Author: poetryfest

After years of searching,
From the Scottish Highlands to the deepest jungles of Guyana,
You’ve found the unicorn in your very own backyard
She stands with long blonde hair shimmering in the late afternoon sun
You stare in astonishment
“Where have you been all my life?”
And to your surprise,
She speaks
“Pretty day, isn’t it?”
Her eyes are deep and soulful
Wide and fixed on the slowly setting sun
If you look closely you can almost see her retinas burning
But if she’s in pain, she doesn’t show it
A gentle smile graces her soft face and her slender arms are folded behind her back
This woman, everything a unicorn should be
And then some
So why,
You wonder,
Has she hidden herself this long?
Why would she allow no other to bask in her stunning beauty before you?
“No other?”
She scoffs
“Many men have “basked in my beauty” before
Though they didn’t consider themselves men before a beautiful woman
Stallions before a unicorn
They considered themselves conquerors before an island”
She extends an arm
“Do you see these?”
Dozens of golden bands chew lazily on their own tails and constrict her wrist all the way
up to her elbow
“Every man who has ever shackled me,
Told me who to be
And how
And why
Now rests as metal on my flesh.”
There are more bracelets on the other arm.
“Every man who has ever cut a piece of me”
She lifts the side of her shirt to reveal sutures wiring the remains of her stomach shut
“Now must keep it
And endure the rotting stench of what once was my heart.”
You are unwavering.
“These are the words they have spoken, marked neatly on my skin. Every time they call
me slut, whore, bitch, I draw another line.”
She rolls up her jeans to reveal legs blackened with ink.
You are unwavering.
“I will not always be your friend,”
She says.
“There will be women too.
They will wish to slash and stab and bleed you dry for the injustice they see in your
soul.”
You are unwavering.
“The world does not want you.”
It will cast every stone, brick, and bill at you to keep you out
To keep you down.”
You are unwavering.
She turns her gaze away from the bruised orange sky to face you.
“All that, and more,”
Her milky eyes well up with tears.
“And you still want this?”
You are unwavering.
She sighs.
“Then go forth. Wake and face it all another day. You are fierce, you are strong, you are
a woman
And you always have been.

∫_(-∞)^∞▒〖〖Crimson rays〗^(-〖 penetrate〗^2 ) mind〗

=[∫_(-∞)^∞▒〖〖I witness the moments〗^(-x^2 ) dx〗 ∫_(-∞)^∞▒〖〖when love loses its face〗^(-y^2 ) dy〗]^(1\/2)=

[∫_0^2π▒∫_0^∞▒〖and in the wind ⅆrⅆθ〗]^(1\/2)=[π∫_0^∞▒〖〖I release〗^(-u) du〗]^(1\/2)=√(the words my heart misplaces)

In the quiet of the night, where whispers fade,
A final breath is drawn, a life unmade.
The weight of years, a burden too profound,
Surrendered now, to silence so profound.

Yet in the dimmest dark, a spark ignites,
A journey new begins, beyond the lights.
From ashes cold, a tender shoot emerges,
A soul reborn, where eastern dawn surges.

In bustling streets, where cherry blossoms fall,
A child awakes to life, so light, so small.
The past a distant echo, soft and faint,
Yet deep within, an artist starts to paint.

The colors bright, the winds of change do blow,
A youth in Asia, where new rivers flow.
The ancient soul, now in a tender frame,
Finds peace in breath, yet whispers of the same.

In every step, a memory, a trace,
Of lives once lived, now gone without a trace.
Yet hope prevails, in every beat, each breath,
For life renews, transcending even death.

In every sunrise, in each drop of rain,
A silent song of joy, and of pain.
For in the cycle, endless and profound,
Youth in Asia finds where life is found.

So let the poets write, in rhymes, in verse,
Of endings, beginnings, the universe.
For in the telling, a truth is realized,
That in each end, a new life’s disguised.

Things are lost but not forgotten.
Once the womb dispenses of you,
every second, you are losing something,
a wiser woman once taught me.

And as the oak trees grow.
and my lungs carry oxygen,
I learn this truth over again.

Things are lost, or are they forgotten?
Are they still here when they are in the crypt?
Are they still known once the brain forgets the word for it?

Your bones grow, and with that comes those nightly aches
and during those moments of sleep and wake,
you lose something,
you forget something.

Does anyone escape life without something taken, something put to bed?
We pray in the early hours for what or to whom we have said farewell (obligingly or not!)
to rest in peace; rest easy.
Even in the tears,
Even in the holy war of grave digging
and tearing of petals,
you live on and with time,
you learn to lose and forget.

But the body always remembers.
The body never considers what is gone as permanent.
Things, indeed, can be lost or forgotten,
Or simply misplaced or staggeringly unbeknown–
But the body is the source that tells the tale
and keeps it close even when it is six feet deep.

Kim Philby was a spy
Not some ordinary guy
Left it all behind, see what
He could find, betrayed his
friends & country, only to be
Mistrusted for the sins that’d
Brought him in…died along the
Black Sea distrusted by the KGB

Kim Philby was a man
Well loved in his native land
Sold out Britain to the
Communists, in a lifelong
Idealogical conniption fits.
Never forgiven by MI5, & not
Even the Russians were happy
to see him alive…

Kim Philby…

Trusting in the self.
Accepting that which is inside,
That which is inherent to the experience of individualism.
The individualized self.
Disrupting the conditions of the status quo.
Breaking free from the prison of conformity.
Accepting the truth of a personal experience.
Cleansing the toxic dynamics
The destructive atmosphere.
Reconstituting the narrative
Reconstructing the ideology to that which is positive
Breaking barriers and molds
Shattering through glass ceilings to find that which is physically and emotionally revealing;
Now appealing
A new perspective.
A new landscape,
Forging a new path on a new plane of existence.
Trusting in the self.
Accepting that which is inside.
That which is inherent to the experience of individualism.

I’ve been dead longer than I’ve been alive.
And I’ll be that again
We come from death and death takes us back
life is only a hiccup in our default unawareness
How kind of Death to allow us a moment in time to venture into existence
But she is jealous and pulls us to her bosom once more whenever she pleases
No matter our goals and aspirations
Where we exist in nonexistence

In a bed with cotton sheets,
a child lies in her nal sleep.
Her mother weeps, heart in pain,
as gentle whispers fall like rain.

“Mommy please don’t cry for me,
for in this moment, I am free.
The pain is gone, the fear has ed,
I’m safe and warm, my soul is fed.

Though my breath may fade away,
in your heart I’ll softly stay.
In every ower, in every song,
my spirit lives, my love is strong.

Though I must go, our bond remains,
through endless time, through joy and pain.
In every heartbeat pure and true,
I am forever a part of you.”

Death has glass teeth and a cotton tongue

we sing sleep, pull the mouth

in the deep sew the lips to grin

these bones fracture without eyes.

Home in time.

This poem is to be read left to right, then a second time top to bottom along the three columns.

I
I held your hand
in the cabin of my honda civic,
parked in front of my childhood home
three county lines away,
and you looked at me
from the drivers side
& you finally forgave me,
things are gonna be okay.
squeezing my hand with reassurance,
as if our palms were lips,
as if this promise was sealed with a kiss.

We studied botany together
under a sprawling tree,
branches skimming the edges of the sky,
green fingers tugging at the tendrils
clouds seep down to earth
reminding the clouds when
they were lovers too, &
begin to forgive each other again,
cloud and branches pulling a comforter
over the sun, signing it to sleep.

we rise and you ride my shoulders
along the park’s central lake,
lilies strewn across the surface,
like tiny pearls displayed on blue satin.
then we waded through the lake,
your thighs pressing my neck,
your ankles, secure in my hands,
your soul safe from the treacherous algae
winding its way around my ankles,
slithering up my thighs,
trying to find a way into my heart.

We dried off in my dorm.
I hung up your water logged clothes
drench in the lake and we lay together
our bodies chanting to ward off cold.
you looked to me in the
shade drawn dusk of my room,
and said I still love you.

The shock of that,
woke me.

II
I woke up
in a marsh morphing into mattress.
I refused to lose you again,
Forced my body back to dreamland
to guide myself into
the world we made,
Where we went to college,
Where branches caress our cheeks
to bless our reunion
Where wading through water
meant slipping on smooth stones,
algae gripping at my thighs
stealing sips of my soul,
ankles bitten by cottonmouths
lurking in the bowels of the lake
slipping venom into my exposed veins
On your behalf,
Where all it took was my shoulders to repair us.

but you know you can’t step
in the same river twice.
the story began the same
a long drive to campus
through pines and palms,
arriving with my friend
dripping rubies from her arm.
then I caught a glimpse
Of a Cherry Slush
Garnet blush
pixie-cut.

I tried to lucid dream you home.
I followed a map.
Its dream cartography
Directed me to a library of maps,
even one from WWII.
Eventually it lead me to
forgotten friends,
dead relatives,
But never you.

One night,
I finally found you.
After saying Hello,
you evaporated like dew,
after the few hours
it visits in the morning,
Except you dissipated immediately
Stealing little droplets of life
From our tree, the clouds,
and finally myself.

So as sunlight trickles in from the midday sun,
and I hear the din of my grandmother
heating her small black coffee pot.
Now I know in the land of dreams, you are actually me.
I have to Wonder: is this how it feels to forgive myself?