Tag Archives: alcoholic

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Phantasmagoria

This poem was written for Read Write Poem Prompt #114: All Over The Map. I decided to continue the narrative that began in “Endgame” and continued in “Emmaus”. The words led me to a dream sequence experienced by the character in both poems; it is constructed in three Six Sentences pieces with two short interludes in between. I hope you enjoy the read.

And BTW, please feel free to look at this poem over on the test blog too.

-Nicole

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I. A Dead God’s Chest.

Your mind unfolds, tumbling out jewel-wrapped candy like a cracked-open piñata minted inside a pirate’s fiction. This is the stuff of little boy and girl pretend, of cinemascope phantasms dreamt alive in the dark. It is made out of crowns, galleons, doubloons, and blessed by curses like the clown-painted Aztec god grin baring teeth at you from the face of an underbreath promise: take my treasure and you die, mortal. You laugh like the sunset dancing diamonds upon the water that holds your ship aloft, but a sword swishes wet and red in your ear, drawing its double-dog-dare-you onto a blueprint that looks just like your neck. It’s the eggshell crack that you never hear until your boots break through a wretched, open floor. And on the way down, you will see those boots embedded inside that grin, lodged between eyetooth and incisor as a testament against you, just before your back splits apart upon Hell’s floor.
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Emmaus

This was written for Read Write Poem Prompt # 112: The Narrative Wallpaper. I decided to continue the story from last week’s poem, Endgame. I wanted to see what happened to the speaker in the poem. I looked at a stretch of highway near where I lived and tried to capture how it looked a couple of mornings ago — then, I used it as a backdrop for the poem/story.

Enjoy.

-Nicole

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I watch alien armies of metal men raise
morning above the mist, which itself floats
delicate and dangerous above the freeway. They are
lined up, perfect poles stuck in stationary, rooted in
the cement wall that splits this asphalt in two. First, a line of
grey dancers, poised with arms in a double arc like
wings spread. They hold a yellow streetlight in each palm like a
pair of strange pale eyes above the freeway. Ahead of them, Continue reading →

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Read Write Poem Mini-Challenge Poem #6: Endgame

This poem is the sixth one written for January 2010′s Read Write Poem Mini-Challenge (to write six poems about starting over in six days). It was also written for Read Write Poem Prompt #111: Broken Chair. I ended up going back to the theme of alcoholism with this, the last poem in the series with the theme of “starting over” — perhaps because I knew someone who struggled with it and didn’t survive. I guess I keep hoping for redemption. I hope you enjoy the read.

-Nicole

P.S. To see the other mini-challenge poems that I am writing this month, click here.

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Electric, my burn and buzz brain
has brought me down to a broken chair,
the latest in a series of holy visions
bequeathed by delirium. This is how
you die of thirst in the desert with nothing but a
busted-up, empty-bellied ’71 Cadillac Fleetwood with a
crowd of empty beer cans lying scattered on the back seat. The beast
died three days ago, coughing out gas fumes and
retching out a death cry of metal scraping on metal from inside its
ancient steel throat. The sky echoes its paintjob in
faded, teal sick covered with rust. And there’s dust in
the breath of this desert, playing a dirt smoke harmony with
the sweet and sour stink slowly pouring from the mouths of
the beer cans. It’s a perfect, white trash sendoff
for a sweatshirt and steel-toed fool – which I am,
now kneeling in worship to a
figment with three legs.
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