50 posts tagged “poem”
Leaving has been here before.
She knows the lay of the land,
the turn of the river,
the slight of hand
that makes standing still
look like leaving.
it's so intense, she said
it bleeds.
08.06.09
the places where light
reminds of promises,
and softness brushes
the lovely bones
of your face.
We will stand
chest to chest
silent as midnight
letting hearts speak.
My lips, sea salted
will kiss you, there
under sunny skies
eyes wide with intention
knowing there is
only this, and you
my love.
You'll feel heard
when there is
nothing left for me
to say
If I take you on
and forget I have
a story too
and my story reads
so much like you
and if I don't resist
will you feel heard?
Will it move us forward
if I take you in
like a snakebite
to the heart
spitting out blood
with the
poison part
Will I survive
will you love
again?
will it save us
if you,
criticize me?
four walls
ceiling
floor
so limited
by before
this boxed in
story I tell
needs
a window
or door
In the midnight of remembering, I am wound, tight as a Lark
in a moonlit garden, fraught with Nicotina and Columbine, where
Memories are Breadcrumbs and trail back to the SweetSpot, which
we search for, hands dirty, on nocturnal knees.
Contemplation
wants to smoke
because
She cannot cry.
Or maybe, draw a blade
across her wrist;
for a relief less
personal
than tears.
'I need to act more
and think less'
she says,
exhaling.
I miss the family
we never had
and the one we try
to have but are
falling
short of
a happy ending
but not the family
which is drama
and tragedy
and comedies of
triangulations
and disarticulations -
the sort of story
a simple silver
wedding band
could never write,
alone
the sort where
a husband's tales
are lip
serviced lies
alibies and departures.
You know more about me than anyone. You are my world.
(Iris (2001) The young Iris Murdoch to John)
I miss
believing you
love me
best, for
knowing me
deepest. I
miss your
good intentions
but not
the hell
you pave
with them.
Your commitment
to mistaking
my I-dentity
is catastrophic
Hey, peekaboo,
you cover your eyes
but I still see. You
blame me every time blood runs
and there's a lot of blood letting
done, in the name of the Victim
the Saint, the Holy Son. You
blame me while you bleed me dry
Hey, Peekaboo,
You cover your eyes
but I still see you.
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