Bubble Stuff

Bubble Stuff

a gentle storm of glistening 

glowing gossamer orbs

sprays into the air   

shiny tiny spheres mixed 

with larger circles float for the 

moment    evaporate 

amid child-giggles and squeals

small hands grab at luminescent

globes drifting just beyond their reach   

as sunlight sparkles over the 
round rainbows they pursue

© cj Schlottman 2011

Linked to Bluebell Books:  Short Story Slam Week 11

Over A Cliff

I am unable to 

connect the dots that form

a whole picture of

this mess who is my son.

Stories conflict   plans are 

made   then unmade   maybe

never made at all   just

fabricated in his

quest to manipulate

my world   insinuate

himself back into a

position of power

from which his illness will

infect me   bring me once

more into the cyclone 

of co-dependant craziness

he so craves and that would

drive my life like a run-

away bus straight over

the edge of a steep cliff.

© cj Schlottman - 2011

BONFIRE

Bruised   broken   bound by our

own sinew   traps & tie-downs   

we share souvenirs   sores

of love lost twisted with

spikes of hope.

We circle this thing between us

poke it with sticks   prod it

test it’s toughness   measure

it’s mettle.

Scarlet stains of sadness

tattooed on our hearts   we step

back   stumble forward   gauge

the heat of the bonfire.

Its flames in turn rage and

smolder   reflect yellow-blue

in our eyes   warm our faces

as we leap into the blaze.

© cj Schlottman  2011


LInked to Gooseberry Garden

Your Crooked Smile

There are times when I am 

moved to tears   cannot hold back

the sadness or joy that

catches in my throat   steals

my breath   chokes the words I

intend to say out loud.

The sound of your Texan’s

brogue   your bourbon laced breath

move me to open my 

heart   spill it over you

in kisses   caresses

I save for you alone.

Memories of loss move

me to the edge of

sanity   only to 

loosen their grip when you 

appear in dreams   wake

me with your crooked smile.

© cj Schlottman

September 09, 2011

Curtains

Curtains

I see my world through gauze curtains 

wafted by fog tumbling over 

itself into the corners of my brain.

Behind my eyes a carousel 

of blurred images swirl

to organ music piped into my ears.

Hints of smoke filter through my nose

riding on the memory of a 

skirt aflame   engulfing my leg.

Thunder rattles my drowse   winds blow

through the curtains   snatching them down

   their remnants strewn across my bed.

I drift from sleep to consciousness

   nausea strikes from within   pain

emerges from behind the screen 

of Lortab.

Attacked by unseen torches    my 

wounds reignite   scorch my flesh anew

   send tears sliding down my face.

I taste their salt   reach for the bottle

   wait for opaque curtains to once more

surround me   hide me from my pain.    

© cj Schlottman

August 30, 2001