http://slow.writerscafe.org/Vaikekaru The original writings of author K. Louis en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775973767 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Trees above the fencelinewatch me sip another moscow muleblack diamond minesup the streetchicken on the grillgood companyred bark at my feet. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/3131120/ I am not a bluracross a mirror I see the creaseforming between my browsand the stray graysnot wandering far from one another.My glasses slip down my nose uncovering tired eyes and I can’t write youinto a poem.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/3130916/ The clouds are stagnant herestacking, they blanket the sky.Perusing aisles of tree,fruit, and rooftopstopping midway between windchime, and leaves clapping.Once when this townwas all there was a neighbor offered eggs in exchange for a cup of whole milk.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/3130914/ Eyes stammeracross photosloved ones gone quiet marriages that didn’t lastand some hanging by the thread of tomorrow's next argument. these nails hold decadeswhat happened to the time.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/3130367/ The forecast stillcalls for rainthrough the blindshadow of palm & pineripple on the rooftop.I look forward to thiswhen nobody else does--baby lemon tree leaves flickerin sunlandscaperscompete with birds.And two dogs laylike sea lionson couch rock. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/3130366/ In funk town where 11:11 is magicand bad TVis background noisethe odds you find someinternet guy to dream of are pretty good.Butwalking through the woodsyou rememberthat one time you almosthad something. Spring doesn’t bring chirping birdsand dandelions--instead a heat wave.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/3130101/ Between adsand ripe lemonswe are at war.Morning ping-pongof regurgitated news--some drink their coffee black.Not the oneswith ten Korean face masks--Some are dreaming of the orangesin their late neighbor’s yard. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/3129937/ The cat studies hexagonal patternson the ground.An aged manon a park benchsits--what thoughtsor stillness have been earned? While I am not there,I sit in line at confessionworried my perfumeis too strong. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/3129780/ The other day I probably had a complaintI sip my coffee         slowthat’s enough to lasta while. And the mornings are dark againI saw the crescent moon and didn’t look backor forward-- just suspended like the month of march.Where i’m goingor not&.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/3129618/ The black bird looks like it hasno planssoaring in broadhalf-sleep patternswith chemtrails beyond in a cerulean to off-blue sky.The dogs can’tstand the heatthree of them file in one at a timelike my thoughts--noplans here.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/3129615/ Clothes on a line          blowing in the windblue        water                  skyfruit stands!   &nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/3129614/ A pink skymeans something--and the snowon Mt. Diablomelted just as fast as it landed.The pine treestands betweenthe houseslike a SwissGuard, andthe church congregates on a Friday the 13thto do stationsof the cross. the pink has left--the world in blueagain.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/3129612/ A face appears on the trunkof a teenage palm tree fruits hanging near its earslike a catch it’s holding up. Down the fenceline, lemonspour over from the neighbor’syard holding citrus truth. Take me, it begs brightyellow in the sun.On a walk a whitebutterfly reminded me oft.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/3129317/ In my 1998 roomWheat field with cypressesswallow meuntil I’m spatout on a zig zag book shelf with mostly partially read books makeshift bookmarkslike old w2’s and envelopessit next toprayer cardsand pencils. yes, I’m older,and maybe.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/3129110/ I scheduled some silencebetween choresand an empty stomach.The sky is stilla shade around blue-- wasn't that your favorite color,elusive manbehind the screen?Thanks for the nightlyTikTok pause.You're nowofficially part of the family.Besides thinking of you,in the momen.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/3128831/ In an open fieldsurrounded by mountains,on the island of Upolu,we looked up, the crook of our neckscocked back like soda cantabs after being opened.Stars lit the giant map above, cosmic dust painting an ancient sky where ancestorstraversed the seas--as navigators in the nigh.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2963556/ I could text you right nowbut that wouldn’t be right.After reading my poemsyou said you missed “us.”It's been years,we are countries and timelines apart.In my dreamsyou are the dark sideof the moon--the outline of you glowingunder a passing blue cloud. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2963451/ I write you down like an unfinished love letter--words beating on the page of a bruised heart.It isn’t what we didor didn't.It isn’t even what if.It’s simply a wavepassing bymemoryI want to hold betweenthe fingers of this poem--and never let go of.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2963426/ Everything was gray,even the red lights were dull in the smoke.Trees lined the roadwaysburnt to charcoal.Unrecognizable.Ash falling from a skyhidden by black cloud.Cars piled up, yet miles to go.It’s the first and last time I drove the shoulder,sirens on.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2962774/ The leaf-piled porch only has a few leaves on it now.The wind chimes are new, like the spider plant hangingon its very own looming deathbed. I look at where I used to sit and write, the chair has changed.Across the way, the same neighbor just widowed now. And down the street, same thing.Th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2962668/ On a bipolar high,I drove to the cityto see what’s-his-name’s artin a small galleryoff such-and-such street.There were hipsters around,graffitied walls,bubbles drifting in the air.I sat on a cement benchas golden hour swallowedeverything around me,and I thought, as I so often do,I don&rs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2962576/ Grandpa didn’t like thatMom and I smokedHe’d try to tell us in small ways,but as a smoker himselfin his day, I think he knew it wasn’t as easy as telling someone to stop.I remember him todayand his old rusty pickup.He didn’t throw things awayif he could find a use f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2962575/ Light comes in through high rose-teared windowswaving across the ceiling like the pool outside it mimics.I said rose-teared because the roseson the stained glassare quite literally crying.They have been for twenty-seven years.Every now and then a loud neighborgrumb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2962565/ Some poems are like little seedsthat stay under ground,rooted in soil,waiting for a readerto come alongand noticeit needs some water http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2962564/ We give meaning to thingsthat aren’t there--like this page, a white field to put words on to paint--as some might say--or write.Inspiration is tuckedunder the moon,unless it’s mocking you on a clear night like tonight.Anything is possible.Even if the moon is the critic.The.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2962563/ The blue sky came outafter the rain like being kissedgoodbye by an almost lover. Documenting thoughtssubsequent to a downpour doesn't come easy. Or does it?Words get lost in the embrace of a past storm.I still walk in the rain in my mind, face coveredin beaded water.The figh.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2962425/ A passion fruit being chopped:the sunset from the sea.Thousands of miles to get herewith a long island in my handand salty waves in the other.Across the way, dancers practicefor the evening show--drums beating the islandand I tiptoe the mouth of this body of waterunconcerned about trivial matte.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2962412/ A bay, muddledin pink skies. Coyote Point memories fade like watercolor--clouds raining purple.Sis and I used to swimin that water.Sun skipping rocks onthe surface of a currentthat carried us.We’d hold onto oursandwich and sunchipswhile seagulls circledoverhead eyeing ourlazy-day pic.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2962411/ The sun is stirring--a peach slicing itselfacross a cloudy sky.An eye of silence.The glass lake, untouched.Even the fishstill sleep.The old forest surrounds,reflections of gold, copper,brick red, green, brown--colors bleedingtoward the mirror lake center.Leaves hold their last breathbefore winter se.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2962259/ I stare blankly at my phone, as if it's going to give me the recipe to life. I didn't need this screen when I was a kid,and now I need it like it's a pacifier--just as I need the smoke to fill my lungs, curling into your namebefore it fades. Daydreaming is best when you haven't l.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2961949/ I ordered Chinese tonight and now I'm a stuffed turkey. I thought you'd want to knowthe scab between my indexand thumb keeps fooling me into thinking it a bug.There's a trianglebetween me, the transubstantiation,and divine mercy.A geometry of contemplation--or guilt. It remi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2960755/ Been a few months now. Grandma went a monthbefore Grandpa.I went to both funerals,though I leftbefore anyone could catch me. Been a few monthssince I last wrote you. Whoever and wherever, I hope the changing seasonmeets you well. The best we can do in our tormentis plan.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2960744/ When you care moreabout how you’ll lookat the funeralthan who has died.Grandma or Grandpa,A coin toss?They say it’s God’s call.Have I grown coldto the concepthas distance left me hollow?The only differencebetween me and grandmais the holes in my brainare smaller.I can still walk.I .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2939602/ The temptation to scroll rather than write is real today.I watch the sky go from white to blueback to white.The nothingness of the day is likelooking at a glass of water and waitingfor it to bubble. But still, I search in the trees and no poemshanging from the branches for me or youto ponder. Now th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2939139/ The daisy spinson the outdated wallpaper in your great aunts bathroom,it’s petals whispering for you to show up,even if it means draggingyour half-dead body.So you show up to her funeral, half-dead, and everyone can see it.You look up to find the clouds stacked,and glowing, t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2937822/ I took notice of his outwardcarelessness like it was a thing to be studied. Hair disheveled, wayfarer glasses,a cigarette floating, in his mouthlike it belongs there.Do the ashes that fallfrom between his lips leave permanent echoes?What about the books he reads,is it all about the self and lettingg.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2937821/ Your words leave finger printson my mind and dissolve like blood on my tongue leaving the taste of metal and heresy. A dissenterwith no place for the squeamish.I find myself questioning my own beliefs. A risk I take willfullyentranced by your anonymousthoughts. I would look away but I can’t st.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2937226/ Whenever I get bored, I just remind myself of the psychosis my life was in.I saw the moon the other day low and red, and I wondered about the heart of the stomach. I had an incident of apophenia earlier when I lookedup the heart -- it said, you’re going to be okay.what it act.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2937225/ I saw my dead grandmotherin black and white walking on a hill.It was a quiet reassurancethe way the hummingbirdscome knocking at your windowmaybe it wasn’t for mebut for their own reflection.In a shuffle of sorts, I got up early and walked in the rainwhile everyone wa.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2937065/ You were the poem I never finished. The sea glass I picked up and tossedback on the beach.  It reminds me that even if Igo across the sea,I’ll still have the same problems--they’ll just be packaged in foilwith the smell of bark.Remember that time we kissedunder the m.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2937064/ The city weeps tonightlike gray gossamer dreams that floataround the lonely mindbeyond the chain link fence and in the dead                         center                  a gray mo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2937063/ For a limited time only you can get a ticket into heaven for $9.99. The ads luminesce on the screenmy face melting with the clocksa tacky/sour taste in my mouth.Jacaranda leaves play piano in the airclouds and sun battle for the spotlight.The curlicues of spring almost here and I.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2936798/ A flat rocksits on my bookshelf in front of Christ Pantocrator. A memento from confused days--my uncle, not the abuser, the genius veteran journeyman transient turned schizophrenic,kept a rock with him in his pocket at all times. He’d collect them like they were his shiny objects. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2936518/ Meanwhile, you pull the silver Lourdes lighter out and have a smoke in the backyard looking up at the sky, a pedestal for your unanswered prayers.A search for meaning between scrolling and gazing out the window is like waiting for a mummy to resurrect.The days have turned into a train with rust.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2936418/              the sky is                               a love letter                  &nb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2936324/ the unfurling of the brownleaf  so small    breaks in my hand like amemorythere’s a wisdom of children who say words for a dead bird the changing season has me reflectingand before it’s done another season arriveswith new laundry .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2936306/ We got caught by the cops that one night when we were found foolingaround parked on the side of some dark road leading to the slaughter house.Zero 7 was on repeat.I still listen to them at night.You are married and by now maybe you even have a kid or more. I stopped looking you.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2936251/ It isn’t the faded blue paint on the house across the street or the cracks in the fence linethat spell out your namenot the sunset on the drive back from work or the deafening cold right before sunriseit’s not the funeral you hypothetically won’t attend or the cloud.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2936060/ Earlier that day we drovethe countryside to find a water hole to swim in everything was green,not yellow and worn --hours of driving we learned as much of each other as we possibly could to fill the space of distancewhen the sun fellwe had drinks and Indian food on the conc.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2936059/ she lay in bed                         for daysmolding                         in the same spotthe white walls                &.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Vaikekaru/2936058/