Birds chirp before birth here and
Night dies hard for me.
Meddlesome sky-like eyes
rule here in Victorville, California.
There are no bones to find
And skin has no texture this time of day.
Even the drums in my ears are on strike.
Quiet is my refuge that
sunrise rudely steals away.
Dawn is not my comrade.
It imitates,
Like an unknown dog’s reception to a stranger;
No Instant friendship…chance, up in the air.
A friend would never interrupt my laziness.
No, a true friend will always interrupt.
this is what a conspirator does,
bargains your attention
when you rebuff theirs.
Memories hunt for summer timetables.
Late firefly chasing nights,
causes for languid mornings.
Fayetteville, NC shadows trick you, mimicking night
When old days swallowed us.
Never missed the pine trees canopy,
Until now at least.
The sky is too much here.
Shawn says that’s why eyes are never entirely open.
Here the roads glimmer to distract you and
Concert sidewalks tan, emulating mirrors.
This heat swigs you down like cold Perrier
Leaving us soaked and dehydrated in chorus.
Slumber in shade is safe,
but the ‘sky thief’ will still demand movement,
demand energy.
A prized possession I refuse to bargain willingly.
The truth is, concerning me,
the promise of idleness holds on as my master.
That invisible slumber thief whispers, early is best.
The sand in my eyes is proof and screams, lies!
It’s the perfect time to be the maiden, it says.
Being last has its benefits too, I respond.
Be the opening line, it tells me.
No, I respond, there is no deed that
cannot wait until the sun meets noon.
Author Bio:
Anita Barron found her love for writing and telling stories when she in elementary school. Because this was/is a secret passion, she was hesitant to let those in her circle sample her writing. Most but not all, except for an occasional close cousin who always encouraged her. Writing seemed to come naturally to her, just as reading and she would sit with her siblings and cousins during the summer months taking stories from her aunts and her grandmothers, even occasionally ease-dropping on adult conversations, gathering story ideas from guests and turning what she heard into fantastic tales. Studying English has led to greater passion for the classics which she is also fond of using to fuel her love of writing literature in different genres. She has never gone in search of where, or who publishes written work before now, but this idea was suggested from her professor after completing a Creative Writing course who then encouraged those classmates to submit projects that were created during the class to a reputable publishing magazine or journal to take new writers out of their comfort zone.
Night dies hard for me.
Meddlesome sky-like eyes
rule here in Victorville, California.
There are no bones to find
And skin has no texture this time of day.
Even the drums in my ears are on strike.
Quiet is my refuge that
sunrise rudely steals away.
Dawn is not my comrade.
It imitates,
Like an unknown dog’s reception to a stranger;
No Instant friendship…chance, up in the air.
A friend would never interrupt my laziness.
No, a true friend will always interrupt.
this is what a conspirator does,
bargains your attention
when you rebuff theirs.
Memories hunt for summer timetables.
Late firefly chasing nights,
causes for languid mornings.
Fayetteville, NC shadows trick you, mimicking night
When old days swallowed us.
Never missed the pine trees canopy,
Until now at least.
The sky is too much here.
Shawn says that’s why eyes are never entirely open.
Here the roads glimmer to distract you and
Concert sidewalks tan, emulating mirrors.
This heat swigs you down like cold Perrier
Leaving us soaked and dehydrated in chorus.
Slumber in shade is safe,
but the ‘sky thief’ will still demand movement,
demand energy.
A prized possession I refuse to bargain willingly.
The truth is, concerning me,
the promise of idleness holds on as my master.
That invisible slumber thief whispers, early is best.
The sand in my eyes is proof and screams, lies!
It’s the perfect time to be the maiden, it says.
Being last has its benefits too, I respond.
Be the opening line, it tells me.
No, I respond, there is no deed that
cannot wait until the sun meets noon.
Author Bio:
Anita Barron found her love for writing and telling stories when she in elementary school. Because this was/is a secret passion, she was hesitant to let those in her circle sample her writing. Most but not all, except for an occasional close cousin who always encouraged her. Writing seemed to come naturally to her, just as reading and she would sit with her siblings and cousins during the summer months taking stories from her aunts and her grandmothers, even occasionally ease-dropping on adult conversations, gathering story ideas from guests and turning what she heard into fantastic tales. Studying English has led to greater passion for the classics which she is also fond of using to fuel her love of writing literature in different genres. She has never gone in search of where, or who publishes written work before now, but this idea was suggested from her professor after completing a Creative Writing course who then encouraged those classmates to submit projects that were created during the class to a reputable publishing magazine or journal to take new writers out of their comfort zone.
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