- calling hours -

I just may forget your voice…

one of the days,

so it makes the most sense in my mind

to dial up your phone…

yet when the stars never seem to a-

lign…

and on your end, you never make the

time…

what can I do… when I can’t get

through?

 

Text all we want; tweet all we like…

as our voices fade into the night.

No jokes to be heard; no love to recite…

as our voices fade into the night.

Should I toss my cell…

down this wishing well?

So once it’s gone, there’s no rewrite…

as our voices fade into the night.

 

 

D.J. Whisenant

- take one, break one -

You’ve…

got…

the…

loveliest graveyard… with

blood red tombstones, and the

names of all your victims… are

resting beside the bones.

 

I am an observer and in-

terpreter…

and evidence states you are a

murderer. What a

 

cold-blooded paramour… you’re

painted to be, as you

thrust the ghastly knife in… but

don’t thrust too deep.

 

Building memorials right

from the start…

Lord knows how long you’ve destroyed

count-… less… hearts. Oh you

 

take one, then you

break one…

such a twisted sight to

see. Yes you

take one, then you

break one, but no

darling, you’re not breaking

me.

 

 

D.J. Whisenant

- muddy waters -

Rinse

off, rinse off, feels

like I’ve been baptized. Jump

off, jump off, this

vessel has capsized.

Down by the ba-

you, child… spirits wash

over me.

For-

got, forgot my

mission to swim, di-

straught, distraught, o-

ver my weak limbs,

but no limbs are need-

ed, child… in or-

der to see…

 

‘Cause it’s a

wild time…

in these muddy wa-

ters,

and I

know it’s rough…

once the breathing gets hard-

er.

Clari-

ty’s neither complex

nor profound when you

trust in your strokes that

you won’t drown, and you’ll

make it out…

out these muddy wa-

ters.

 

 

D.J. Whisenant

 

- sweat -

May night… with

just a hint of twilight.

Burnt up… and

just a little turnt up.

Bright lines… and

neon blowing my mind.

Control… be-

fore my good wits unfold.

 

My clothes just

stick

to

me, air one hun-

dred

de-

grees. I’m so a-

live, so alive, so alive. 

 

 

D.J. Whisenant

- haiku # 13 -

Such blunt misfortune…

tragedy calls silently,

here and gone swiftly.

D.J. Whisenant

 

- afternoon eclipse -

The light into this window

appears dimmer than ever.

The world inside my window

may claim responsibility, of course.

The light into this window

doesn’t sound like springtime.

The world within these four walls

aid and abet  this strange course.

 

The sun rays don’t play like they used to…

and this writer doesn’t play the same games too.

The shade may grow darker as the sun sets,

but the chance for survival is still ripe.

The leaves don’t sprout like they used to…

and this penman grows with oxygen anew.

The outside light may intend to cause fret,

but it is far from a permanent night. 

 

 

D.J. Whisenant

- dollar dollar bill y’all -

Cash money… fast money…

no money to me.

Chasing after black ink…

instead of chasing green.

Importance needs to be found, for

stacks make the world go ’round.

So they say, so they say…

how did it get this way?

Gas money… last money…

falling short for me.

Budgeting with such a swing,

there’s little suffering.

Importance needs to be found, for

stacks make the world go ’round.

So they say, so they say…

but not for me today.

 

What about currency

measured through love?

What about rich spirits – is

goodness not enough?

It’s just the hippie in me,

but I just cannot believe

that Dollar Bill, Dollar Bill… will

ever succeed  and kill me.

 

 

D.J. Whisenant

- midnight kingdom -

Been around these parts

on occasion, out of thrill,

out of frustration.

The heights never fail to impress,

due to the hills upon which this kingdom

was constructed.

Majesty… mystery… and

probable misery

crawl throughout the valleys,

leaving intrigue masking imprisonment. 

 

Any inkling of a supernatural draw,

from the rivers that flow unassuming

or the skyscrapers that just barely touch the clouds,

would neither shock nor confound me.

This nation is flooded with cities such as this,

with a special charm that invites you in…

and spooky secrets that further enchant you.

If I were to take the leap, 

aware I may either make ado about nothing…

or will be on the right track towards exposure,

it would possibly be the end of me - 

a young man trapped by his paranoia…

a young man lost in the kingdom. 

 

 

D.J. Whisenant

- road kill confidential -

It was a massacre… on the

19^th of May.

Vermin littered the road… in quite

a vicious way.

Deer split in half,

cats bleeding out,

the cars though still purr and

race all about.

The cars though still purr… what’s

that all about?

 

It was a massacre… on a

wild spring day.

If the departed spoke… what is

it they would say?

 

‘Will my young miss me?’

‘Should have crossed at the red light…’

‘Birds are so freakin’ lucky.”

‘Should have journeyed at night.’

 ‘They got me… they finally got me!’

‘Hey – watch the damn road!’

‘All I was doing was hopping…’

‘Well… guess I’m not coming home.’

 

 

D.J. Whisenant

- white horse -

 The twist and turn

of the road

wound me up as

I drove slow.

Then, on a route

far from here,

my eye was caught

by no steer.

 

They were horses, mostly covered in

bodacious brown.

As I peeked off of the road, my heart

made no sad sound,

for there was one lone filly,

and this may be somewhat silly,

but for my eyes did see -

a mare coated in ivory.

 

I saw a white horse…

a white horse,

standing without remorse…

but of course.

On a Sunday afternoon,

the beauty just before June,

it gave me just what I lacked.

I saw a white horse…

a white horse,

standing with such force…

what a source.

And not a moment too soon,

I gallop to a new tune

to get myself back on track.

 

 

D.J. Whisenant