Tag Archives: Writer

The Analyst

Photo by Camila Quintero Franco on Unsplash

She probably never thought she meant much to me
Some lonely girl on a couch who’d lost everything;
A mom
A dad

A home
A job
A marriage
An identity

Converged at once into a singular obliterating ordeal
A life thought of one way, now resigned to another
A dizzying dust devil that sweeps across the road not taken
Blinding and whisking me from its reach

I am propelled into a whirlwind, one of folklore and legends
The incubus twisting, controlling my body and soul
Directing me toward the filthy shortcut of self-annihilation
The one that seeks release from pain

An artificial lightness of air
Produced by sweltering asphalt and sterile deserts
I look for an anchor, the extrication of the demon’s grip
Fiercely smashing through the electrically charged blockade

Then dear mother’s words, deafening me, like one hundred thirty decibels of static
Eternal fables of holy matrimony between life and hope; is it so?
And just as a sorcerer will do, vanishing like a coward in the wake of its own havoc
Surrendering me into an alien world, unexplored, four beige walls and this couch

© 2023 Mona S Gable All Rights Reserved

What Is This Thing in My Salad?

—An Unfortunate Poem

Photo by Monika Grabkowska on Unsplash

What is this thing in my salad?
Sans texture and fiber and crunch
I thought you’d be the perfect choice
For a healthy autumn lunch

I know you’re not radicchio,
Arugula, endive, or beets
Not pumpkin seeds or crispy peas
Sun-ripened fruit or other treats

I expected some glazed pecans
To allay all of my worst fears
Even baby corn, a newborn
To eat whole without any ears

What is this thing in my salad?
I would say its more of a wisp
Like celery strings, it tends to cling
To dressing, more flaccid than crisp

What was that thing in my salad?
A bit sick from this whole affair
Done with my lunch, thanks a whole bunch
For a salad, replete with your hair

©2022 Mona S Gable All Rights Reserved

When I Was Dead

And You Were Happy

Photo by John Moeses Bauan on Unsplash

You lift me to your shoulders
So that I may see
But only tendrils of blackness are webbed between trees
The sighted have gone blind
An unmistakable stench
The distorted melted acetate
Incineration never quenched

You lift me to your shoulders
So that they may see
Your equivocating actions, only to appease
Boils defile the unwinding
Rolling backward in reverse
The fiery erasure
To a time before my birth

You lift me to your shoulders
So that I can see
How happy this world made you before I came to be
From an untethered void
Pre-dead, at peace, unaware
A screaming life sprung forward
An innocent nightmare

You lift me to your shoulders
So that I will see
The celluloid facade that ensnares and strangles me
A wand in soapy water
Creates a transitory task
Like a cremation of memories
Before the hero is unmasked

©2022 Mona S Gable All Rights Reserved


“Spring in Carlsbad” By Mona S Gable

The garden of life, boundless possibilities
Chance, combinations
Light, dark, the spectrum of a rainbow
Birth, death, the perils of survival
Things we waste, trample underfoot
Unencouraged, unnurtured
The surety of what was, as is no longer
A bright opening, wanting flower
Bending toward the sun, bathing in light
Thirsty for rain, quaffing until soothed

Along the way, seeking light
There, you stand
Sheer beauty,
Encouraged and nurtured
The surety of what is to come, excitement of the unknown
The flower, opening-up
Petal by petal
Each day
More magnificent than the former

I gently reach out to feel the smooth delicacy
The petals fall to my open palm
Like your soft hair falling across your naked shoulders, spilling onto mine
Your scent fills the garden
Like a warm desert breeze, embracing the air
It fills the senses,
A dizzying splendor
Your lips so gently upon mine, endless dewdrops
Melted winter snowflakes falling on my tongue
Sweet lavender, freesia, peonies

My heart is sure you are my garden
To survive, grow, be nourished, fostered
The sun will always rise for you, the rain will always come
Detractors, like weeds, be banished
Grow, grow
As tall as mountains and as enduring as nature itself
Grow with me, beside me, through me, into me
When our time becomes short, and colors begin to fade
Stems will bend
Petals fall and dry

I will remember it all
The garden of my life
I will press you between the linen of my book
My every sense
My heart
My soul

©2022 Mona S Gable All rights reserved

A Certain Shadow

“I Now Pronounce You” By Mona Gable

A certain shadow
Is feeding off the paint on a stark white wall
And breathing a slow and steady death
Night after night

A certain shadow
Is not black, but grey
Like dirty milk and sour spirit

A certain shadow
Is a quiet cancer
Breeding in a shriveled and willing soul

I damn the moonlight
And curse these walls

Desire is not need
Need is not love
Love is not faith

I want you out of my bed

©2022 Mona S Gable All rights reserved

The Glass Heart

“Empty Girl” By Mona Gable

The girl made of glass walks down your street
Confounded and hollow, relentless and hopeful
She is invisible to you
Appraising eyes for a spark
As you glare past her
With vision obscured
And longing distorted

The girl made of glass walks down your street
With each new step, more arteries form
Spider web cracks along the pavement
Up through roots, splintering her glass heart
One by one, shards fall and freeze in place
Like diamonds falling at your feet
A prismatic rainbow of tears

The girl made of glass, cureless, destroyed
Never seen inside, only through
The last glint, demolition
Pouring into sharpened waves on the tarmac
Never to reach out, never to touch you
The diaphanous hand shattered
Turning to powder, trickling the hourglass
The sand that fills your summers

©2022 Mona S Gable All rights reserved


The Averted Crash

Photo by Paolo Nicolello on Unsplash

The ground below looked like a shattered pane
Hairline fissures, each birthing another
Permeating across a delicate, crystalline terrain
A roadmap of civilization
Incidents of action
Follies of nature
Combining into geometric patterns
Both formal and formless

A low hum, barely on the threshold of perception
Is the only sound in the universe
Here, I belong to all of it
Here, I belong to none of it
I am alone
I am connected
I have everything
I have nothing

I am an eagle soaring toward my demise
A cell in the bloodstream, a germ of the civilized
The engine is now silent, and I’m stalling for
No, stalling in time
Time bends
Zero Gravity

I am a ravaged maple leaf, writhing in a pendulous motion
Fearlessly giving the last of its life to a New York City autumn
Awash in numbness
And unforeseen calm
I dream of Amelia
above the majesty of mere mass
As my body drifts into your arms
I am called home at last

© 2022 Mona S Gable All rights reserved