Assassin

Grief is an assassin
waiting for the pause
between forgetting and remembering
to re-shatter your heart,

leaving you
attempting to find a way
to replace every needle-like shard
while praying 

you don't cut yourself on them
(again).

Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Slipped Away by Avril Lavigne

Liner Notes for This Groove: This poem was created for the prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Pain in Ink. 

Cease-Fire

I’d like to declare a cease-fire
against myself. I am done
being tired all the time
from fighting a war
I don’t remember starting.

I’d like to recall
all the spies that burrowed
into my darkest recesses
to use everything they found
against me.

Is any armistice enough
to let the imprisoned parts
dare the sunlight

or

will they stay in their cells
even while knowing
that no doors could never exist

that they didn't have the key to?

Photo by Candice Seplow on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Don't Let Me Get Me by P!nk

Liner Notes For This Groove: This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, War is Over, If You Want It.

Absence

A seed dropped by chance
inside a high-walled garden
became a tree
with impossibly deep roots
whose absence left a crater.

Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: The Last Goodbye by Billy Boyd

This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Trees.

Swallowed

 I swallow screams for dinner,

my own. Mostly.

 

If they aren’t meant to be

heard then they should satisfy

some other way, filling the pit

 

anxiety comes to churn

when there is nothing else

to settle in its place.

 

It isn’t a pleasant taste,

but it’s familiar.

I've almost figured out 

the trick to rinsing 

and pretending there's no aftertaste.

Photo by Camila Quintero Franco on Unsplash

Song Choice: Alone in a Room by Asking Alexandra

This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Swallows Screams for Dinner. The prompt was inspired by a line from the poem Telling Stories by the fabulous C. Sandlin.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

I Quit! (OK, Not Really)

I’ve given up writing several times now. One of the most memorable periods of quitting started on November 9^th, 2016 (I’m fairly sure I stopped doing a lot of other things that brought me joy then too). At first, it wasn’t an entirely conscious choice to quit writing, but once I realized I had stopped, I stubbornly refused to start. When I caught myself scribbling ideas for future stories in a notebook a few weeks later, I knew that as mad and as sad as I was, I’d be writing again soon.

Since then, I’ve written a book, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t “quit” a few times before and after the damn thing was finished. Writing can be frustrating and a little isolating at times. It doesn’t always have to take a national crisis to make someone ask themselves, “What’s the point?”

I was on the verge of quitting again a couple of weeks ago when a reader reached out to me. She had purchased a physical copy of my book some time ago but hadn’t had a chance to read it until recently. Unfortunately, she had to be in a hospital recently and my book was one of the things she brought, figuring it would last her during the whole stay.

She loved it so much she finished it in a day.

The thing that moved me most was that she said that my book made what was an otherwise scary experience a little easier to bear. She even read some passages out loud to others when they asked about what she was reading.

I have no expectations of becoming some great literary icon. But if my words can shine a little light when things are dark for others, if they can give people one reason to smile when there are so many reasons not to…well, that makes me smile.

I probably will not quit this week. I may not quit this month. But when sadness and anxiety manage to get the upper hand on me, I’ll read those messages again, as well as what she said on Amazon and Goodreads. 

And then, I’ll get to writing.   

Photo by Aziz Acharki on Unsplash

Song Choice: Don't Give Up by Peter Gabriel featuring Kate Bush

This post was created for the prompt given at Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings, What Makes You Smile?

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Ink Blot

I’ve felt too much

like an ink blot girl.

People see things

in all my adjectives

and form shapes from them

that may or may not

have anything to do with reality.

There is depth and dimension

within my hues

even if people pretend not to see them. 

What they think they see

reveals a lot about who they are.

I’m still trying to make up my mind

about what it is that I see.

Photo by Nicolas Thomas on Unsplash

This poem is linked to Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings post, Seeing Things.

Song Choice: I Don't Wanna Be covered by the Brofessionals

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

When All Else Fails

I’ve been cut by light

as brittle as shards of sugar glass

(twice as cloying,

masking none of the bitter)

that left me

with inflamed doubts

trying to spread to every cell,

until I am more doubt than woman.

I cannot survive under the glare

of this illusion of light

and its false promises,

so I take my doubts

into the loving darkness

where true starlight's touch

waits for me

to breathe,

to release,

to heal,

every last taint

of doubt.

Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

Song Choice: In Your Eyes (New Blood Version) by Peter Gabriel

This poem was created for Poets and Storyteller United's Weekly Scribblings prompt, When All Else Fails.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

I Have Disciplined My Heart

I have disciplined my heart

not to fall apart completely

when the acid of swallowed words

threatens to devour me whole.

This heart has no obligation

to prove the truth

of the blood rushing through it

to those who would see the bleeding

as just another mess to ignore.

I have disciplined my heart

to only beat at full strength

in the presence of trust, but

far too often that means

I listen to its throb alone.

Photo by Gaelle Marcel on Unsplash

Song Choice: The Quiet One by The Who

This poem was created for the prompt at Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings #22: It Takes A Bit of Discipline

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Saturday Morning Strawberries

Although logic told her it was only a few feet away, Stacia’s bedroom door may as well have been on Mars as far as she was concerned. She had been staring at it for over an hour now. She thought about getting up to shower at least twice, but the most she had managed to do was scratch the side of her neck.

Her stomach growled. She barked out a laugh, more startled than amused. Such an ordinary noise felt so strange in the silence.

That means I’m hungry, she said to herself. Though she didn’t feel enthused about the idea of eating.

Eat, she told herself more forcefully this time. It can be anything. It can be something small. Just eat.

After her stomach insisted again, Stacia got up, lumbered towards the door and left her bedroom. The sight of her cluttered living room almost made her turn around. But it was easier just to keep going in the same direction.

Stacia opened the door of the fridge. The small bud of victory she felt from making it this far was swallowed up as she took in everything inside. It doesn’t have to be big. It doesn’t have to be anything that’s a lot of work, she reminded herself. Her eyes fell on a container of strawberries.

She pulled the plastic container out, closed the door, and sat of the kitchen floor. Not bothering to wash them she grabbed the nearest strawberry and took a bite. Stacia thought back to how when she was a kid her mom would set out a bowl of condensed milk for her to dip strawberries into on Saturday mornings. She made herself eat the second strawberry more slowly. There might be condensed milk in the pantry.

I can do this. Stacia got up, still holding the berries, and grabbed a can opener along with the can of condensed milk. She went to the couch and looked at how far she had come. The bedroom door still looked miles away. But now she had strawberries and condensed milk, and she knew she’d be able to find a favorite cartoon or two on a streaming service. That was enough.

Photo by Esther Wilhelmsson on Unsplash

Song Choice: Breathe Me by Sia

This flash fiction piece was created for Weekly Scribblings #8 on Poets and Storytellers United, Red Fruit Rendition.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Halved

Grief ate half my heart.

Rage consumed half what was left.

What remains of me?

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: She Used to Be Mine from the play Waitress, performed by Sarah Bareillis 

Photo by Karim MANJRA on Unsplash

This poem was created for Imaginary Gardens With Real Toad's prompt, Just One Word: Halved.

Exhausted: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 29

Don’t know if I can

shake off soul deep exhaustion,

when breathing feels brave.

This poem is linked to Imaginary Gardens with Real Toad’s Tuesday Platform.

Liner Notes for this Groove:

“I don't want tea, I want justice!” ― Ally Carter, Uncommon Criminals

To say I’m emotionally drained after this weekend is an understatement. I was already feeling a little less than my perky self when I got involved in a conversation that started when an extremely stupid clueless woman tried to appeal to my husband to agree with her that the current occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is not a racist. (It was, however, more than slightly glorious to watch her shock as my normally soft-spoken husband told her where she go with her nonsense.)

Then I heard about the shooting. And the reason why the shooter did it. There is something profoundly unsettling when you know that you are part of the group a gunman in a recent massacre was hoping to target.

There’s a lot I could blather on about. A bunch of small things I hoped would go my way just didn’t. I could say that’s what’s bothering me if people ask. I probably will use one of those as an excuse, depending on who's doing the asking. But it’d be a lie.

Can't lie to myself though. It's not terribly helpful in the long run. I can do neither more or less than let myself acknowledge what I'm feeling, and work through it as best I can.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Artwork by Cristal Gutiérrez.
See more of her gorgeous art on Instagram and her Etsy store.

Song Choice: No Es Mi Presidente by Taina Asili

Waiting

The cicada calls crest and wash over me.

Their high summer drone is not loud enough

to compete with the din in my head.

They will be hushed soon

when the world holds its breath

between dark and light.

But the sun moves slowly

and the wind is too tired

to move the heavy air around me.

I am grateful for the heat at least

that will keep so many inside

while I keep my vigil.

I am waiting for the stars

hidden by daylight. Logic tells me

they have not disappeared.

I need to remember 

what it means to shine, 

even when clouds dim the light.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Artwork by Shelle Kennedy.
Find more of her art on her blog, her Etsy shop, and Instagram.

Song Choice: Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for the Weekend Mini Challenge at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads, Let Evening Come.

Sunset on the Boy from Tatootine

Everything my friends have fought for has been ground into particles finer than the sand of the desert I grew up in. It is my fault. My failure to live up to the promise others saw in me has damaged families and damned galaxies. I have renounced the sky; it was hubris to think I belonged anywhere but on the ground, extraordinary only because of the things I've broken. But if the dry husk that remains of me can be useful as kindling to create a fire others can warm their dying hopes by, I will give it up and try to be the hero children need me to be.

New hope crushed by old
resentments that did not die.
Failure defines me
only if I do not rise
one last time for tomorrow.

Song Choice: Hurt by Johnny Cash


This tanka prose poem was created by the prompt given over at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads: If You Meet The Hero On The Road... where we were asked to write about a hero. I chose to base this tanka prose around Luke Skywalker from the Star Wars movies. This piece will also be linked to Poets United: Poetry Pantry 404.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Revelations

Fall revealed the rot
of branches hidden in spring.
I can't deny it
exists to avoid my pain
lest it consumes the good left.

Song Choice: Praying by Kesha

This poem was created for a prompt given by Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, A Skyflower Friday: Goodbye. Hop on down to the pond to see more poetic inspirations from the rest of the Toads. It is also linked to Poets United: Poetry Pantry 381

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

First Green

They look like hope-

those first buds swelling,

with all the possibilities

of a life happily started

under a warming April sky

fed by vanishing March snow.

And I still hoped,

even as my roots told me

the earth is still cold.

The sun is lying.

I cannot lie.

I felt the buds

push towards the sunlight,

and dreamed

of the first green uncurling,

only to have

the March wind screech,

pulling me from dreams

to see stillborn green

devoured by a shroud of ice.

Song Choice: I See A Darkness by Johnny Cash 

This poem was inspired by the prompt given over at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, Speaking For Spring's Stillborn Sprouts.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Camouflaged Colors Don't Please My Heart

I wanted to paint with bubbles,
slap new colors over thorns and roses.
But my palette wasn't right.

Artificial bright washing
drains an already weary heart
that needs to make its aching known,
despite attempts to force my mouth
into saying, "This is fine."

Things hide in false light. And they bite
leaving marks bleached away by lack of contrast,
so that we don't know we've been poisoned.

No. I need to reach for the right colors
to tell the truth waiting patiently amid the grays.

Perhaps the mood for brighter hues will return again.
But, when they do, they will be real,
not camouflage for what I don't want to see.



Linked to the Tuesday Platform for Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads and Poetry Pantry 342 at Poet's United


Process Notes:  Recently it was my turn to create a prompt for Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads. I came up with one I thought I was happy with, but when the day arrived, I found there was no way I could honestly get into the child-like spirit I had envisioned. The final product was more cynical teen than wide-eyed kid.

The truth is that after November 8th, it's not going to be easy for me to be upbeat on demand, even if I'm the one doing the demanding. As a wise friend and I later discussed, putting up a false self makes for lousy art. The only way I'm going to grow as a poet and a writer, is to be willing to work with the truth of who I am and write that.



Song Choice: Paint It Black covered by Ciara

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Cryptic Diversion

To hear the whispers

of ferns as they unroll

is nothing short of a lalamity,

causing me to hum

the hymn of unrolling,

heedless if it clashes

with the rambangle monotone

of cogs busy at grinding

everything deaf

to sylvan movement

into a snarfdiffanous powder

that settles into

indifferent drifts.

Song Choice: Everything Is Everything by Earth, Wind and Fire

This poem was created from a prompt at Imaginary Gardens For Real Toads: Stuff and Nonsense. It's also linked to Poet's United, Poet's Pantry 333

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Between the Structure

There is no comfort

in this partitioned place

you’ve allowed me to inhabit.

I breathe through clay

trying to find

a caricature of humanity that pleases

me.

Laughter tastes like ash,

but it’s the only freedom

allowed here.

I laugh until my throat is raw,

convulsing, finally wheezing,

in the space I’ve partitioned for me. 

Song Choice: All the Madmen by David Bowie

This poem was inspired by the prompt given over at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads: Flash 55. In addition to the 55 word limit, Kerry asked us to consider part of the film Samsara, The Angst of Sagazan, for our work. 

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Stage Fright

Dad’s sweatshirt transforms into a velvet cape,

draped over my shoulders.

I flourish a stick I found in the yard

in front of an appreciative plush audience.

Passing it over a hat I found

for a quarter at a garage sale,

I conjure flying silk squares,

and moon white rabbits

that do somersaults,

and sing songs dryads taught them

back when the world had plenty of magic beans.

But when I bring my wand, hat, and cape

to the school talent show,

when I stand alone on the stage,

all that I find in my hat is rabbit poo.

Song Choice: Nothing  performed by Natalie Cortez from A Chorus Line

This poem was inspired by a prompt given over at Imaginary Gardens for Real Toads: Weekend Mini Challenge, Following a Thread

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Callus

I remember its birthday.

OK, not the day it was born,

but the year.

It was the Why Are You Fat,

Why Are You Strange,

Why Aren’t You Pretty,

You Can’t Sit With Us Year.

It got bigger every year,

until I could paint a face on it

with a big, red rubber nose

and a wide grin.

It was magic, you see.

It had power to bend laughter.

It grew even bigger after that,

and thicker, like redwood rings,

but,

if you know the right words,

maybe arrive in an enchanted whirlwind,

or conjure up the perfect enlightening glow,

you might find a small knot in the bark.

I might be so startled you found it

that I'd invite you in,

where you'll sit down,

and have a cup of tea with me,

maybe.

Song Choice: Little Tiny by Brandi Ediss

This poem was created from a prompt given over at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads Little Tiny, write a poem inspired by the song Little Tiny. 

By Rommy Cortez-Driks