Quitting

She said she had quit

so she lit her last cigarette

on the electric stove,

having no matches

She said she had quit

so she pushed the last traces

of vodka and soda back through lips,

cracking and swollen

She said she had quit

so she ran the blade across her thigh

and pretended it was an accident,

shaving her long legs

She said she had quit

so she waited till he was gone

before using the harder shit,

floating away

She said she had quit

so she used an open palm

instead of a fist,

leaving no marks

The Dress

She only wore the it only once

then it hung in her closet

smelling sweet as smoke and champagne,

soft as curls in candlelight

In that dress, she was magic

Smooth as silk, lovely as lace

Daring as the plunging neckline

and high as her hemline

She woke to it crumpled by her bed,

touched it softly her a first love,

and layed it gently away, till on the hard days

she would open her closet, and breathed in the night

Wonderland

Alice like I obediently sip

from the Drink Me bottle I'm given
and suddenly breath fully
bursting out of the corset
strung tight with fear and expectation
And I've grown too tall or the door's too small
but now I find can blow down the wall
and freely run off the path to pick
the rarest flowers in the darkest shadows
for I am the only wolf in this forest.
So let the red queen come to take my head
I'll flash her a smile, not to disappear,
but to show what big teeth I have, my dear
and those who fear you are simply
one dimensional paper doll people
who paint lies on roses in fear
and never move past tea times and nursery rhymes
blowing life away in smokey rings of forgetting
so if I see a beanstalk, I'll climb it because
I've heard that there are giants in the sky
and perhaps I'll find a place above it all
where no one tries to stand on my shoulders
or steal my strength.

Here and Back Again, a Rose's Tale

I was gone too long. I'll try to post more regularly again- wish me luck, and sorry for the rust on my poetry!

Icarus
Child on wings
did no one tell you when
you had flown to high-
where the wind dared not follow
where the sky would no longer filled your wings?

Did you miss their words
as the clouds filled your ears
and people grew small as blades of grass-
their warnings too weak to battle the breezes
their words too frightened to follow your flight?

Would you have listened
if you happened to hear
could you have stopped yourself-
foregoing the tempting taste of beyond
leaving untouched what was just beyond reach?

As you fell did you hear them
screaming your name in the night
reaching out,as if to catch-
your burning body, your blazing soul,
gone again, beyond the reach of mortal man?  

Child on wings
did no one tell you when
you had flown to high-
where the wind dared not follow
where the sky would no longer filled your wings?

Word of the month, window to the soul

This month was rather dramatic.  My dad, who I have a word of the month poetry exchange with, nearly died.  In fact, he should be dead according to the doctors- but he isn't.  Despite 2 weeks in the hospital, one of them so out he can't remember it, my dad finished his poem on time.  Now here's mine- only just squeaking in.  I really like this, I hope you do to!  (there may be more tinkering later, of course!)

Eyes


In your eyes, like mountain skies
and midnight lakes when the old moon dies
as lashes lift, between their bars
glow the radiant evening stars

And in between the galaxies
sits a girl by a wild oak tree
old dreams blow through dark brown hair
over fields of green, that surround them there

Dancing through the autumn breeze
fly warm summer's memories
turning over, tumbling round-
within the witching wind I found:

A silver sliver of a laughing child
the tears of a willow, a heart beguiled
a tangle of words left unsaid
boat sails a'billow, a story re-read

Above the wind, the girl, the tree
the stars multiplied in mad revelry
when burning light they meet the sun-
they paused and stopped time's rampant run

Your eyes, so wide, so full, so free
with one look have halted me
and though time may resume it's run
your stars will ever be chased by my sun.

Short and Salty?

So these are all short and more impressions than weighty meaty things.  But some of them feel heavy anyway.  As always- let me know what you think :)


Forest Fire

The forest is blazing
in swaths of blood and gold
the glowing embers glint
sizzling through violent winds
and soon only the silhouettes
of the Ash trees will survive,
smoldering into the cold night.

Sunrise
How did you come from the dark abyss,
how did you rise from the gloom?
Did the cloud shrouded stars
birth golden rays
with which to hide the moon?

How did you come from the empty spaces,
how did you rise from the cold?
Did the yawning chasm
shut with a snap
that sparked the fiery noon?

Morning
The sun rose slowly over her, sleeping-
Hair full of chlorine and adventures
Lips trembling with heights and hopes
And when her eyes opened, slowly
They shone with the light of a star,
Fallen on seas shimmering with ice and laughter.

Amber
Words drip slowly over moments
capturing beauty, banishing breath
preserving fragile husks of instants
lost in the long walk of time

Loneliness
We are never less alone than in loneliness
when the collective consciousness
presses it's hands to our hearts
and we gasp at the multitudinous solitude,
our isolation multiplied by the thousand single faces
that look out, together, at the world- on our own.

Manners
Hope is the human condition-
when you loose it,
politely excuse yourself
from the room.

I put on my best, and I stick out my chest, and I'm off to the races again!

And here are more poems!
I like them all (mostly)!
Possibly I am overconfident, but inspiration struck way more than lightning.  And luckily, less painfully.


Perhaps
I began, perhaps,
to love you
to hold you in my heart
closer than a thought
to let my mind marvel
over (maybe)
you, looking at me-
looking for me
only, across a room
crowded with
curves and smiles for you
that you didn't notice
because your eyes were full
of me.

I began to hope,
perhaps,
that someday I would
stop wondering
and start walking towards
you looking
not maybe, but surely
at me-
move away from
across
and toward near
and hold you in my heart
closer than air
in my lungs.


Paper Doll
I am not this collection of
worn pasts and
hopeful futures
you try to press on me
like a paper doll-
fitting, from memories,
ill made costumes
that even in your dreaming eyes
only hang loosely from my
thin shoulders.

I am not a play thing,
I have grown beyond
dolls and dress-ups
and into something quite new-
you are angry
not at me, but at the cardboard cut out
you hold up in front of my
flesh and blood self
so that you don't have to find out
what I have become.

Momma,
put away your fears
pack them away with the paper dresses
because I am something you began-
the fulfillment of a prayer
you made years ago
that you didn't really understand-
look at me standing, not propped up by
other hands, but standing
on my own, cutting carefully
my own patterns out of life
sturdy and free.

I will never be torn by careless hands
or tossed away into the wind.


Rose
The truest part of a rose
is the thorn.

The soft, purring petals
that lure
the thick, waltzing scent
that beckons
the eloquent, opulent colors
that enchant.

Soft, fragrant, lush
charming, disarming
in a word: breathtaking
Helen, Juliet,Venus
passion, innocence, love
every desire held
in one sweet symbol.

But, the true soul of the rose
is its' thorn.

Victory
Victory came late.
At sunset, beneath star shadows
emerging slowly from ebbing embers
of monumental blazes
she stepped forward, head high
white arms raised to salute the champion.

He had already fallen.
feet framed in flames,
roses of blood wreathing his body
his eyes staring upwards, hands clasping his sword
in one last prayer for Victory,
who came late to his battle.


Daisy

holding only today
only this moment
breathing only now-
one instant
is all
the daisy
carries
in
her
soul.