will “they” say
the calm is what
killed her?
was the quiet lack
what turned the
blood to sludge
the brain to mush…
what turned
the girl to dust?
Sending poetry to the world
will “they” say
the calm is what
killed her?
was the quiet lack
what turned the
blood to sludge
the brain to mush…
what turned
the girl to dust?
only I
notice wind along the pink
sunset lining the clouds
only I
am audience to silver fish
dancing to the feel of dusk
only I
watch people’s legs walking
talking, so full of plans
only I
realize that silence is
beautiful in its impossiblity.
Only I.
went to my first Phish show (only about 15 years late). a beautiful night –
pyre of sound to
moon witness colors shine that
green music alive!
community speaks:
“second set sparkle! will you
be here tomorrow?”
http://phishthoughts.com/2010/06/27/progressive-phish/ for more on the show from someone who actually knows his stuff!
Brooklyn
Began with Stella, and then
Led on
Belgian beers,
Colombian food
Scattered conversation
To an off-chance
“come home with me?”
Shrugged off
Brooklyn again
Seducing
To a game of secrets,
To a brownie,
Smooshed in between fingers
Licked clean.
Led
Alone
Surprising tree-lined streets,
Streets busy, dark, still,
To a stone bench
In front of strangers-
They watched intently.
He turned to me,
With a question
But I to a black sedan,
“To another!”
To a bottle of Proseco
Off-speed dancing,
Gossiping
My eyes shining
Like Brooklyn’s reputation,
The borough asking
Persistently
Again, again, Come home with me?
when i hear
blue eyes crying in the rain
i hear my father
say that was his father’s
favorite song.
when i hear
how great thou art
i hear my father’s tears fall
at that first funeral
of my life – his mother’s.
when in between the silence
of a long long night
i hear a heavy sigh, a rustle
drops of salty tears,
“knowing we’ll never meet again.”
sometimes i look at pictures
and i study the faces to see
who has what nose
and who has
what smile
and
sometimes i look
just to say hi all you
relatives who
line my face with genes
and past choices
and
sometimes i look at pictures
to witness
how much has changed –
and
sometimes how little…
as if my face
was made in stone.
[AND btw… on a different topic, way to go team USA world cup soccer!!]
girls
ought to
live a certain way.
I have a book of etiquette
from 1928:
“bobbed hair does not
carry with it the privledge
of using
a comb in public.”
If I’m the woman
wearing diamonds to breakfast
I’m labeled
nouveau riche.
Check it out!! So excited and can’t wait to get my next piece to them. Great poetry on this site, and I’m very happy (and proud) to be a small part of it!!
http://www.everydaypoets.com/rolling-under-a-radio-tower-by-jody-costa/comment-page-1/#comment-6317
happy father’s day all of you out there, especially my own padre!!
today’s post an old post, but it fits today…..
Learning the Trade
along water, bricks
line a path until, whispers
hello soldiers gone.
[running to the Korean war memorial in Canton, MD]