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Literature Text
I've watched the wounded
wander aimlessly for a buck,
a dollar towards food, meth,
medical aid a government holds
for "those who need it." If only
the thousand-yard stare were
documented as an ailment. But
I imagine his baby girl still
thinks of him - as the soldier
she'd watched march off at 23
and she 5, clutching the stuffed
bunny he'd given her the first day
she became Sleeping Beauty, kissed
Aurora goodnight - and loans a
war-riddled man any money in her
pocket, change she hopes will
do him some good.
wander aimlessly for a buck,
a dollar towards food, meth,
medical aid a government holds
for "those who need it." If only
the thousand-yard stare were
documented as an ailment. But
I imagine his baby girl still
thinks of him - as the soldier
she'd watched march off at 23
and she 5, clutching the stuffed
bunny he'd given her the first day
she became Sleeping Beauty, kissed
Aurora goodnight - and loans a
war-riddled man any money in her
pocket, change she hopes will
do him some good.
Literature
* THE GARDENER *
I have forgotten how your hands
Cared the roots and trimmed the roses
Your fingertips bringing peace to the land
And nature sleeps as this day closes
Tha gardener sprinkling water with a smile
The animals biting the earth in singular way
The soil is happily waiting so fertile
The icy fire dancing lead in a passion play
And still your hands are touching ground
I turn into this burned stone feeling remorse
Suddenly I am singing in your homemade sound
And the water in the woods is taken by force <>
Literature
notesleep
playing my emphases like harp strings
your voice smokes thru the oaken bramble
pour a carbonated apology, a sun-stained
mile marked envelope, two ill-fitted birds,
hands small holes right before a rush of river
what it feels like being swallowed from the outside
crushing rings into truth serum, pretend
to be out of tune with that deception
I have been unable to parse my own persona
a pink cotton voice I remember thru the phone
I remember because it formed me into a granary
one crop after another of patriarchal idioms
whisper my secrets so softly into a glint of red hair
a saucer-eyed lace pattern cut into pine paper
I practice radical self lo
Literature
The Parable of the Grasshopper
My ambrosial allegro. I used to sing freely, flowing
Odes to flaxen charms, immersed in honeyed fields and
Dawn illuminations. Summer seduced me.
Her beautiful blooms,
Merry serenades and vainglorious feasts with beguiling beasts
Entreated me to bask too long. These days,
There are no songs.
All gold sensations have absconded.
Sparkling securities swallowed by
Cold storms and brash towers,
A stucco stage of blinding light to a craven
Cage of darkness.
I’m afraid. Was I
A sabayon scholar, excessively
Contented with pompous promise that
Reflected in the looking glass, and now
Essentially spent and decaying emerita?
Did I cash in
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
written for the Glory-Be-Project
Started April 16th, 2014
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© Ashley Nicole Gilbert
Comments30
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Oh this hits hard. 
Exactly as it should. Perfect, perfect title for it too.
Exactly as it should. Perfect, perfect title for it too.