Author: poetryfest

Waves break
On the rock’s edge.
Sand slips from dry to wet
Without the crashing orr the noise.
It is.

From now on
I am going to walk into every room
like a supermodel
after all, a supermodel does.

She is just an anorexic teenager
who hasn’t done anything.
How much more right and reason
have I to strut?

Me: who has exploded a career
built and destroyed financial security
housed five humans
(and brought three to life).

They would be right to look
at me like I am the most rare
and precious element on Earth.
Like I might explode

or make all their dreams come true.
I am going to walk
into every room as though
I own it and

the land it’s built on,
right down to the Earth’s core.
Because after all, I do.
I have built, I have destroyed

and will do it all again.
I don’t dance like I have
diamonds at the meeting of my thighs.
I don’t dance at all.

I have them in my veins
and that makes me hard, but sparkly.
Like a super model I walk, with all
of my five feet two diamond grit and grin.

Animosity
Difficult to get over
Forgive each other

Seated alone on the couch, weary from the day’s labor,
full of hard drink and a heavy meal, he was content this
birthday affair may pass without incident.

A bottle of twenty-five-year Scotch adorned his lap.
He made certain she saw him swallow the sleeping pill she
insisted he withhold until after the party.

He told her he did not want a party, yet she persisted
on account of the supermoon conjoining with Venus
and Mercury being no longer in retrograde.

Nonsense, he muttered, as a tranquil haze washed over him.
The band was warming up out back and guests were arriving
when the initial assault was launched.

Her advance was clumsy and ill-planned.
He stirred upon approach, stiff-arming her to the ground.
A subsequent attempt succeeded with a flanking maneuver

that sent his bottle to the hardwood floor.
“Don’t break that bottle,” she shouted. “That’s my favorite bottle!”
He swept her shins and they tumbled about the room,

laughing and cursing each other. They tumbled into some guests,
spilling their drinks. The guests did not approve.
She retreated to the kitchen. He meandered into the yard

with a fresh glass of whiskey. “Thanks for coming,” he said to
the new arrivals, then stretched onto the cool lawn grass
and gazed upward to the heavens.

He spied the constellation Taurus in the north sky,
invited a blessing of good health and a sign of his longevity.
He awaited the sign as the whiskey-sleeping-pill cocktail took hold.

His eyes grew heavy as coins when a shout was heard
from the house: “Don’t break that glass! That’s my favorite glass!”.
Taurus leapt to his feet and smashed the glass against the sidewalk.

An anxious silence befell the partygoers as Libra emerged
onto the patio. She declared she would bust his head,
then pounced like a wildcat, kicking and clawing at him.

She bit his ear. He yanked her hair. She pushed him into the dirt,
him pulling her down and working her into a chokehold
until she relented.

Taurus relaxed his grip, and they sank into the earth gasping for air.
A passerby stopped to inquire if there was a fight.
“It’s hard to tell sometimes,” he heard someone say.

She heard it too, then climbed atop him, cheerful and triumphant,
glowing like a banshee in the April moonlight.
“You obstinate son of a bitch,” she exhaled, then collapsed in a heap.

And he held her awhile like that, until the cicadas quieted their
evening symphony, the earth rotated eastward to Gemini,
and their breathing fell once again into synchronous rhythm.

Move, keep moving, there is no stillness here
My city, my London, runs only in sixth gear

There are tubes to cram into
And buses to hop onto
There are taxis to shout at
And always people to shove through

I dream of the Parisians
Arriving to work at ten
With their three-hour lunches
And strolls along the seine

They have no limits to their leisure
Movement is luxury, never a chore
The Parisians move with pleasure
But the Londoners move with force

They say that London is limitless, a city bursting with dreams
Yet why does nobody stop? Why does nobody seem to breathe?
Why is nobody ever available?
Why are meetings booked weeks in advance?
The limits are here in this writing
London doesn’t give humans a chance

As I’m sweeping along a tube platform,
My heart racing and sweat in the air
I remember this is all for no reason
And the limits of London stand there

I was born in a hush of dew and light,
Where bees hummed secrets in dawn’s quiet flight.
My petals once caught sun like wine,
And danced with wind in patterns divine.

But the boots came, thousands, bold.
They marched with thunder, fire, and cold.
The soil split, cried out in dread,
Roots like mine tangled with the dead.

Smoke stitched gray across the skies,
Ash fell soft as lullabies.
A crater bloomed where daisies lay
And poppies, once red, have gone all gray.

I drank from puddles laced with lead,
My sisters wilted, dreaming dead.
The rain now burns. The worms have fled.
The trees wear shrapnel leaves instead.

Yet still I rise on slender spine,
A foolish flame, a fragile sign.
I bloom in spite, not unaware
A whispered grief perfumed in air.

Would you plant me where bombs once fell?
Would you breathe me in, my warning smell?
For I have seen the cost of men
And I will never dance again.

I go forth into the world
A smooth sharp sheathed
Bladed edge
I’m the counterpart to the teetering in my life
The equilibrium to my own personal truth
M y life is what I say it is
I manifest the environment that lives in my mind
My choosing
The absence of choice
Remains my choosing
Iv lived grown played and died in the garden of disguise
Iv even fallen for my own reflection
Masked and cloaked
The make believe me
I pivot from that plastic mold of who you want me to be
I kick off my shoes
And pound my heels into the ground
I sing with the mother
The sister
The sun
I radiate light
I magnetize movement
And I will set aflame
Iv recently been reshown my power
I will not be giving it away
I choose not to cower but harness the fire
In our lives
The hope
The dream
The timing
Can all be seen through my minds eye
I reckon the awakening
The window to my mind painted and sealed shut
Raises its weary eyes
Heavy from eternal sleepless dreams
The riot of sensory slam through my soul
The knowing and the spirit collide
Within this body Iv never been so sure was mine
I’ll never again just see twice
Upon seeing with eyes open thrice

Time fractures
in the ancient sting of a needle,
where blood becomes a game
to free the fallen self.

I am the echo of a lost yesterday,
the vanishing breath of today,
the unborn pulse of a tomorrow
that will never arrive.

Death dances
in the final stupor—
a trembling hush
where even memory
refuses to breathe.

Life flickers
in a haze of forgetting,
a kiss blooming
inside oblivion’s dark bloom.

And then—
from this broken script,
a child is born.

She lives the rhythm
of her mother’s pulse:
through the bruises,
through the blurs,
through the silenced claim of death.

She carries the syringe
like an heirloom
and dreams
in the language
of scars.

Two sketchers scratch their pencils
In an otherwise empty room
They fire off a cannon
But I can’t hear the boom

Oh, you look so radiant
Like polished cobblestone
In seal and silver gradients
And ashen monochrome

Gray like asphalt, the road you take
Gray like a blizzard’s last snowflake
Gray like pigeons in the air
Gray like my grief, gray like my despair

You’re moondust in my fingers
And you still smell like smoke
My eyes fog, and I tear up
My misery’s evoked

Gray like stairs that rise to heaven
Gray like two thirds rounding to point seven
Gray like elephants and their tusks
Gray as you’re reduced to dust

Dull pencils tracing graphite
In the outline of a tomb
They fire off a cannon
Now I can hear the boom

Blue / blue / his face was blue / he wasn’t breathing / screaming / mom was screaming / 911 / 911 / someone call 911/ hello what’s your emergency / my father isn’t breathing / do you know how to do cpr / no / okay press on his chest / count with me / 1 2 3 4 / 1 2 3 4 / 1 2 3 4 / 1 2 3 4 / he was still blue / why wasn’t he breathing / so pale / so blue / lifeless / dead / dead / dead / ambulance is here / it’ll be okay / my heart is in my throat / he can’t die / he can’t die / what would I do without him / he’s my whole world / dead / dead / paramedic sprays something up his nose / narcan / it’s narcan / oh no / oh no / did he relapse / he starts breathing / where did he get the drugs / why would he do this to me / he’ll always be a recovering addict / he won’t be able to outrun the blue man forever / blue man / blue man / I’ll still love him forever though / he’s my whole world / I’m nothing without him / blue / blue / my world is blue