Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

I am
The beginning of Autumn.
My leaves
Are just starting to turn,
Their fall
Still some way distant,
The breath
Of change still faintly warm
Upon my tongue.

I am
The yellowing, golding leaves,
Bright still
With the light of the midday sun,
Warm yet
With its noonday fire.
My change
Is heat and primal passion,
Beautiful and bold.

Copyright 2015


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A useless walk at 3:00 a.m.
opens up a place
I had thought closed; and suddenly
shared moments, apparently forgotten,
strain the fabric of calm appearances.

Sometimes, it takes nothing
to trigger
a deluge of feeling,
a flood of tears,
an ocean of desolation.

The past becomes present,
the wound as raw
as when it first gaped open,
like the maw of Hell
inside my heart.

Absence becomes presence,
tearing away
at the flesh of memory,
leaving me exposed
and floundering in grief.


Copyright 2015

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“To be running breathlessly, but not yet arrived…is itself delightful.”
~ Anne Carson

Running breathlessly,
chasing desire…

How to describe the edge
on which I often stand,
that sharp edge of fulfillment
just out of reach,
of early innocence
(just this instant passed),
of sultry need
just waiting to devour
the unwary passersby.

Running tirelessly,
Chasing bliss…

How to explain the drive
to move beyond mere thought,
way past the realm of words,
into the kingdom of deeds;
to break the bread of passion
with the ones who bring with them
the scent and taste
of their breathless hungers,
and of their unquenchable thirsts.

Running ceaselessly,
Chasing dreams…

How to explore the need
to push beyond the walls
that hold me back,
to follow on the trail
of self-discovery that opens wide
at every turn, and beckons me
to make haste to a destination
unexpected, unparalleled,
and as unattainable as air.


Copyright 2015

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The Brand

(The following poem was written in response to the prompt below, a quotation by Pablo Neruda.)

As if you were on fire from within,
The moon lives in the lining of your skin.”

~ Pablo Neruda

This ache you hold inside,
Subsumed beneath the weight
Of good, of right, of just…
Suppressed under
The nobility of fidelity,
Of honor, of trust…
This ache is white hot,
Is unrelenting fire,
Is agony of heart,
Bright, searing,
Impossible to ignore.
This ache, passion’s brand,
Is tattooed in your flesh
And in your soul…
Moonlight in the sun,
Inevitable, invisible,


Copyright 2015

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Thoughts skitter away from her,
Refusing to be gathered.
Inspiration has deserted her,
An empty well, and dark,
Dense with the heaviness
Of nothingness.
She drowns in abject terror
That the words have gone,
Deserted her,
Adopted a new host,
And moved beyond her reach.
She struggles to believe
That all that is lost
Is faith.
A cruel fate for one
Before so powerful,
To need that faith restored
In herself.
This exercise must show her
How it is to trust
In what one cannot hear,
Or see, or touch…
In what is absent.
And yet,
To have that boon restored —
The gift of words —
She must believe in things
That she cannot.


Copyright 2014

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Is it better
To remain aloof,
To guard my heart,
Or to be abandoned,
And watch it break
Again and again?
Trust opens spaces
Where others can leave
Gouging wounds,
And maim me.
Will I some day lose
The pieces that remain?
If I do not trust,
Will I lose myself?


Copyright 2015

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He came today
In memories
Awakened by the music.
He came…
And with him
Sadness came,
For what I thought we had,
For what I thought I’d lost…
For what I know is true…
He came today
And left again,
A shadow in my heart,
But not a pain.


Copyright 2015

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It hurt.
Every unanswered message,
Every forgotten anniversary,
The unending silence
Of obvious rejection…
It hurt.

It hurt.
After time spent together,
After searing conversations,
The unbending silence
Of ultimate rejection…
It hurt.

It hurt.
Every shared intimacy nulled,
Every promise made voided
By the heart-stopping silence
Of infinite rejection…
It hurt.


Copyright 2015

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White under the gray,
The moonish sun
Slips shyly behind black clouds
Gravid with rain,
The gift of life offered
With roars and grumbles,
And incisor-sharp flashes
Of jagged light.
The wipers can’t keep up,
And the goosebumps on my arm
Are Braille notes of delight.


Copyright 2014

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Ask Her Why

Ask her why she’s feeling
Numb, congealed,
And she will say
Filth clouds the senses,
Like mudslides over diamonds.

Ask her why she’s crying
Hot, unwelcome tears,
And she will say
Desire shreds the spirit
Like rabid claws on newborns.

Ask her why she’s keeping
Still, silent-hearted,
And she will say
Words leave needs unspoken
Like blood without plasma.

Copyright 2015

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