U-Turn

Corner store cashing
empty shell
passing swell
heartbreak and empty
create reentry
please don’t lick my wreck
nor quench my flame
to sink
for you were my drink

floozy drama dozer
bitter bummer
sugar sucker
forgot to fuck her
prey the sky down
flown, but not flounder,
go faster,
the sound
or you wont outlast her

parish wink communion
community, please.
my sin,
don’t know it
drop my place holder
into the collection plate
too late
not related
by dollars inebriated.

mixed signal mama
honey sweet
sour stomach
give as I get
not learned just yet
that it hurts just a bit
to get
halfway, yet
have to turn back.

***

dVerse Poets, Open Link Night!

The Forever Hunt

I hunted down Forever
methodically, the importance of my quest,
ramming brush and prickling plants, I plunged.
I knew the search would be deep.
 
On catechising the scientists,
what does Forever look like?
There was head scratching, they pulled out reports and charts, I balked.
I knew their dope was deadwood.
 
A missing persons report,
there was one, requested document, so I might
collar a glimpse of what I foraged for. I fell.
I knew then, Forever had set a trap.
 
There was echoing bleats in the jungle
and a circular zephyr around my limbs
and repeated sobbish voices, “No more, no more, no more time…”
and I left my calling card at the base
            of the coveted tree.
 
All manners of weapons, donated as I pulled myself up and
pursued the infamous beast,
Forever was limping once fired upon, and
leaving a trail of blood, both rainbow and black
in the canopy crusted light.
 
Huzzah, leave me be, Selah, I will be.
The last word, the definitionless word…
 
Forever turns a cold cheek to my reaching hand,
raking nails, weakly lassoes and romping ropes,
just glance its skin, its cold exoskeleton, its endless,
partless legs and tusk.
 
Who shall romance you, Forever? Is that why you flee,
squinting to find love, endlessly, like stupid creatures,
an ancient fight. I came to find you, light and weary,
lying and crying and dying to try.
 
But I should not have caught you. like a virus,
you rip me asunder, leave me keeled and quieted,
shelled and dispirited.
 
Too much texture, punk persuaded to a bad sale,
a rotten seed. once planted, you believed in defeat,
welcomed the spear,drank from the poisoned cup.
 
Now, you are my burden, tossed and sacked over my shoulder.
My kill, dripping from the ripping I gave you and saved you from,
for Forever, the headless mob,
the heedless savages believe you to be
the potion, the blessing, the miracle.
 
and in triumph will I come round again, to the village,
the gateway to a world once wearily trudging,
given no finish line, no end divine.
No end and no home but now
 
the death throes of Forever
witnessed hard as rock, the parting of the vapor
and once such suffice is risen and flown

it will be good to be home again.

***

For Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub…

I Still Miss Someone

I still miss someone. That’s what it boils down to it, doesn’t it? He even gave me a different kind of sorrow, perfectly middle of the road and tolerable, but lingering. I can’t take a picture to save my life. And people keep asking me what’s wrong. You’re so quiet. Something’s wrong, I can tell.

I still miss someone. And it’s not going away anytime soon. I am not his any longer. I am not anyone’s. I am back to a free float. All that panic and sadness I avoided by remembering whose I was, it’s gone now. Because I’m no longer his. And people say, what do you mean, you want to be owned, you don’t want to be your own, all this creepy daddy stuff…

I still miss someone. Someone sweet and faultful. Someone real and gentle. Someone generous with their heart and fearful for their life. Someone so handsome in my eyes, I get a lump in my throat and my heart races, the billow of his shirt, the coy smile. Someone so strong, the words never hurt, the truth was so acceptable, the pill one to swallow after all.

I still miss someone. And I don’t want to be my own. I don’t want to be alone.

 

He Does Still

I
Love
Being
Dreamt about
More than anything
I know I am still in his dreams

The Iron Conclusion

Glad I said the
strong things
when I had the guts

Fissure

Were you just
waiting for my anger
(lashes)
among the daffodils?

Non-Matter

Just keep returning
To that
Particular
Out thought
Why you had me
Was destruction.

Off Your Shoulders

At the very least
I hope
Its a sad kind of free

Thoughts On Losing

It’s been a long time that I’ve been reading blogs. Less long that I have been commenting on them, and even less time have I had my own. It’s been a curious ride. Ragged, hurtful, happy, and euphoric.

I lost my community a bit ago and my writing has suffered. I’m sick of losing people. It makes me want to pull inside myself and never come out. What did I do? I was myself I guess and the plain old odds are that the person I am is going to rub some people on the planet the wrong way. It’s amazing how often I find them.

Big Daddy, the GentleMan is gone. The Sometimes Man is gone. The southern man I referred to as Darlin’ is gone. The QuietMan is gone. The teacher I referenced by the tag the Gray Side is gone. Marian is gone too.

So what have we learned? What have I learned? That there are people who will stay, no matter what. That I am worth people staying. That I should have confidence and love myself and I am an excellent writer. Big Daddy had a lot to do with those lessons, but I had to believe them myself. And I do.

I’m scared for my words. They don’t seem to be there anymore. The ideas, the passion, the constant need to write. I go days, sometimes weeks now without writing. And above all those people, I always had the blog and my words. But now…

Perhaps that’s why I feel their loss so much more profoundly. The blog isn’t there to hide the loss. 

I feel a little bit like a nobody. And that’s ok. Because I am somebody in a much smaller sense. With my beautiful girls, my husband, any future relationships I may have.  Can I be so ambivalent?

I don’t know. I feel tired.

I miss you.

You know who you are.

Take Her Back

The young girl wouldn’t.
No, she wouldn’t put
an expiration date on
such an olive branch.
 
Delicately extended.
Sinuously inscribed.
Simplicity her guide.
To losing her pride
on this jalopy run.
 
Though she may look obsessive, like a young eager one.
 
But she pines for her,
misses the devotedness and the galvanization.
(She didn’t even ken of a muse until her.)
And a young girl notes her,
 
the woman, older and watchful
Of her, a young girl and her unwieldy thoughts and her
unexplained desires but
 
The older woman cannot demystify
them, nor can she keep her troth, no.
And the eldest held the truth to herself,
it is alright to break such a
 
vow to protect her family.
Character is built on such promises
and not a propensity to run away.
To challenge herself
to remain the heart throb vanity.
 
What of the young girl who was
 
only a distraction,
now lingers and listens at a
partially cracked door
 
willing to ignore jealous thoughts
of bitter hatred and anger.
For the goodness of the memories,
the empowerment of the memories.
 
For the goodness of love and the
empowerment of desire.
Birds scatter
with the youngest to shatter
 
Because the older woman’s poems are about flying
And the younger woman’s are about falling.