Author: poetryfest

One of my earliest memories
That comes to me
Every now and then
Is sitting on the floor
At grandma Mary’s
I remember
Not unpleasant stale carpet
Warmed by the sun
Large box television set
Watching Bob Ross
Painting trees
Behind the television
Was a window facing East
Letting in the morning sun
Beams of light would appear
Highlighting pieces of dust in the air
Little ships
Little souls
Swimming around like little fish in a living room sized fishbowl
And then waves roll in
Waves of thin pleasant pipe smoke rolling in
Finest sheets of silk
So thin they float away
And melt into the air
They roll
And flow
And bring the air to life
So much activity
Made visible in the light
Little dancing particles
Dancing in and out of sight

Be a loner, kiss mirrors in private
Shake hands with none other than God
Always wear your hood over your head
Monetize your blinks, your eyes are rocket science

Come on, you treacherous creature, don’t give up
On that incredulously diabolical rhythm
Cooking in your heart, every tendon an olive
Or a leaf of rosemary

And one day, you will overpower the Romans
In their own kingdom, it is said and yet to be done
Yes, it is said that you will do it, God has chosen you
And your skin, browner than a mud-stained t-shirt

Or the meticulously chosen white welcome mat
Many have trekked mud on, after indeed welcoming themselves home
Shine, my darling, like your name was Piccolo
Picked from a tree of silver naartjies, a tribute to the village chief

Bow, but don’t break your not-so-all-round neck
But anytime, I’ll fold your arms into mine, my love
Kiss the trembling stars into your mouth
Feel the sting of their candy hues, bizarre and melting

Like a bubble bath, it’s amazing what we’ve got going
Between us, this horizon is now a neon liver of love
Flowing my heart to yours, I thought I’d maybe write
You a poem, while the whole world is benched

And there’s not a single one to cover us
From the adolescent moon beams that have tried in vain
To love like each of us does the other.

I want to live life like magic is the essence of almost everything
And like every pick-up line could also be a poem
I want to see everything, feel whatever
Possible, and taste good lips and kindness
I want to wake up late and see the sunset at dawn
I want to be as steady as a rodeo clown
And I want to look the bull in the eyes
And laugh and be chased
Because I know that once the fear is gone
You’re left with life and nothing else
I want to see my friends smoking and
Drinking and I want to see them kiss and fall
In love

I want to see my friends smoking and
Drinking and I want to see them kiss and fall
In love

She climbed to the top of the mountain
In her ascent
She failed to see
Red roses blooming, so fair, so sweet
Grass green growing there
Purple lilacs, stalks so bright
Pink glowing sky
Turning white clouds red by and by
Blue fading into black
Her steps show her track
Higher and higher
No turning back
On and on, no pause or rest
Ever approaching the summit, the peak
Where at last she placed her feet
Looking down
All around
Brings a tear to her eye
So on the way down
She doesn’t even try
She stops at every flower
Inhaling their scents
Touches the petals
Feels them on her skin
Throws them into the wind
To see the colors fly

She climbed, continued

She twirls, dances
Like nothing else matters
No one is watching
Just her and the sky
Realizes here on the ground
She could have found
What she was climbing for …

Raspberry paradise,
all the bushes are strewn with ripe juicy berries,
in the morning, I run a sprint before work,
in the evening, I crawl like a black shadow animal
in a crowd of gloomy and tired workers on a boat,
where people with Harvard rings smoke and smoke
the clouds over Hingham Bay lay down on my chest.
Mosquitoes roar like lions in the dead of night in the forests,
and above the water it’s quiet, there’s not too much forest here,
and I don’t really understand, but I feel that the area is wonderful.
I like to let my guard down, relax,
don’t worry about anything and don’t worry about anything
at least for one minute, because then everything… and a new morning comes,
and you no longer know what to expect from the next day,
lie with me and hug me too.
I’ve read books by Korean women, but most of all I like books by American women,
for some reason close to me, maybe mentality, or maybe
names of the locality of our median.
Meridian.
Me in a tiny white top, with a very cute but makeup-damaged face,
and you are also the same age, the same age, my light, sleep and wake up with my pollen.

The complex was like a cell
Barred window and patio
The halls dim and endless
Like a haunted hotel
Death lingers here
Against the walls and doors
Each unit has a story
Her mother had grown ill here
Hours before her death
The complex held each soul captive
Until it called them home
Each one by one

She came in from the west
left seeds upon my breasts,
little seeds that sprouted
with the salty rain that came next.
They thrived off the sour streams
that flowed like a waterfall down my throat.
They grew around me,
feeling like an old moth-eaten coat,
receding with the seasons.
The sprouts like ivy and vines
wrapped around my heart,
providing shelter from the incoming
pounding rain.
They created a shield
keeping me from hearing when
the cliffs would call my name.
The vines and ivy soon sprouted flowers;
bright red poppies,
roses that slowly turned white.
All around my shoulders,
the little blossoms sprung
favoring the left,
where the soil was raked the most.
I take care of my flowers
my life depends on them;
they are the last string tying me to reality
and grief.
I love my flowers
I cherish them every day.
I brandish them to the sun
for no reason other than to shame the moon.
For the moon is the mother of wind
and the sun is the father to rain.

My mama told me that my father used to hold her with fervor/ they would slow dance to Luther and Gerald/ memorize their words like old church sermons/ pecking each other’s lips like the day was meant for just that/ no time for anything else/ just gold caps on rotting teeth/ delta blues being echoed through the street’s/ the levee filled with gambler’s ready to sign their dollars away/ mama chastised but still he went/ telling her, heart in hand, wrapped in tamale husk, saying, “Sweet baby, I know when to hold ’em. Damn sho know when to fold ’em.”/ coming home with his shotgun close and a few hundred in his pocket/ whispering them seductive hymns as he slid between her legs/ asking for another kid to add to the litter/ asking for forgiveness when anger brought them low/ falling on their knees to pray for their Lord to bring their love back/ on high ground

I had forgotten
The sound of rain on hope,
And the feel of your body
As we laid in the darkness.

But now,
It seems I can’t forget,
Can’t sustain a single breath
Where my hands do not miss
The light and rhythm of our city.

After we said goodbye, I shook.
Not from pleasure or pain,
But simply from an excess of everything,
From the gasp of reality.
That simple fact of life,
The neon shock of existence,
Kissing us forward,
Enveloping us in silent, gray cloaked hope

They are my words to say.
I am the one who gets to say them.
You don’t say them; you hear them.
At least, You’re supposed only to hear them.
They aren’t your words to say.
You’re Not the one who gets to say them.
I’m not supposed to hear them; I say them.
At least, I’m supposed to say them.
They were my words to say.
I was the one supposed to say them.
I wasn’t the one who said or heard them.
At least the words were said, right?
But they were my words to say.
Not your’s.