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Monthly Archives: April 2013

#14

Mid-life crisis

I walked with Prufrock upon the beach
The bottoms of my trousers rolled
To hear the mermaids singing each to each

They didn’t sing to me
     either

 
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Posted by on April 30, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

#13

                      The teenager speaks of malls
          (a sadly suburban parody of Langston Hughes)

I’ve known malls:
I’ve known malls sterile as a delivery room and brighter
        than the daylight.

My soul has grown air conditioned like the malls.

I shopped in Toys-R-Us when I was young.
I ate my lunch in the Food Court and it made me sick.
I looked upon my Saks 5th Ave. bill and raised my limit even more.
I’ve heard the playing of the muzak when my mother
        shopped for bras, and I’ve seen the iron bars
        snap down at closing.

I’ve known malls:
Bright, sterile malls.

My soul has grown air conditioned like the malls.

 
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Posted by on April 29, 2013 in springboards

 

#12

The Reality of Fire is Blue                   (new)

For the past year
He has never apologized
He just tells her
“That was the disease talking”

She wants to slice open the sky
And find the deeper blue hidden inside
Slice open his skin
Slice open his half-smile
And let laughter seep out

He wants to hide in the fire of affliction

She has rounded the corners of the furniture
So he can not blame sharp edges
For whatever bruises him
She has cut her hair short

She isn’t looking for an apology

She knows you get a different sound
Depending on where you hit a broken thing
And when he says
“That was the disease talking”
It is the brittle shattering of his guilt
For trying to hide

Orange and red and yellow
Are just for show
The reality of fire is blue

She wants to slice open the sky

 
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Posted by on April 28, 2013 in new poetry

 

#11

Walking into the sun

My shadow always waits behind me
Calm and quiet.
It doesn’t look like me–
It’s usually shorter
And doesn’t worry about its weight.
But my shadow sings to itself
Lullabies and spirituals
Softer than the wind can hear.

If someone were to paint my portrait
They wouldn’t include my shadow
But it would be there
Blending in with the brown of my eyes
And the underside of my hair.

My shadow may be dark
But it has clouds under its skin.

 
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Posted by on April 27, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

#10

just when
     (and only)
in the grand nights
     of limber talks
you sing
     and I watch
          your lips move

they seem friends

other times
     I am with your hands
     that sway like marsh grass
and I stand
     so they dance through my shadow

always, though,
     the wind waits just outside
   whispering
   whispering
          of songs you do not sing

 
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Posted by on April 26, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

#9

Night                                                                                                    (new)
(for Grace Poole)

In her sleep she breathes like animals
Her hair fluttering when she howls
I watch
That’s what I do
I watch
In the quiet night
In a locked room
I watch her breathing

I dare not sleep
She’s fooled me before
Slipping away from her ropes
While I dozed in the night
When she returned
Her fingers smelled like ash
She licked them, smiling

Now I watch those fingers
Curling and uncurling
Claws, fingers, claws, fingers

She smiles in her sleep
Probably imagining fires and blood
Old loves and new loves

I watch
Waiting for the next howl

I will not sleep

In this locked room
I can not sleep

 
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Posted by on April 25, 2013 in new poetry

 

#8

Summer Young Me                       (written in high school)

How to capture
The essence of my youth?
Was it in the socks that turned green
When I played tackle tag
On newly cut grass,
Or in the flakes of skin
That I pulled off my burned nose
Anxious for a new layer?
I counted layers every summer;
My measure of fun.

Summer.
I never think of the other seasons
When I remember.
Clouds aren’t meant for kids.
Blue skies keep them young.

All the memories–
Rolling down hills,
Playing tornado until I was so dizzy
All I could do was lie in the dandelions
And laugh at the sun freckling my face,
Playing football in the streets
And how mad we got at the cars that invaded our field.

Everything for life was in my neighborhood.
The world was something that all the other kids
Had to use as their playground.
My street was best.

I waged war for weeks
With water pistols and palm tree spears
Until a thunderstorm came
And I declared a truce
To go swimming with my enemy.
Even the rain was just a new friend
For me to play with.

I used to spend hours
On pink skinned knees
With my nose in the grass
Looking for ladybugs and four leaf clovers.
But I didn’t care
If I didn’t find any.

 
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Posted by on April 24, 2013 in high school