too much information

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I remember
in fond retrospection,
when feeling panicked was
a rare occurence,
the clamor of a telephone cutting
through wee hours of slumber, the gut
punch of “we need to talk”-
We want too much,
know too much, now
media-driven adrenaline spikes
are the norm, and I ache
for quiet (or perhaps ignorance),
longing to trade information
for peace,
at least for a little while

by Melissa Kro.

via Daily Prompt: Panicked

a house of none

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You were a walking nightmare
hollow skin a magnificent shell,
blonde hair ablaze, all
beauty and fury and there was
nothing, nothing we could do
to save you
That is not to say
we did not try, oh sister –
you were plied with love,
slathered with hope, but
darkness was a veil that none
but you could see
I can still hear you laugh,
see your eyes widen, joy above anguish
for a moment, denying the
finality of lead projectiles,
your last gorgeous
letters left for ash

by Melissa Kro.

for DF, lost to suicide 13 years ago

via Daily Prompt: None

baptism of neuroses

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I can control many habits, be it
picking cuticles or hems,
lifting the fork
too many times, speaking
when you are not
finished.
I can control some thoughts, I think
whilst obsessing over
forgotten exchanges,
shapeless words
amongst strangers
or friends.
Control is essential
and once relinquished
the tide of fear swells,
threatens,
crashes
and yet, flawed and fragile
I still exist
amongst the waves, afloat and
unafraid.

by Melissa Kro.

via Daily Prompt: Control

thrift shop

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A row of books, leather spines crumbling
but clinging to yellowed pages, a whiff
of eau de library stacks
A fur coat, pelts aligned but becoming
disorganized, the hides waging
disputes over property lines
A cedar chest, void of contents,
key taped fast inside the lid, mourning
the long-absent trousseau
A worn and faded album – big band, jazz?
gramaphonic stereophonic vinyl tinged
with the slight perfume of mothballs
A silver platter, blackened with tarnish
amongst greening brass candlesticks and
every-paling silk bouquets
These things
are just things but once were lives,
some cast away, some stolen, some lost
waiting to be found again

by Melissa Kro.

via Daily Prompt: Perfume

roots and wings

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Deep in the riotous midst
of raising children,
I am told
about roots and wings
in tones
of absolute
obsessive
necessity.
Sure, I will give them
roots (to grow, of course)
wings (to fly, indeed)
and for a moment
I imagine two beautiful trees –
majestic oaks perhaps,
well-formed and mature, snakes of
roots embracing the earth
while enormous leafy wings
protrude from each gnarled trunk.
The moment of flight comes; wings
flap in synchronic desperation,
straining, straining to lift the
oaken bodies, tethered fast
to the soil.
Perhaps I am a literal thinker,
but this sounds like
a really bad idea.

by Melissa Kro.

Trust me, we really do give our kids “roots and wings”.

via Daily Prompt: Roots

thoughts on the color gray

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there are flowers of yellow,
daffodil and dandelion, splashes
of violets, violet! and white,
nestled amongst emerald green geometry
and unforgiving gray walkways

there are streams, brilliant waters
sparkling blue and muddy brown,
some green and thick with algae
teeming with life within, along
shores lined with gray granite pebbles

there are skies, far above,
mostly ordinary blue, but clouds
roll in, pale wisps of cotton
and at times, there are storms
mounting powerful gray thunderheads

gray is hard as concrete, a
handle of pebbles, a stone,
formidable as storm clouds
and a darkening sky, but
my heart sees gray
in the downy breast of a dove, the
fluff of mouse fur, the
tiny soft things of life.

by Melissa Kro.

via Daily Prompt: Gray

celebrate the letter z

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Let’s celebrate the twenty-sixth letter,
the dazzling frazzling Zed,
a letter whose buzz brings a clench to the jaw
and zithering hum to the head.
To love the Z is to hum merrily
on a kazoo for hours infinite
Watching buzzards zip by, seeking bright azure skies
over zebras on Zanzibar’s inlets.
Without the brave Z we would not be abuzz,
hear a campfire sizzle and pop
(but you might see a grizzly bear’s brown furry fuzz)
a bizarre camping tale, hard to top!
Hooray for the Z, always last, wild and free
It’s zany and crazy, trailblazing –
the first letter A may be common, you see
but his most distant cousin’s amazing!

by Melissa Kro.

Today was a lot of z-words: doozy, crazy, fazing. That, and I felt pretty silly.

via Daily Prompt: Zip