You must think…
Dredge it up, mucky bottom.
How to List
filed in a rusty cabinet sunk in an uncertainty cavern.
How to…what for?  Sans negotiation
 the net drags across the bottom.
An anchor let go under duress.
A care forgotten abandoned to fend for itself.
Ruminate. Three.
Sometimes the earth trembles.
Truth sifts in its shaking.
Unraveling floods dragging
mountains under. the third. the third. the third.


Threads and Candy

Threads from my pocket in your candy hand,
I wonder where they’re going to.
Threads and hands.
Spooled together on some spinning wheel.
While a cool mint flavor melts on my tongue.
My hand in your pocket comes up with chocolate
Your threads mixed in tin foil wrappers
Like mixed mediums on display
And up for purchase
while dusty lips kiss sweet on my bent shoulders.
Thread and threads never cut, uncut
Interwoven.  In wonder.
Fair fairy particles upon our souls
made quick work of spinning hands together
while the weaving made us whole.

shelley rae bell

My Hand is on the Lock

Do I keep things out? Or in?

I cannot tell. I would not say.

Forged bars are where doors

would compose an opening.

I held the blacksmith’s hammer.

And tongs when I breathed fire.

Placed each bar in tedious fashion.

A wartime plan.

Do I lock the door against? Without?

I select. I would indulge.

A secret keepers combination.

A brave companion.


All the Ashes

He collected memories he could not keep
and lay them ashes at her feet.
Then bound her ankles sore and pulled the tethers sound
and stole the hope that she had found.
God, what hope!  Flew into the lie
that bled into these lovers’ sighs.
She then, shackled raw, lay down her body, owned,
molded all the ashes to her bones.


bullets from a terrorist

grief overtakes me
like terrorists ammunition.
pummeled. slain. shredded.
i need to lie down.
my eyes burn with blood
from the backlash.
turn my head. i loathe the light.
i plead with dark to sway me, keep.
deep then deep
buried under bullets, sleep
awash with sorrows triumph.


Trail One and Two

Fortitude. And a shovel.
Leather walking boots for trudging.
The perimeter.

What have I to say? Its been said before.
I walk where feet have worn a path
and left markers.

Trail ONE. Orange.
Safe and Safety.
Is it real?

Trail TWO. Orange.
Is it true?

What have I?
A Fantasy Compass
and a map of seasons.


Somewhere in a Garden

Where was I while you held the flower?
Petals nested delicate in your hand.
They glowed in sunlight and me likewise.
I was more me than was before.

A garden home. A place to stay and while...be.
The notes of the little bird songs
clasped in the confines of my mind
while my skin burned in the summer sun.

And you were there and leaning
placed petals dancing in my hair.
Leaning, dreaming golden morning hues
wrought hope from blossomed love.

shelley rae bell

Like This

It wears me out. Like this.
Treads on old tires.
Miles of traveling the same road
just to travel back again.
This is much worse than thinness.
A dagger presses me.
Puncture, let the air let out.
I am still.
Plus, like this. I am made for the junk yard.
I cannot move. I cannot deny.
Silenced and removed.
A disabled cog on your machine.
Fit for a grave
among other used parts.