Wednesday, November 28, 2012

There is a Window

There is a Window
Lisa A.Williams

In my house
there is a window,
murky with doubt
and duty.
I know there is something
beyond the pane
so clear, revealing itself
to my half closed lids.
Fear filled years
to wipe it clean
and see beyond.
So tainted by debris,
the time consuming task seemed
but I grew tired of dreaming
wishing to see
all that I had missed.
A rain of words-
some following a thunder
I refused to sink-
and tasted truth,
seeing my reflection

Monday, November 26, 2012

In The Doorway

In The Doorway
Lisa A.Williams

The masses,
cloaked in ritzy black
passing without
 Girl in the doorway
 beautiful face
bathed in addiction.

at the life not hers-
 huddled in embryonic loss
shivering in
 December’s cold embrace,
thirsty veins in want
of Utopia.

Friday, November 23, 2012


Lisa A.Williams

And so we stand
facing each other
ghosts haunting our past
fear lingering
in the dark of ourselves.
Years have made us strong
we embrace it all-
the old we couldn’t let go of,
the new which
 fills us with hesitation.
We sift through all
 those days we
 breathed away,
scattering ourselves
to a merciless wind
who will transform us-
                                                                    in spite of ourselves.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Says The Moon

Says The Moon
Lisa A.Williams

I will tell-
says the moon
the beginning,
of rising seas with
 their hungry waves
 lapping thunderous tongues
 once tasting
 sweet, salty earth.
earth cries tainted tears
darkened by
 the greed growing shadows 
of more..
Her core hollowed soul
tired of giving,
weeps poison
                                                                    tasted in silence

Saturday, November 10, 2012


Lisa A.Williams

no pureness
could erase.
from so  
many years
in the confines
of a modern day
 The bitterness
of regret
for seizing
a livelihood
which beckoned death
with each passing year.
The wood-
its smoothness,
in the dark stain
of pretty poison
summons the riches
of buyers
who wish
to lavish homes
with the labor
a poor man’s hands.
Another man gives
up the ghost
amidst toxic
to feed a family
he leaves behind.  
His passing
haunts his child’s heart.
Another man dies
in his living,
this time, it is my father.

The Skin You Don't Know

The Skin You Don’t Know
Lisa A. Williams

Wear it gently-

Feel its unfamiliar sheath-


the one it was born to,

in all its keloidal ache, and


Savor timeless


trickling down, crimson faces

 burnt by enduring


Wear it

until it molds to the shape

of all it must embrace.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

In the '66 Malibu

In the 66 Malibu

My dad, singing,
“I’m so lonesome I could cry”
How the wind loved to tousle
her thick dark, hair
as my mother, leaned her face toward
 the evening sky.
 Blue eyes
closed to the darkness.
Me, in the back seat
wishing dad would choose another song,
 when he sang the loneliness into safekeeping
  only to be taken by his voice into
 “I can’t help it if I’m still in love with you”
 I chimed in with “How far is Heaven, I want to go,
 I want my daddy, I miss him so”.
As the car pulled gently into the driveway,
he finished his rendition of
“Make the World go Away”.
Now, all these years later,
my parents, gone,
The 66 Malibu but a memory,
I wonder did the love they had
for each other, make them so lonely
they cried until
 the world did go away?
And did my soul
know I would later
sing the same song
about my dad, holding
that heaven in my heart
 while missing
my mother’s eyes,
one day she would truly
see me?