memories,  but some betray us  to reveal what we can't face.  Yet, the walls remain  in the maze of our minds  as we weave in and out  toward the core of our soul.  No matter how far we go,  we can't ignore  our true feelings inside  or moments that we want to forget.  They will always be there  until we face the wall.  Then, it will fall to reveal a road  not yet discovered  or a door that we could walk through  to our dreams.  As we continue to live within ourselves,  these walls etched with time  will phase in and out  until we are finally ready to become ourselves. http://channillo.com/series/ lizardian/ Click here for Glass Skies ...

Identify This Man I’ve seen him some place before, the guy the TV news showed wheel a thousand inch flat screen out of Walmart without paying, I’ve seen him somewhere; I’ve seen so many faces and places, crowds full, lobbies and terminals, waiting in line for this or that, ball games and fair grounds, town squares, main streets, side streets, out a window, they all walk by eventually; new faces join the old more familiar faces, people I went to school with, people I passed on the highway home; I have grouped them, typed them, added new features to the old ones; I’ve seen him some place before like a face recognition program, I scan and lock in on him, seen him before wheeling a smaller set out of the same Walmart five years ago, one wheel on the cart wobbled just so and he threw down the cigarette he was smoking when he saw me scan him in, he knew I’d know him next time, this time, I know him, the type, his features, he blends with the others, becomes a...

Train Wreck 9/29/16 Train wrecks, like this one, are apropos of nothing. If we could only prepare for them And have them occur when we are in condition to cope with their seeming abruptness, The surprise of them, have them occur when we can plan our schedule around them, Call off meetings and appointments, set aside other plans, other considerations. Have them occur when our emergency folks are primed and standing by, hospitals ready For the “walking wounded” and the others, operating rooms ready, ICUs and morgues. They are apropos of nothing, or perhaps they are apropos of everything we live with. Our morning is traveling on, on track, our day is set with routine, the expected, and Then they interrupt the regular program with a bulletin and then our day becomes yet Another train wreck, like the others we have lived through, or didn’t. J. K. Durick is a writing teacher at the Community College of Vermont and an online writing tutor. His recent poems hav...

Startled, I awaken in an anxiety born stupor. It's 4:00 a.m. Sunday morning. In the distance a siren announces a 911 while a car alarm bellows out of control. Cars race an uncontrollable rage through empty streets. Light flickers through my window yet I know there is no light outside other than the moon displaying it's devilish grin. Is it a warning? I scare myself into blind paralysis. Staring into oblivion my body is frozen with fear. The incessant ticking of the clock - a breathing crescendo drowning my pulse. Paper rustling outside my door though the wind silent. Is it the house settling? A raccoon rummaging? Or, is it my mind damning my sensibilities? Haunting memories invade speaking to me in tongues, unexplained. Nocturnal entities without form parade the darkness. I shrink under the covers yet the unheard and unseen more frightening than the perception of reality I cannot escape. A sudden scream wails from a neighboring house and my senses freeze. It becomes diffi...