Loved the optimism.
love lost is not
native only to you;
there are hands out there
waiting for a new touch, and
mouths who wish to be filled
with a new name.
don’t spend another precious beat
of your heart on the one who left -
go find the love that seeks you.
I don’t think this is about cars, but I’m no mechanic.
You can weld closed her cracks,
fill shut her holes with patty,
panel beat out her dents,
and grind down her rough edges
But you can’t save a woman
until you take a look under her hood
and lie low to check her undercarriage
Her gears won’t lock
until you set her backlash,
Her radiator won’t cool
unless you keep her hydrated,
Her pistons won’t shift
until you oil her engine
Don’t worry so much
about fuelling her tank,
you already do that
The Mississippi river is a bruise given by a lover
A disease spilled over our green mother
Gangrene climbing land like vines
Clogs your air
Chokes your veins
And creeps like bathwater in an electric tub.
It is the tireprint on the family dog
And the dust that collects on its tombstone.
It swallowed you whole
But hasn’t stopped chewing me.
Emily’s Note: Hello, yes, I would like to be able to conjure up these images. I MEAN REALLY!!!!
i am a hurricane
my right eye
is the center—
(minus the calm)
Emily’s Note: Simple, lush, and something I understand well.
Emily’s note: poignant and lovely.
bush land, mountains
a child went over a waterfall,
years later, peer over edge
nature is forgetful
melancholy washed off the rocks
a pet shop. dogs off limits
none there anyway
run to fish, tap glass,
scolded too late. they,
spooked, hide in new ornament
shoes thump on grey
fifteen minute walk
car appears, window down
black hair, claws
always the tops of trees
questions, bright eyes
mapped the area in notebook
‘got it from dad’
(disappeared, years ago)
memories to fuzz, to static;
white as snow
reading on lounge, while
on TV, a man’s trial,
why does he smile?
look up, reminded of a car,
a walk, and
When poetry captures those moments of emotional vulnerability, you know there was something special there.
I imagined you standing at the river’s edge when we met
how different from your own vista
but then again, I’ve always imagined you close to me.
And when you asked unabashedly if I was falling for you
there you were, the sun bouncing off your toothy grin
even though I was mortified by your question.
And I wonder, when I finally tell you what I really wanted to say
where will you be?
I imagine us, pants rolled to the knees…
wading in the river deep.
Emily’s note: this piece really calms me down…
Mountains like flowers,
in morning dew through kisses
by radiance picked.
Gently touching breeze
falling drops in river’s realm,
once again to breathe.
― Soothed spirits
How cryptic should I be
to tell you the flowers
were beginning to blossom
in the fields you showed me
two years ago built on promises
that are hollowing out and how
the wind blows evenly through
the whistling tree branches,
leaves shaking underneath
the thought of your touch.
The fortress burned down
from the fire I started and
you ignited. I can’t help
but collect these tears
in mason jars, hoping
you’ll ask for the proof
of the pain that visits
me when I sleep at the
silent midnight hour.
I found the woman you
hid a hole, barebones
a shattered and broken heart,
death by hope and disappointment,
and I recognized her face, so sincere
and left loving a man who was too
preoccupied to mend the destruction
left behind by his words. Starlight
eliminated her body, as if an angel
brought her home safely.
Now, when do I start to protect myself?
Emily’s note: I love the idea and repetition of the “infinities” in this piece. Also, the last line… Wow. Just phenominal.
We were born in mourning,
Exposed to the bitter infancy of time
Within our own petite infinities,
Expecting life as a whole to reflect
Back the infinities that we pretend to deserve.
Death shocks us and appalls us
As if it isn’t the only sure fire result
of birth itself. We are born to run out,
For our infinities to stop short of what
We expected to have, for the infinities of others
To last as long as our own.
we are born into mourning, and if we are lucky,
We leave it behind in our wake.