Author: poetryfest

to pretend that the world
has not always been this way
is to lie through our teeth,
cracked open and spaced
like fence boards, separating
house from house.

yes, the world has always
been vinegar and bleach,
pinecones which only open
when the forest catches fire;
the man on the high castle
only willing to jump if pushed.

hurt is human, selfishness
as much an extension of us
as our own limbs, bent out
of shape, mangled single file-
there is no Great War of the past,
only the invisible war of the everyday.

each time I buy groceries,
they charge me a little extra
take a little off my check
and warp iron into missiles,
steel into bombs, life into dust
homes into ground-up nothing.

and when this catches me,
grief of the morning nausea,
the weight of condemnation,
the burden of quiet compliance;
I shiver, I cry, and the tears
do nothing but dry up in time.

but then, when I gaze at the sky,
see the flowers sprout in spring,
break communion with friends,
comfort my mother, take an off day,
and listen carefully to the sound
of the fight back as it goes on and on-

I can hear thousands of small voices
become a marching band of love,
of justice, of community, of prayer;
the sound of tacks that chip away
at the boulder they called unmovable
and sculpt a world that could be new.

today i’ll raise a hammer,
plowing over heaven’s banner.
today I will plant seeds,
and helping hands will till the winding dirt-
today I’ll dream of work to be done,
the fruits of such we must believe
can still be passed down tomorrow.
today, I’ll sit with life and love and light,
today, I’ll sit with you

Ed never did have
A family of his own,
And the history of his romances
Are pretty much unknown.

But a man has to give love
And get love somewhere,
So, he gave it to his dentist,
And the girl who cut his hair.

On the day of Ed’s funeral
They were both there.
Along with his oncologist
And an accountant named Claire.

Without a woman to share his love
He had more to give the average Joe,
And boy could he make
Those everyday faces glow.

When you were feeling down
Ed was your dancing clown.
Need people to come to your show,
He was there grinning in the front row.

Ed never did any
Of his shopping online.
He preferred the human touch,
And thought the inconvenience just fine.

Oh, sure Ed had his share
Of close friends, too,
But it was the everyday faces
That kept him from staying blue.

And when Ed died young
Of a stroke of bad luck,
His mother feared his memory
Would go with the Goodwill truck.

But instead, the grievers grew
From every walk of Ed’s life
To give him a hero’s send off,
Everyone but a wife

Keeping your eyes watching, forward and behind, always anticipating
Changing into something safe, palatable for the masses
Move with the breeze, don’t draw attention to yourself
Stay dull and invisible, unseen

Uncreative with your colors and hues, greens and browns, earn canopy safety
Guarantied protection from pain, no target to strike
Hide in shadows, the spotlight wasn’t made for you
Don’t spoil the view, unintrusive

I woke your hotel room up at midnight with gasps for breath
as I drowned in the rivers that flowed from my eyes.
I temporarily stained the white pillowcase that cradled my head
with the pain that spilled from my heart like an oil spill wrecking everything
around it.
I did not get to know you like I should have,
my feet on your cobblestones but my head in
California, not yet realizing that it would never love me.
My eyes wandered up to your clouds in a daydreaming trance
and yet you did not allow me to trip and scape my knee on your grounds that
cradle history,
but instead, you held me up with such a delicate touch that I did not feel you.
You greeted me like I belonged to you,
introducing me to your food and culture with such an ease that I forgot to
appreciate it.
You protected me from the dark side of a big city,
wind pushing me in the right direction to comforting bookstores and local pubs.
You held my hand when I could not even look you in your eyes.
How dare I fail to cherish you?
I cannot meet you for the first time again, but I can love you like I did.
If the rains fall from my eyes, it will be at your beauty
knowing you love me even though I do not deserve you.
You occupy more space in my conscience than I thought possible.
I am convinced I left a piece of my soul with you, and I will let you keep it.

In December comes the poetry
If human suffrage was a month of the calendar
The examination of the year’s bruises
Veins punctured just below the skin
Threads of green and blue ready for appraisal and disposal
Against the promise of a new year

All the late-night dog walks down cold sidewalks
Mornings spent chipping ice
While car exhaust plumes clouds into the sky
Holiday social anxiety
Forced indoors with family
Wrapping our bones in down and layers
Realizing someday we will all die

It is December
And I am no longer 17
My son is 17
Which puts me further and further away from it
He is 17 in the glorious ways
he doesn’t understand the power of his youth
How it surrounds him like a halo, delicious and pompous
How I would devour it, take it from him if offered
I watch him shovel the snow on the deck
Gangly, irritated and tall
He throws a snowball at his little brother
He smiles

December’s gift
Is waking restless in the penny dawn
porch door open inches to fit your nose and eyes through
Breathing in the just-post snowstorm
Air in the sacred silence of an early purple New England morning
Crackling cold is the lens bringing the glass covered lawn into sharp focus
the secret smell of new fallen snow
That only we know

Back when we were friends
I went to your house every day.
The carpet was soft.
Your mother brought out firm juicy grapes
and peanut butter sandwiches
with the crusts cut off.
Nine years old
hitting signed baseballs over wooden fences
losing them in the greenery
nothing more important than the bearded men running around the television.
The president, uncontroversially there
quiet so peaceful and deep.

Now your mother is dead.
The carpet has been torn up by another family.
The others watched
as you ate roast pig at your wedding.
I haven’t seen your face in years.
All those playdates
What for?
You tell me you think of me and my family often
but I don’t believe you.

I can’t let you go
even though I’m trying.
When I look outside
a baseball sticks out
from the bushes.

I try to reach into the snow to pick it up.
I’m not surprised
when it disintegrates
beneath my fingers.

The sun kisses the one who braved the cold
The mother who works long days growing old
Because of her I remain bold
Her heartache, blood, and tears sown into my soul
I live for her to know her story will never go untold
My dreams are remnants of her love
Whenever alone I behold her strength in my memories
She gave me the world despite a broken household
Lifted the blindfold of a “great man”
Her pain went unconsoled, withhold the truth for me to
know the grace of chasing a dream
We will never go back this promise I shall uphold
Please…Please shine uncontrolled
Unrivaled centerfold
An essence of a pot of gold

I write my love to you
From the stardust
And the grains of sand along the beach
From the dew of the mountain air
An atom from within my soul
I write I love you
Using the drops of rain
I make a canvas of love
Written in the stars
So that when the fates align
And our souls reconnect in the sky
And on the leafs of the majestic trees from the land
Our love will forever be etched
Within our essence and will forever remain
Two lovers woven together
From now until eternity

Before they started
by ripping out the roots
And digging up the land
There were people here

Before they gutted houses
to drain the memories
of what used to be
There were people here

Before buildings were
stacked so high that they
blocked the warmth of time
There were people here

Before they mined so deep
that their extractions
crumbled what wasn’t theirs
There were people here

Before their rot seeped into
sacred grounds, spoiling
the fruit before it could grow
There were people here

Before you continue your
destructive rampage, ruining the
remnants of those who remain, remember
There are people here

yes, we admire
golden hues of autumn leaves,
decorating those earthy brown,
dying twigs,
so close to the nemesis of nature’s play
with the last of sunshine’s ray
they fall like you and us all
but listen closely to
those icy northern winds
they are chanting magical spells,
whispering in our ears,
“the genesis of your love
shall see a new morning after
the last of winter’s clock”
we asked,
“lovely words you speak,
but tell us, how the winter
can be bearable when lovers
are gone and we stand alone
in knee-deep piles of snow?”
not one answer or a blow
but falling white sparkles,
bejeweling our teardrops
oh, what beauty lies
in a season’s deepest depression