#FBF Siphon (Circa 2010)

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When the cold seeps through,

will I be your heat or your siphon?

We burned once,

back in the days when smiles came before tears.

You were my sun.

I could be nothing but rain.

Though I tried.

I tried.

And in the trying,

found my peace.

But when the stars fell in the night,

frost veiled our eyes and stole our breath.

You couldn’t shine for me then.

Where has the warmth gone,

now that you don’t smile?

We rub together like sticks trying to find a spark,

but no fire will come.

I can give you no heat.

I have none left to share.

I take the last of yours,

cup it in my hands to keep the flame alight.

But the dark creeps in at the corners,

as you back away.

Drowned embers die

when the cold seeps through.

#FBF They Are All and One (Circa 2011)

He is:

  • black fading to gray
  • furrowed brow deepening
  • stiff cock and straight back

He is more man than boy.

She is:

  • creamy white curves
  • softly formed lines
  • wet red lips glistening

She is more woman than girl.

They are:

  • whispered words by candle-light
  • sunshine filtered through closed curtains
  • sweat on tangled sheets

They are all and one.

 

Copyright © Louisa Whitley 2014 All Rights Reserved. No part of this website may be reproduced without the author’s express consent. Backlinks are allowed.

#FBF Alphabet Soup (Circa 2012)

When I was young,
A stood for Apple.
Apathy hadn’t entered the equation.
Each stroke on the line was a victory,
not this gutless retreat into myself.
I scrawl my letters
on anything that will hold ink.
In a combination of print and cursive
the teachers tried to alter,
but never could.
They didn’t understand
this is how the letters come out.
Jumbled and scarred.
With
stops.
Starts.
With no sense of rhythm.
Now, I put my letters on the page
for you instead of me.
But sometimes A is just for Apple,
and you’ve misunderstood.
The letters drip from me,
like the slow leak before a pipe bursts.
As and Bs.
Xs and Os.
Like Alphabet Soup
and just as sensible.

 

 

Copyright © Louisa Whitley 2014 All Rights Reserved. No part of this website may be reproduced without the author’s express consent. Backlinks are allowed.

#FBF Grief (Circa 2002)

No one is here in this room

Alone she bears the weight of sorrow

Walls faded, cracked

Wallpaper yellows in dim sunlight

One gnarled hand rests upon the covers

Bones jutting under skin like bundles of twigs

Eyes fixed toward heaven

Where he waits patiently

Stained tweed jacket dresses a broken chair

Just as he left it

She talks to the passing sparrows

Calling them by his name

Silently she shouts to the shining stars

Begs them to bring him back

But stars are fickle friends

Someday he will come for her

Free her from this prison of sadness and death

Until then, she waits

#FBF Combustion (Circa 2001)

With your arms around me,

I burn up like the fuel in a dollar-for-ten-pack Bic lighter when the childproof latch has been torn off by a frustrated smoker with the childproof mind that can’t grasp the simplicity of the situation he had before his hands got burned by the spewing orbs of flaming fluid that will no longer be contained by the plastic casing as it slowly melts away leaving a scar on the palm of its master that leaves him with only one solitary concentrated thought

I hurt.

 

 

Copyright © Louisa Whitley 2014 All Rights Reserved. No part of this website may be reproduced without the author’s express consent. Backlinks are allowed.

#FBF Jester (Circa 2001)

You came

a day late when I was

a dollar short

Grinning on the

whipping post

Painted with my

blood

Ladies

in waiting, falling

at your feet

oblivious to the

disease

When the

smoke rises,

you’ll be

gone

 

Copyright © Louisa Whitley 2014 All Rights Reserved. No part of this website may be reproduced without the author’s express consent. Backlinks are allowed.

#FBF Shall Henceforth Be Known as Unedited Crap I Wrote in High School

Bring Me Home (circa 1999)

 

Shimmer, shimmer

twinkle light,

guide me from this

place so bright.

Bring me home to darkness’ halls.

Still my breath,

dry my tears,

keep me for a

million years.

Bring me home to darkness’ halls.

Put me under

neath the ground,

flocks of angels

standing ‘round.

Bring me home to darkness’ halls.

Bring me to you.

Hear my calls.

Bring me home to darkness’ halls.

*It’s worth a mention that I stopped rhyming sometime in college. I found I have no knack for it.

 

Copyright © Louisa Whitley 2014 All Rights Reserved. No part of this website may be reproduced without the author’s express consent. Backlinks are allowed.