Mar 28
poem 0 comments challenge: CJP-Five

5 Facts about myself I discovered recently in the age of the pandemic

Mar 27

The poet, the baker and the miracle

The poet wakes up in her apartment across the street from mine. She sleeps with the windows open and with a yellow comforter. Don't ask me how I know. In the mornings the poet sips coffee, sits on her sill and looks out over her city. The following includes much uplifting and soaring of spirits. The poet's clothes seem to quit and retire to the skies were they fly away like birds. She used to tell me writing naked was her only refuge. She used to tell me lots of things. For that moment her body was made of light, shining in the new york city sunrise. Her dreadlocks spilling over her shoulders like honey. She still writes it but her smile doesn't bother to come in her home and the light doesn't hang on her like needy children anymore. The only children she said she would ever have. The poet hates hats and roses. She drinks coffee with more cream than bean. She can't bake for the life of her. I used to cook for her. She loved chocolate chip cookies.
Mar 26
poem 0 comments challenge: Haiku

haiku

Mar 25

My Eyes

My eyes are not yours to look into eternally.
My eyes are not yours to be be used at my expense.
My eyes will not help you see through your own blurry eyes.
My eyes will not look at you just because you look at me.

You can call them a mirror, a drug, something to forget with.
They'll make you an addict to the ocean.
My daughters of the sea, inset inside me.
Coming home after curfew, what impulses have you installed in them?

My eyes will not be tolerating your drooling and stares.
My eyes are not a big enough part of me to make me love you.
My eyes may look at you but that doesn't mean you own them.
I've been told blue is a regretful color.
and indeed many regrets lurk beneath my smiles and lashes
but my blue is not one of them.
 
Mar 25

challenge idea

One Last Day
You have one last day on earth, tomorrow your region is being relocated to a space colony on mars. You may not see your friends again, you have to leave your pets and most of your possessions, what is one thing you would take? How would you spend your last day on earth?
Mar 25

What I mean when I say I miss you

When I say I miss you,
what I'm really saying is that I lie awake at night,
listening to my heart write poems for you.
When I say I miss you,
what I really mean is that I still feel your hand in mine,
alone, in the dark, in the cold March night.
When I say I miss you,
what I'm really saying is that I cry myself to sleep,
because I don't know when I'll see you again, if ever.
When I say I miss you,
my mouth isn't lying but it's not confessing the truth either,
but then again there aren't words to describe my missing.
I'm a poet, you know that, but that doesn't
mean I have words for everything, that I have words for you.
I miss you but what I'm really saying is that
if there were but an ocean between us, I would swim it.
If there were but a chasm separating us, I would outstretch the wings
I feel like flying with when I'm around you, and soar over it.
Mar 24

Oceansparks

Mar 24

The Slaughter Star

Alice picked up her little brother and tucked him into the fold of her hip that had only just begun to blossom last year. Nico wound his small hand in her dark, golden curls that fell down to her mid shoulder. His chubby three year old body leaning into her expanding chest. Alice took one last look at the old decrepit graveyard, it looked almost beautiful, shining in the sunset. All the same, she clutched Nico to her chest and felt bursts of regret for the dead, even though she knew no dead slept beneath these headstones. She heard Liam from down the road, calling her name. Alice turned, not bothering to tie her shoe laces, if not for perfection, for safety... she was too consumed with the slip of paper burning holes in her pocket. Their older brother, Liam, was closer now, Alice hurried to catch up with him. “Alice, mum's waiting for us!” Alice walked faster. “Coming” she cried.
Mar 20

Pebble Drop

Drop the dance beat
carry your heart upon your marred white sleeve

Blood chides the cold

I listen to birds
I don't listen to birds
I hear the birds whether I want to or not

Turn the soil
breathe
in this new time

Center of the floor
pebbles swept under rugs
time swept under pebbles
pebbles up on time

Baby water choked on smoke
does not breathe with the birds
 
Mar 17

Remake Ashes

With the ground uncovered
comes forgotten items.
We haul them out
with our rusting blue wheelbarrow.
He squeaks plaintively
asking for one moment to oil
his husky joints.
Thaw and relive.

We burn things.

Ashy memories float in the air,
hung between us with the strings
we used to finger knitting each other scarfs.
Pieces of my past drift in the place
between my lungs and yours.
Forming smoke clouds,
that look like the first time we held hands,
locked in the back of my garage, in the cold night.

We forgive.

Hands find each other again,
no fire could cool the water spilling
from eyes, hearts, lungs.
Forgive, apologize for fire.
Apologize for coals.
Apologize for ashes.

Now remake the ashes.
 

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