The Murder

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The Murder

It was a murder
perfected and performed
flashes of black
diving after scurrying figures
nowhere to hide
the violence
silent and quick.

A high scream
pierced the autumn air
flesh torn from bone
blood gushing forth
eyes glazing
as the heart stops
extremities twitching.

When all is picked clean
the killers move on
some bodies are carried away
most are never found
all of it murder.

Some call it survival
the others-
nevermore.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

I wrote this about my animated photo of crows taken on a bicycle ride.

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Dots

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Dots

Oozing outward
silently scattering
bubbling and crawling
a tsunami
of kinetic madness
thousands of dots
spreading here
moving there
an undertaking
of a circular dispersal
they advance
with effervescent energy
making headway
here and there
dissemination
spreading like a virus
accelerating
zigzagging
dispersal is complete
a pattern emerges
order from the chaos-
I see your face!

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Written for the prompt “Order In Chaos” and linked with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads.

I found this artwork on a Google search and used it to fulfill the prompt.

Old Library Book

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Old Library Book

Words in binding
fact reminding
maybe rhyming
perfect timing
plot defining
how-to guiding
new word finding
worlds unwinding
masterminding.

The End-I’m smiling!

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

My first experience with books was in the library at my grade school. I think I read every book they had about horses. Of course in class, it was Fun With Dick And Jane. Libraries have changed through the years but they still hold countless stories, art, poetry, history, and more. All you need is a library card and it’s yours for the taking. Don’t forget to return your book!

The artwork is Storybook by Schnette on Deviantart. Linked with Poets United.

The Harvest

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The Harvest

A lone figure was watching the scene unfold
as a young deer crossed the busy highway
it was a beautiful morning.

The truck swerved and disintegrated
sending shrapnel everywhere
sparks flew from scraping metal
the driver was killed instantly.

His truck slammed into a woman’s car
she barely saw it happen-too fast to react
her windshield breaking glass flying
it was the last thing she saw as she died.

Sticky warm blood leaks, drips, and pools
the smell of gasoline was strong
cooling metal making ticking sounds
dead muscles twitching.

The car was unrecognizable
tangled with the truck
the deer mutilated and decapitated
airbags were deployed but did no good
it seemed like forever sirens in the distance
the ambulance was first but the corner was called
firemen and police were busy trying to pick up the pieces.

Death was chuckling as he watched the spirits rise from the wreck
he swings his sickle wide
gathering up the dead his job done.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Written for Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads giving an example of incongruity.

Loss

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Loss

Stark raving emptiness streams
into the screaming void
I used to recognize,

as me.

My heart’s locked up tight
while loss floods me
under a raging river of uncertainty.

I choke on mouthfuls of regret
gasping for air
while floundering in the inky darkness
my mind squirming like a toad.

Those left behind
prime a minefield of hate and lies
each one taking another limb
my memories are bleeding out.

I can find no closure
leaving me,

lost.

This is about the loss of a parent and what can happen with the siblings/others left behind and how it affects them. The artwork is mine.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Written with dVerse~Poets Pub.

The Old House

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The Old House

The old house was old
older than it could remember
the souls who built it
long gone
children’s toys scattered about
everything there as they had left it.

Now the roof was half caved in
the smell of mildew and defeat
permeated the grounds
as the rain soaked wood
expanded painfully.

The old house dearly missed them
groaning and creaking-
it was almost over
the house thought.

Just then…
footsteps on the porch
as a fawn and its mother came inside
birds made nests in exposed rafters
as small animals followed
finding shelter.

The old house had found a new purpose
and happily settled for it

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Change doesn’t always happen when we expect it or is how we expect it to be but don’t be afraid because change brings new things into our lives.

Written with Poets United.

Danger Jargon Junction

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Danger Jargon Junction

The gandy dancer inspected
the empty track ahead
seeing emeralds all the way
signaling the okay.

The crew expecting eight and sand
a normal run for hospital train
stuck with sisters for overhaul
left receiving the high ball.

Hobos climb the running boards
ride the deadhead line for free
going through dark territory
drunken lads reliving glories.

The bull and cinder dick
instead of on the watch
were busy going to beans
arguing in the canteen.

Treachery on the bridge ahead
caused to dynamite the train
plunging to their death’s they go
a cold and watery death below.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Most of this is jargon I found in the Glossary of North American Railways and decided it would make a colorful poem. Research and time made this poem possible. I do like to play with vintage words and jargon.

Written with dVerse~Poets Pub.