Author: poetryfest

An ode to the birds,
who were up at 3 am
with this bullshit

An ode to making a cup
of tea this morning, a
warm and tender thought

I will sing to you
like I should have
sang at your funeral

The tears that did not
fall the first day or week
fell tenfold in the year to come

I am done with this pain, take it away now
I feel strangely calm
today, like I can do this

T h a n k y o u f o r a l w a y s t a k i n g c a r e o f m e

I will be there soon

Plan your escape today,
be as swift as the
winds that swept this life away

A toast to the roommates
I could have never chosen for myself but sorely
needed

An ode to car crashes,
may that be my last one

An ode to sleepless nights,
may you never have one
you didn’t need

An ode to 5:30 am, this is
the only season where it’s
daylight out now

An ode to my father, in
his blue-rimmed glasses
and his dress shirts

An ode to all the women
who came before me, artists
and storytellers, who
gave me these gifts
which I cultivate and
give to you

An ode to grey skies,
today you are sorely
needed

An ode to my mother,
who’s keen eye and steady
lateness meant we weren’t
athletic children
I had to find the
spark within me instead
Thank you

There could never be a
daughter who loved her
father more than I love
you
and equally,
There could never be a father
who loved his daughter more
than I love you

Another season begins. The parents
of young runners have arrived to rake up
the walnuts, to mark ravines with bright flags
and paint the long gnarled tree roots white.
They step through shafts of morning sun,
painstaking and meticulous, as if
they’d been charged with raising the dead
at Troy, or mapping the half-submerged spine
of some fantastic beast, now eons old,
whose winding skeleton stretches for miles.
As if lighting the ghost bones
could keep us safe.

There by the tears
Of the place
When the stillness sent
Some drops of rain twisting about

You have no spirit you have no warmth
When you’ve heard the lock on the door
Listen to what your sorrows are
Tell me is it you that leads me from dying, rage and fiercest grief
Be alert the snakes lie at your feet
Is there any other who suffers so hard a fate?
And since you know these walls and binding chains
Of this cold prison hide me in its depths

You are blind you are desperate
When you walk down trails pathless
Listen to what your sorrows are
Tell me is it you that leads me stumbling
Thru these streets filled with restless dreams
My eyes frowning at the sun when the morning comes
Is there any way to escape these laws of destiny?
And since you are walking between night
And dawn of day it is here you shall remain

You have no insight you have no reflection
You’ve heard the shadows call
Listen to what your sorrows are
Tell me is it you that leads me from suffering and dismay
Know that we all fall
Are there any words not so tired to do any good?
And since you’ve given me the answer
Take what is left for yourself

On this day
Four years ago
My grandmother breathed her last
Taken swiftly
As I slept
That new virus
Became a mercy
She had dementia
You see
New to that home
That bed where she would die
Surrounded by people losing their minds
And strangers caring for them
These strangers
These people I’ve never met
Were the ones that found her
Washed her
Perhaps even prayed for her
In the days of old
In far off lands
I should have been the one to find her
To wash her
To close her unblinking eyes
To hold her cold hand
It was an ancient rite
Torn from me
And now
And now
I feel so hollow
Having been robbed
Of The Final Tending
There is some
essential
Ancestral
Piece of closure
That’s missing.

Dead mom club means having the best comeback for your mom jokes
when someone else says their mom died
saying me too and giving a crisp high-five
It means when you hear “everything happens for a reason”
“you deserve to swift punch the person in the throat “
That even in this poem I’m quoting you

Dead Moms Club where most will enter and few want to be a part of.
We do not discriminate on race gender or age
Anyone can join the club
Entrie comes at quite a hefty cost
Were exclusive like that

Dead Moms Club feeling as if you are losing yourself
You’re not in it till you’re in it
Having to comfort others when telling of your loss
Wanting to turn away members
Not wanting them to feel the same pain

Dead moms club
I wish I was never initiated

A casual Sunday morning sitting on a porch swing, their mother’s name on your phone. You
answer, lose your breath knowing he wanted to lose his.

The smell hits as soon as the automatic doors open:
clinical, clean, cold.

The little blue chairs in the little blue room around the corner are not comfortable. Nothing is:
your chair, your body, your mind.

People walk in and walk out, last names breaking the silence of broken families. You’re waiting
to become the next victim of the man in the white coat.

You begin pacing, running. There’s nowhere to run too, no neon exit sign. You’re running stuck
in your little blue chair.
The repetitive beeps go silent. Silent like a piercing gunshot, silent like a Sunday morning spent
reading a suicide note.

The ringing in your ears breaks a silent mind, tears trapped in a soundproof tank. Mouth sewn
shut from the shot of a bullet.

Get out of bed, brush your teeth, work, eat, sleep, repeat. Keep the opening to your mouth
hidden, lost in the mazes of the walls you built.

You’re still running, running till running turns to swimming, swimming to drowning. Drowning
in a mind-shaped box, grief the lock, dead the key.

The little blue chair is empty now, still facing the door waiting on a return that will never come.
The room is silent, the only noise a echo of a unspoken name, you become silent too.

Day I

No one knows
Could have been a wobble
or a slow slide…a slipper
jetting in front of the foot
a landing, arm extended
reach to

he is alone breath
submerged to bottom-a flat
expiration in his bedroom

Two ounces of strength left:
one to grasp the pillow,
the other to deliver prayers
into the tufts of carpet while

the heart cups the blood
lactic stilled, stammering
hemlock drips vaulted
behind a time lock

Day 2

broken door chain

Day 3

His children are no longer flesh
They are filo and bamboo
a fence that surrounds him
waiting in vigil flanking the bed,
candle pillars with the bright
disposition of eternity

He awakens to these saints who

breathe into his cheek pores
caress his face—
they need to touch the body silk
skin cold fever a condensation.

Day 4

His language, their memory, his commands

The desires before death

: to rise
: to be quenched
: to construct the jaw
: to reach for glasses
: to not know the last word
: to not sweat the sheets
: to not fear
: to control the shape of the face
: to leave sooner
: to never leave
: to hold the circle
: to be the sun

Day 5

The whisper is prayer
or permission or
the final breath exhaled
into the mouth of his son
or in the heart beat thumb pulse
that he shared — captured in
his daughter’s palm he didn’t need
to ask it settles
he might leave her
to peace
At least that what she sees

She tells me: white owl wings
the fluttering inhabits her hands
they beat and tremble and lift open
this final ascension loosened.

Well, well, well, now whatever did I just see,
Chuggin’ along out on old Route Thirty-three?
A Panda Bear in a Honda – could it be?
And he was pushing a big, old, blue RV.

His paws on the steering wheel seemed out of place,
As did the fuzzy smile on his fuzzy face,
Beneath his Santa hat with a holly sprig,
Puttin’ along, pushing that RV so big.

I’d passed country mailboxes with wreaths bedecked,
That’s the seasonal joy I’d come to expect;
Not a Panda, with a red bow ’round his neck,
Helping a fellow traveler on his trek.

When I passed him by, I knew then what I saw;
A rolling prank by a gray-haired grand-pa-pa.
That Panda’s car wasn’t pushing, no, no, no!
His Honda was just a vehicle in tow.

When the last lover stands naked before the almighty throne
And you’ve danced like the willow just before it snows
Just let the time unwind walking lover’s lane to the past
Reaching on out of the corners blackened in the aftermath

When the last lover stands naked before the almighty throne
The empty box that held your love was never your own
Whisper to me like silence when I am out here all alone
My souls in need of shelter cuz I am drenched to the bone

When the last lover stands naked before the almighty throne
And you’ve dreamed of possessing her river as it flows
Rolling down from the mountains falling upon my years
Slipping into the shallows drowning in the glow

When the last lover stands naked before the almighty throne
And what appears to be new is now old
God, I do implore you forget not from whence you come
I got one hand in an apple bucket in the name of young love

When the last lover stands naked before the almighty throne
I’ll pave your way with silver I’ll pave your way with gold
For these I do not fancy as the fiddler falls out of tune
Just give me my own true lover it’s all I ask of you

When the last lover stands naked before the almighty throne
The band will rise together singing to the moon
Our hearts will be forever the mind will be as one
When I call out to the others play me, “Valley of My Love”

When the last lover stands naked before the almighty throne
Those who answer with silence don’t bother me just go
More of them shall speak out, “What it is I do not know”
Just bury love forever where the flowers bloom and grow