Literary Diaries

Honor Song For James M. Swan

 by MELISSA FRY BEASLEY

You think

This

Is civilization

This

Is only

Architecture

Society

Built on lies

Destined to crumble

Falling from sky

Ash like snow

Ailing forces

That twist like tornadoes

The way spirits

Travel in wind

We only fell victim

To our compassion

Went to war

Came home alone

Broken

Weary with loss

But not yet beaten

With no desire

To make you

Feel better

About your tragedies

© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley. All Rights Reserved.

1:33 A.M.

by MELISSA FRY BEASLEY

I’m awake

Thinking about the

shape of

the feel of

building the need of

your tempting lips.

Would they be

hummingbirds hovering

the languid temptation

of a kiss

or slow

running sweet sap

thick in winter

August heat

an ice cube melting

against my skin

taste of honeysuckle

and spring rain

smell of peaches

afternoons making love

as the sun watches.

© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley. All Rights Reserved.

Sycophant

by MELISSA FRY BEASLEY

We are all broken bits

left over from some end,

doorways leading

to empty rooms.

We run while we wait

for something to move,

everyday a barter of

quench and thirst.

Sycophant you are,

I’m always giving in

to occasions

with too much

in my mouth

to speak.

No space for tongue

or meaning,

no room

for reason & rebuilding.

We are all broken bits

left over from flawed beginnings.

They said we never stood a chance.

© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley. All Rights Reserved.