Author: poetryfest

Oh God, how damned polite we are,
the family’s gathered here,
my father and his wife and kids,
his, hers and theirs to cheer.
My wedding day planned for so long
has come, we’ll celebrate
if we can last the day without
mom bashing in dad’s pate.
Dad’s rug-rats are uncivilized,
one stomped on Mom’s new shoe,
she tripped the brat into the cake,
wife 2 said she would sue.
Mom’s “friend” rushed up and tried to help,
he thought he’d calm things down,
but Dad misunderstood and wham,
he decked the pompous clown.
Mom’s kith and kin began to punch
on Dad’s related crew,
Dad’s side stood firm and held their own,
what else were they to do?
My groom and I took in the scene,
we knew there was no hope,
we changed our clothes and called a cab,
solution: Lets elope!

Tell me about yourself, mockingbird
Your grand mimicry is all I’ve heard
I want to know your truth of being
No more lies, told with eyes gleaming

I’ll admit, your command is impressive
Though, in masking truth, it feels repressive
Why not puff your chest, fiercely caw like a raven?
Tell me, bird, are you truly so craven?

I don’t pity you, not truly
I fear the parts of you in which I see
A mirror held in my direction
Hidden away, afraid of affection.

Tell me now, mockingbird
Tell me, have you heard?
The voice in your heart can speak loud
Let it free like sunlight through a cloud.

twice today
ever so empty evacuations
thoughts so wonderful wild worth waiting
skin soft as fiery embers
burning cayenne turmeric ginger
load centered
inner visions with seeds planted
that I nurture
she buds and blossoms
burgeons in my soul
I love her petals and roots
the chlorophyl in her limbs or stems
bulbs or eyes like gems
when mine close I miss them
if ever hovered over you
i’m just imitating a watering can
your soil is warm and electric
I want to be shocked
for an unspecified amount of hours
by a wild flower

I
Imagine me
Imagining you
Waiting
Not
Long
But patiently
For me
To walk in
Just to wonder if I’m
The reason
For your smile

For you-
Coiled in my stomach.
Coating my ribs.
Crammed in my chest.

For your hands-
tanned, callused
blood warmed
Rough, desert ground.

How they hold,
the book you picked up,
gentle and just lightly
enough.

For my name-
in your mouth,
a prayer.

For your eyes-
evergreen pines.

How you look,
at me
rich and deep and
Dark warm.

For your voice-
soft,
summer evening rain.

Love
like an ocean—
waves in coils, then breaking
into blissful foam.

Golden Shovel (Camus; Myth of Sisyphus): “At any street corner, the feeling of absurdity can strike a man in the face.”

It was midnight summer July, at
that bustling red-light street where you could find any
pleasure you’d like. On the quietest part of the street,
there stood a caped man standing in a corner.
He secluded himself as he climbed the ladder onto the
tallest building on the block. He caught a feeling
of sudden urge to dance, so he danced on the edge of
the roof on that building. The action’s absurdity
caused crowds to gather and cheer. He kicked a can
down and it hit a prostitute on the head, the strike
knocked her wig off. Then, on the balcony, out came a
pastor who started shouting above him, to the man
saying not to jump, as he was young. The crowd joined in.
Confused, the caped man asked why everyone on the
street attended to him so. Then, he jumped, landing on his face

You drank black water until your liver
burst. You lay slime green in your hearse,
after two weeks. Tart tears slip from my eyes,
stinging my cheeks that sigh relief
from your tobacco-infected lips. You dug
a grave of wrath and pride. I saw you last

before you expired alone. We were together
two days beforehand. We ate grocery store
fried chicken at nine in the morning. I wanted
Subway, and you insisted on Trini and Carmi’s
for a supreme nacho bathed in cheese and artery
blockage. The October air wasn’t as cold

as your tone when you tried to discipline me.
Hooking up your box television with no cable.
How dare you! You didn’t have Disney, Nickel-
odeon, or Cartoon Network. I didn’t want to watch
“Family Feud” with you because that wasn’t
our thing. Our thing was meeting at the police

station twice a week. Tuesdays after a long day
of fifth grade. Saturdays at the crack of dawn
till after dark. Our thing was waiting on you
because you showed up whenever you wanted,
for the havoc you initiated. You demanded power
through hatred and destruction.

I started missing you.

I started missing you
when I arrived home,
when I drove alone on a toll road
New Year’s Eve,
when you escorted me
in your robe in the chilly night,
when my lips embraced your ivory cheek
pressed together
like two hands reaching for midnight
in the moonlight.

I started missing you.

Agony simmered in my sullen eyes,
lost to heartbreak with a major surprise.
I couldn’t believe this with all your lies;
you brought me to my condemning demise.

And yet you swore to me that it was mine,
but I knew you had been with other guys.
So I poured from a tall bottle of wine
and drained it in the sink during sunrise.

It was the same wine we shared our first time,
but now the bottle is empty and so is my life.
What you have done to me should be a crime.
I was going to make you my dear wife.

How did I not see you were a disease?
Now I sit alone riddled with unease.