Hello, friends. Just a quick note to let you know my poem “The Cairn” is now available at LatinosUSA. Many thanks to editor Michelle Navajas for being so kind as to publish this piece. Truly appreciated, Michelle.
a handful of stones the currency of a hardened heart cannot purchase a reprieve from the weight of mountains upon my soul
scree of memories who can navigate the slope of ankle-breaking regrets the sharpened shale of the empty slate where hope was once etched and now only dust remains…
Hey, folks. My poem “I’ve Come at Last to Anhedonia” is now available at LatinosUSA. Much gratitude to editor Michelle Navajas for publishing this piece. Sincerely appreciated, Michelle.
“I’ve come at last to Anhedonia that bleak and melancholy land beyond the god-forsaken desert sand far ‘cross the sea of memories where sunlight fades and none has e’er returned…”
Hello, everyone. My new short creative nonfiction story titled “The Graves of Saint Paul” is now live at Hotel by Masticadores. I’m truly grateful to editor Michelle Navajas for sharing this piece with her readers at Hotel. It’s a bit of an anomaly for me as I generally write poetry exclusively. Back in my younger days (prior to giving up writing for twenty years out of frustration), prose was my vehicle for expressing myself, and although none of my fictional pieces from my early years found a home at a publishing house, they still hold meaning for me. It was a thrill to actually complete a short story again after thirty-three years, and I hope this is only the beginning and that more will come. This piece is based on elements of fact, with a bit of creative license included. Thanks a bunch, Michelle, for this opportunity.
“My mother lay in the ground at my feet beneath sun-bleached summer grass and faded plastic flowers and a headstone I hadn’t seen for nearly ten years. Her name, Victoria, clung to the gray stone above a bas-relief of pines and wild flowers and blue birds. She’d asked for a cross on her headstone—made it clear to everyone that she desired her faith to be front and center after she died—but my father, in his infinite malice and pettiness, had chosen some random wilderness picture rather than honor her wish. Just one more reason I hated him.
And now, his name sullied my mother’s headstone.
Ten years. Ten years of shame and regret. I hadn’t visited my mother since the headstone was erected shortly after her burial. For months after her death, I made excuses to avoid the trip to town, to the cemetery. At first, it was too raw, too soon. Maybe in a few weeks, a month or two, then I could do it. And then my life flipped upside-down again and I relocated out-of-state unexpectedly and that felt like a more legitimate reason, but I always intended to visit her grave like a good son should. Except…except maybe I wasn’t such a good son after all…”
Also, please consider following and subscribing to Hotel by Masticadores, where you’ll discover a world of wonderfully imaginative and profound writing.
I’d like to let you know my poem “The Daisy Ring” has been published at Hotel by Masticadores. Many thanks to Editor Michelle Navajas for sharing this poem. I’m truly grateful for your kindness, Michelle.
“The Daisy Ring” (c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley
“I found thee in a faerie copse…”
“Hmm?” she murmured Her gaze caught somewhere In the rainy neon night-world Beyond the coffee shop window Her fingers weightless Feather-like In my hand Ethereal Furnace-hot
“I found thee in a faerie copse Alighting on each flower fair And as I ‘proached thee in the hopes Of snaring thee in lovers’ ropes Thou disappeared into thin air…”
She looked at me then A faint smile teasing Her lips “Your poetry is terrible,” she said…”
Also, please consider following and subscribing to Hotel by Masticadores, where you’ll discover a world of wonderfully imaginative and profound writing.
“I Can Hear the Water Cry” (c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley
misty river bank I can hear the water cry through its mournful veil
from whence your tears my friend from whence your sorrow the stream of life long and arduous promises nothing takes wantonly yet gives freely drowns dreams yet slakes hope’s thirst erodes time yet blesses leas with hue and humor
I have bathed my feet in your cool waters drunk from cupped hands of your living essence and watched as villages flood and crops perish your fickle nature both boon and bane the rage of winter’s run-off the futility of summer’s drought the chaos of confusion the trauma of neglect
regrets eddy among the reeds koi doze in shadow-torpor levitating dragonflies iridesce oblivious to your siren-song your current inexorable immutable fate’s dynamo
what of your sadness what fears drive you what memories haunt your hidden heart speak to me, friend share your burden help me understand your tears
there is purity in kindness absolution in love such a pity a solitary meadow’s stream a rill of life darkened by despair
I see you, stream I hear your halting whisperings I smell your vital fragrance I feel your urgent motion I sense your profound depth you are not alone my friend the mountain cradles you the forest shades you the flowers dance to your melody let the sun gild your surface let the moon caress you let your heart be unencumbered flow, my friend just flow
“A Latticework of Tears” (c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley
autumn rain has come orb weaver’s sorrowful web a latticework of tears a trellis of weathered memories in this mournful forgotten meadow abandoned as dusk’s demise renders moot vestigial joy and hope gives up its ghost
your dreams, you say what of your dreams those airy flights of fancy those rumblings of your soul tinged the hue of virginal sun rays so bright as to blind you to the world’s apathy and horror so urgent and strident as to stay your sleep at night so incendiary as to ignite worlds birth universes
I know of dreams I know of death, too the slow withering of saplings whose brittle stems shall never reach maturity whose once verdant leaflets become piles of yellow dross that fade into oblivion
I know the soul-crushing pressure of expectations the futility of failure the exhaustion of anhedonia I know the tainted love of depression a foul mistress the bleak and hollow echoes of loneliness the roiling pit of dread and uncertainty for what lies ahead
dreams memories tears an elegiac dirge for a life lost a life misspent bereft of love and lenity the godless howl of the past the gaping maw of the future I know these things
shattered pieces of my dreams litter this lea’s desiccated grasses I must tread with caution lest I slice myself bloody
let the weaver’s web display my tears as trophies of defeat I have bled enough let what’s left of me fall to the earth as autumn rain
“My Jade Remembrance” (c) 2019 by Michael L. Utley
I used to know you 9,000 tears ago A tear for every mile That kept me from you A tear for every moment Not spent with you A tear for every hope Not shared with you 9,000 tears
A jade remembrance For my brown-eyed love A dusky green heart On a silver chain I keep in my pocket It was for you Everything was for you Everything I had Everything gone except My jade remembrance
You were already dead Before I ever met you Your path etched in stone I was just a detour A distraction on your way Into darkness A temporary reprieve An unplanned respite For the lost girl The girl who would learn to fly Or die trying
And I was the lost boy The boy who had Never seen the sun Until I saw you The boy whose shattered heart Had one last beat for you A final crescendo for my Brown-eyed love
I couldn’t fix you You weren’t broken You were destroyed Crushed by the weight of Damnation Hounded by demons Unknown to me Yet you smiled at me And pulled me from My own abyss And I loved you
My jade remembrance Are you still there Did you close your eyes And take that leap of faith Did you learn to fly Or did you die trying You didn’t just take your life You took mine too
Silent Pariah 