Author: poetryfest

I think about
How my knuckles
Would feel
Being cut against your teeth

And how my hands
Pressed against
Your left side
Pushing on your ribs

Maybe my mouth
Didn’t reach above
Your belt buckle
Enough times

I love you so much better in my head

I think about what could’ve been done
What I want to do sometimes
What I wish I did
I only feel like that sometimes.

Once upon a time you didn’t let me play with your hair
And then I was lathering toner into it
Now your roots have grown in
But I still remember your hairline and the details

What your sideburns feel like
And the cuticles on your fingernails
How the bottom of your heels
Laid on top of my ankles

I remember everything most days
And then there are others
Where I’m more gracious
More ferocious

When I wish I could have knocked
Blood out of your nose
Or answered your calls
And hear you cry out

Or when I might slightly grin
And wave at you
Fifty feet away
When my days are fine

And anger isn’t on my mind
I forgive you most of the time
Because I remember
How your heart belonged to mine

Hello: one word and a handshake is all it took to know you were important
Heard it spoken in my head but left unsaid
as I sat across from you

To share my dreams of becoming a documentary filmmaker
I felt a knowingness from deep within
that we had met before

Our souls entangled
bringing us back to one another
So you could guide me toward
what I‘d been searching for

You helped me discover once more
How to trust my intuition
and the voice that resides
in the lap of my inner child

We were living a dream
disrupted by the complications
of life as humans
Pulled apart toward new adventures

Toward a different kind of existence
Yet somehow finding one other again
To share what we had learned
And see what had remained

In-yun: a Korean term for a karmic connection between souls with encounters from past lives
Sometimes the English language is so disappointing

It reduces the meaning of what it is you’re trying to express
Leading you to overexplain or undervalue the feelings you attempt to surface

Take care: the last words I said
before you went away
What a ridiculous thing to say
But I couldn’t bring myself to say farewell

resisted its finality
Couldn’t bring myself to shut this door
Lock you out
I knew our paths would cross again

But my vocabulary was too limited
and failed to surface a phrase that said
I love you
But I’m not in love with you

I want to be a part of your life
but can’t in the way you want me to
can’t offer the kind of love you deserve
or promise it would be enough for either of us

Not in this lifetime
though perhaps in another
Perhaps that’s why I am drawn to you
In-Yun

Perhaps that is why I can‘t say goodbye
Though they ask me to
Tell me I need to let you go
So we can both move on

Relationships, like words, can be so simple
and fail to grasp our soul’s desires
Why can’t they evolve, as we do,
as we learn and grow

and become something different that works with where we are in this iteration
in this human form,
despite its complications?

Why do we have so many rules and restrictions on how to be human?
On when and how to say goodbye?
When maybe what we really need
is a better way of saying I’ll see you soon.

I’m dreaming of a time
before a peace sign was a picture on a plastic smartphone cover
A time when jeans were popular because denim was durable

I’m dreaming of a time when
we made our own clothes
our own tie-dye

A time before Woodstock was a can on the side of the road
A time when life was about being together

A time we could sit with ourselves
Sit with each other

A time when we told stories
Made music
Danced
Listened

A time we could be real
A time we could really be here

All this social media is making us stupid
We have become slaves to the dark lords

Zuckerberg
Bezos
Musk

I can’t see you with a phone in front of your face
And you can’t see me

I don’t need the high life
I don’t need fancy things

I just need life to be
as simple as
your body
next to mine

I had never heard of the sculptor turned jewelry designer Anne Dick before
but when off to Mass it’s what I wore
she a 60’s sculptor
of her day
the hammered gold necklaces
held major sway
with the museums and fashionista’s of the day
the robes from 70’s Bullock’s Wilshire
were stunning finds too
in their vivid blues and ribbon trimmed hems
orange and patchwork designs
I wondered at my good fortune to now
call those mine at least for a while anyway
1960s whimsical calendar prints
fashion books, a souvenir silk wrap
from a 5 star hotel in Tokyo
reminds me of lives well lived
the remains of an estate
open the gate
to meditate on a stranger’s past
how we don’t last but our things do
and this too
reveals who they were their interests and pursuits
it keeps me going back
this life hack
i call my job

( Anne Dick was a pioneer in the American Crafts movement whose bronze
jewelry has been exhibited around the world. Dick also published 7 books of poetry.)

I think your like me
But it’s not a guarantee.
I would walk to any city
Just to tell you that you are pretty.
Your eyes as blue as the clear summer sky.
Your smile as pure as a small childs lie.
The blonde and brown bound in your hair.
But really I shouldn’t even care,
Your not gay ,
I need to walk away.

Way back, when things seemed normal,
When everybody loved your offspring the most,
I never thought, I never thought,
That you would ravage my future the most.

Irrelevant to relevant, with time I became,
Thy sprouts showed unpromising day by day.
I never ever said a word that would ruin your day,
Yet why? Did you ruin my day?

The soulmate that the universe chose,
She was perfect, just like the red rose.
The proposal from her parents meant for me,
The reason that hurt you the most.
I know, I know,
that’s why you ravaged the cause.

Is it easier
To talk to someone and make the connection?
Or is it easier to take off your clothes?
Your fingertips
Caressing mine
Seems less painful
Than asking your favorite color
I want to feel
Each crease on your stomach
Than call you a name
You’re not a name
You have no name
You’re the paramnesia
The ghost who came to me
I don’t want to talk
I want to feel your body
Entwined with mine
Sweat upon sweat
Lust upon lust.

I have spoken far and wide.
In fact, I never shut up.
Disrespect is not of the sins I can tolerate.

I may overlook gluttony and greed
But on the account of maltreatment towards me,
That is not something my ears can hear or
Eyes can see.

Hypocrisy. What a funny word.
I had been told my whole life no one could ever scorn me.
I became content in playing that villainous role
I was so greatly bestowed.
And then came you.

To clarify,
This is directed at a certain you
And not all of you,

Your hypocrisy will not be judged today,
Aas for tomorrow I cannot say.
Better to pray for your sins
Before you’re swept up in the wind
Of the unforgiven.

I should have listened.
Can’t believe I didn’t listen.
So glad I could heed and warn those
Who knew nothing though.
So fortunate these brunette beauties
Could see my truth and believe me so.

We all have a similar critique.
We all said, “Good riddance
I’m glad you are no longer attached to me.”

A pathetic disgusting
Lying liar who lies
And takes no accountability.

Perhaps they aren’t my disciples
But I could make anyone follow me.
Pharisees and their hypocrisy.
That funny word.

Concerned with outward appearance
And approval of anyone near.
Desperate to spread more hypocrisy for anyone to hear.

pity, pity, pity.
You are pitiful.
It is a pity
You are now no longer useful.

I am not worried,
In fact I am washed clean.
He has His hands around me.

I’ve been nothing short of showered in love.
Every person my skin has touched– adores me…
With you, there is no such luck.

I tell her, and her, maybe her… what I tell me.
You will not be coated in worry.
For you have love.
You have beauty—my dominant trait haired cuties.

Your life will soar and fly
From this same five-digit zip code
To a European sky.

You were never at the advantage or disposal,
To be a worthless creature’s betrothal.

I give you no inclusion.
There is no rationale to be given.
I will not ask why me?
I will not prod on why I was deceived.
For the problem is you and not me.

And maybe Jesus would let you wash his feet.
You are of the same demeanor as she.
But of any illness or disease…
Stay away, for I now know you are impure– unclean.

It is not my problem what you choose to accept.
Not my job to interject or direct.
Maybe everything I knew was a lie,
Maybe I never knew who was by my side.

But that is not something that coats me in shame.
And when I hear your name,
I am nauseous.

My stomach flips and my blood curdles.
You are nothing. Less than nothing.
You have no light.
Whatever was left has been snuffed out
And only evil is in sight.

Alas, you could keep it hidden if you tried,
Since all you know how to do is beg and lie.

Maybe I am not always holy.
Perhaps I have dipped my toe in something you could deem worthy of…
Such a dark and disdained act of wickedness.

You are trying to be just like me it would seem.
However this callousness does not become you,
Your bones are brittle and your heart lacks.
And of what it lacks I am not sure,
But it is why you will never be adored.

You will leave every soul unsatisfied
More unfinished than how you feel inside.
You will grow old and lonely,
If it were of His will it will be alone that you die,

He speaks to me in the morning
And I respond in the eve.
Like I said, His hands are wrapped around me.

It is ironic, isn’t it so?
For I proclaim that I never lie, just like Lucifer,
And yet you become a shadow.

The dark cloud of which is the only caliber
You can achieve
Tension
Much tension to be seen.

You will never hear from me.
The clouds will turn
And the moon will cease
Before a word from my mouth leaves.

Directed to whom?
Who of this exposure is the worthless loser?

You held my heart and He let me go.
Placed each and every answer in my path
For me to know.

You will never be protected
Nor sworn to anyone’s love.
You are empty and bereft of being enough.

And me?
I am the envied.
The pinnacle of predilections.
I won’t reminisce
Or miss

The loss is yours.
Was never hers, hers, not even hers.
Surely not mine
And the absence of you
Can only be from the most Divine.

I am hit with a wave
Slammed hard arresting my breath
I come up for air
Only getting a mouthful before I’m hit again
I reach for something to grasp
But I’m caught in an unrelenting torrent
I manage to touch bottom and try to stand
A riptide tears my feet from under me
I am swirling – angry
Turning – grieved
Suffocating – surrendering
Then all is still and quiet for the moment
Till I open my eyes and see our picture on the mantle
Before I am hit again.

We’d been sailing for months when the isle sprang to view,
grassy it was, and forlorn for sure.
Charts said nothing
of its being here.

We moored near the isle
where I set forth a search,
myself in the lead
of course.

Now I must tell you:

As we crossed from the ship
in our dinghy so frail
I and the crew felt as the first
to do it.

Once to the isle
we spanned its grey length,
uneasiness began to gnaw.

Over a knoll, we found a shanty
(a shack if you will),
aged and weathered and empty.

We entered the structure, and did hope to find
a trace of the makers long past.

When nothing upturned, we checked ’neath the floor
and there we found our prize:

For lying untouched was a jewel so strange,
pea-sized, fine cut, ancient.

Actual stars
of nighttime skies
were easily visible in depths.

Icy winds
blew from its blackness, and a rainbow
wrapped it ’round.

However…

Upon all this,
we returned to the ship
and sailed ever on.

At times I regret our leaving the gem,
but considering the unearthly inhuman design
I was fearful of wrath from Gods or others:

surely such creatures
may have owned it.

It will be there for them when they swiftly return,
if ever they do.

I wonder.

Signed 1242, bleak midwinter
at the pole.