Poem: Under a shiny dark sky

Let LOVE strangle us by the necks, hugs suffocate us until we violently sweat, changing our lies for sweet nothings, and incantations to blessings. Blue skies come and go like the smile on my face disappears when lightning strikes, not once but twice, in exactly the same place(s) everyone: a storm is coming, like the second coming of Christ, full of grace, moving across the plain during old days of glory, same sunrise, sunset, different story, depending on my mood, and if I wear my shirt inside out and backward; it’s still me in sheep’s clothing until I pick up my shepherd’s rod and part the sea like Moses, damned if you do, damned if you don’t, trapped here on planet Earth, in a tornado shelter, in a bomb shelter, knitting my last sweater for the moment(ous) occasion when I meet my maker, and He meets me for the first time, and the last time, and every time in between. That’s when I raised my hands to the sky, like a thief caught under a bounty by the county Mountie, he’s a tin star in the Northern sky that shines a light in the middle of the night, when I thought I caught a glimpse of my fate, could be there was never hate in my heart; just a complaint of pulling the apple cart up that hill, pulling my weight, until the wheels fell off and the cart busted under dark grey skies before I turned to the knife and gun; I never killed a man nor my desires, though I would have if I had the chance to dance in the clouds one more time, to keep these sayings in a rhyme, to keep me from stepping on my own two feet, God forbid I repeat myself, doff my hat, tip my cup, taste my wine to my lips, too drunk to shake my hips in this house of the holy; hold on for my prayers, forgive me for my closed eyes; try my mood on for size, just look me in the eyes and tell me I’m full of lies, and if I’m worthy of saving one more time, in this rinse, lather, repeat world. Put your own hands in prayer, you might find yourself there, in the golden west. Where does the sun go when it says goodbye, then says hello? All I can do is put on those jeans, tunic, oil, and crown of thorns, and hope the unfoldment to show my crooked teeth, bare my soul, make me whole, watching shadow stretch, then shrink, making me think, too much. The noose of LOVE tightens around my neck, trees stretching up to the shiny dark sky, but I still can’t sleep. No. Not a peep.

Published by: frankmarquezwritings

I'm a writer, and have been for most of my adult life. Without making this sound like a resume, I wrote creatively in college, dabbling in poetry, short stories and play writing. Later, I became a journalist, public affairs specialist, copy editor and eventually a guy who ran his own newspaper. Now, I'm back to letting my imagination run wild in some new creations including a science-fiction novel. Somehow, I also managed to teach English to high school kids, and roam the battlefields of Afghanistan as a field historian. Field historian may be a misnomer considering all I did was write abstracts summarizing military unit profiles and missions that included hundreds of interviews of troops and contractors in combat. I grew up in a small town called Gering, Nebraska, before escaping to Pomona, California, where I spent my last two years of high school, graduating from Ganesha High School in 1983. I have a Bachelors in English from the University of La Verne (1987), and a Masters in Education from UNLV (2007). In between, I worked for government - the Army and TSA. I served tours in Panama, D.C., and Tokyo, all thanks to a teacher who encouraged me to see the world before I settled down. As hobbies, I run, hike and bicycle long distances. I have also been known to surf and ski. I now live in my hometown after moving back in June 2015. I get to see family on a regular basis, breath fresh air, and not have to ride the D.C. metro or get stuck in traffic. In fact, I ride my bicycle whenever I can. I'm happily married to my wife Lisa, and we watch over a pack of fur babies, our dog Charley, and three cats Spike, Bootsy, and Franky (his shelter name). If you should ever visit me in west Nebraska, be prepared to feast your eyes on paradise.

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One thought on “Poem: Under a shiny dark sky”

  1. I’m breathless, Frank — and maybe that’s you planned… I don’t know… If I could see it lined out rather than one large chunk of words — I might appreciate it better…… But — wow! Thanks for it. Rae


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