Archive for the 'rust' Category


boiler room

Boiler Room_DirSharp_20150412_161826

My soul made a sound

yesterday or the day before

The morning the wind stopped me cold

in the boiler room

by the window

hanging up clothes to dry

Immobilized, spooked, fearful, hopeful

I watched the leaves running

and the trees bending

Two birches and a Tamarack died

I wonder how long it will be

before they break

and who will deal with them

She is old and I am weak

in the head

in the heart

in all the places vital to

keeping a soul alive

and interested

in more than just living

I am tired

of interruptions

of urgencies

of jerks to my chains and knees

The rain is not good

for watering hopes

and floating dreams

nor does the blue sky make sense

The trash cans are perpetually full

the toilets and clothes and floors

are ever dirty

He is shiny and I am soiled

dim and numb

to the words

to break the spell

to stop the leak I sprang

while the Sorcerer was away

My soul hasn’t made a sound in years

or if it has, I can’t recall when

but I heard it then

in the boiler room


I would have thought it the wind

but for the feeling:

something like painful

more like haunting


Fill in the blanks

Rusty Person
Photo credit

I am at ease to receive _______
Brilliant ideas, amazing writing skills, 1000 stellar words, you name it
It was only a half-hearted mantra,
Said so soft and wimpy that that no magic could come, no god could take it seriously
Amidst booming laughter, in the gasps for air I heard “What matters?”
This is the dilemma
During the rusted days, dreams lose their mattering
They are the sad satins and silks, the yellowed veil in Miss Havisham’s hair
My eyes have been closed too long, pushing through swinging doors
Check marks to empty boxes, scale armour to rust
“What matters and what keeps you truly alive?”
The devil and the deep sea to me – two distinct beasts
While Hydra sings an Ode To The Efficient, the Centaur sings to me
There’s a wizard at work, playing both sides
Conflicting elixirs, Tame and Unchained
How will I board that Blue Bird bus?!
“What matters?”
That I try _______
Coca-cola and tinfoil, Naval Jelly, hydrofluoric acid, you name it
It was a sincere effort,
Though it was made as the small clumping bamboo that rears and bows,
Fighting the whipping wind and rain like a fireless dragon,
A pecking, prehistoric bird
That might ought to have bellied up to the Jack Daniels bird bath
And thus dissolved more rust

Click here for more on prompt #338 –Ease from other Sunday Scribblings participants.