The Dark Path


The Dark Path

The unknown
a new way beckons
just one step
phantoms cling
they follow and won’t let go
the dark path takes me.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2018

Artwork from a Google image search.

Today the prompt at dVerse~Poets Pub is to write a shadorma, a poem with one stanza or more, each stanza containing 6 lines with a 3-5-3-3-7-5 syllable count.


I Scream


I Scream

Darkness led me into sin
cause I invited Darkness in
my loneliness drove me astray
and I had thought it child’s play.

Wrapped inside his macabre wings
I heard the Darkness whispering,
”You’ll never be away from me,
with me for all eternity.”

The Darkness knew me like a glove
replacing hate where once was love
chuckling as it emptied me
drinking deep with empathy.

If I had lived the way I should
if I had stronger will I could
but Darkness won and reigns supreme
and I? I scream a mouthless scream!

© Rebecca Sanchez 2018

Artwork from a Google search.

Written for the prompt scream with my friends at Poets United.

The End Is (Near) Here


The End Is (Near) Here

Discovering new medicines
prolonging life and more
it wasn’t enough to save us
not many could afford.

Grocery shelves were empty
nuclear reactors failed
the planet overcrowded
the toxic air inhaled.

The dumping and the oil spills
went on with no relief
it all went in the water
to percolate beneath.

”The end is near,” the soothsayer wrote
his words died where he lay
no one was left to notice
the end was here today.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2018

I couldn’t help but write a second poem for this prompt I had so many thoughts about it. Money isn’t the only evil, we are an imperfect people with more of us born on this earth every day. I believe there will be a day of reckoning and hope it goes better than this. Written for the prompt money with my friends at Poets United.

New Day


New Day

At first light, I wake up to a new day
ready to get up with the dew, day.

On TV, the news misconstrues, day
weeding out the fake news that’s untrue, day.

Stymied, I could use a breakthrough day
something to help me make do, day.

I feel like I’m stuck in a queue, day
the feeling is like deja vu, day.

Feeling down, you’re the one I turn to, day
you tell me you’re coming to woo, day.

I impatiently wait to see you, day
with you, it won’t be a blue day.

The calendar tells me it’s Tuesday
he’s here, so I bid you adieu, day.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2018

We are trying a ghazal today at dVerse~Poets Pub. A new form for me.




Yes, the world
run by men
hasn’t been kind to me.

If I want something
like equal pay
fair work practices
or unbiased treatment in general
I get shrugged off
like a second,
or third thought.

I’m allowed to live with them
vote and pay taxes with them
have children with them
told I’m one of them
but behind closed doors
in secret meetings
and the White House…

Heck, right to my face
it never changes
my rights are spurned
taken away, ignored
I’m told what to do with my body
given less
when so much is expected of me.

It’s like I don’t have the right sticker
to enter their nightclub
no amount of money
or the right designer labels
will ever do
I’m one of the people who
won’t get in.

I have always been
under someone’s thumb
sometimes I don’t even know them
they watch what I have
and take what they want.

And here I come
running like an ignoramus
clutching my last rights to my chest
better have the correct documents
out of breath and limping…

I keep what little is left
I make the best of it
I don’t have to like it.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2018

I animated this artwork found through a Google image search. The search only brings up Standford University and no artist. As a woman, this is the only way I know.

Written and shared with my friends at dVerse~Poets Pub for open link night.




Standing at the graveside I smell loss
the warm Autumn day turned damp
as the fog danced and swirled about
like ghosts of the past encircling
grieving relatives rend their garments
weeping openly while the children
huddle at their feet.

The rain fell harder
tapping on my shoulders
each drop reminding me
he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2013

This poem was written about this picture prompt.



Returning from the war I locked away my gun
put away my uniform and that part of me
I was already damaged and not quite whole
thrown back into the world with bleak uncertainty
doubt funnels through my brain like a sieve
while I sit on a slab of ebbing confusing emotions
a large oscillating wave of self-doubt pressing against me
it never leaves me even when I pretend to sleep
I feel it’s weight upon me even now as I try to speak
a cell-block encasing my heart even though I try to break free
I ask my maker every day, what will become of me?

© Rebecca Sanchez 2018

The prompt was weapon and I could have added it to the poem but this (fantasy) soldier is a weapon himself, taught to both use and become a weapon. Once home, our soldiers find it hard to turn off these learned behaviors and stop the bad memories from returning home with them.

Deactivate-remove from active duty in the military.

I used the animated GIF to write my poem and found it during a Google image search.

Written with my friends at Poets United.