May 17, 2011 at 7:30 pm (Poetry)
Tags: 2011, childhood, dreams, family, future, memoir, Poetry
When they set an assortment
of trinkets in front of me
meant to determine my future,
my parents expressed joy
when I picked up a
thin, black ink pen.
She’ll be a doctor,
writing prescriptions
to the sick and the needy,
they thought and hoped
for years and years…
the poor things.
I write off no help,
advice or medicine,
no psychotropic this
or cardiovascular that
to help anyone at all,
anyone but myself.
March 29, 2011 at 6:15 am (Poetry)
Tags: 2011, death, dreams, fear, hope, life, Poetry
On waking, the vapors I call
dreams smudge a reality
to which I am far too accustomed.
Grasping in this half-blue
darkness, I want to remember
something new, and just that,
because while I call them dreams,
they are little more than subtle
nightmares, night stallions, night whores.
My mind conjures fears and doubts
I never knew I feared or doubted:
dripping water, open curtains.
I pull at them anyway because
the sun rises by the ticking
of my oldest father,
and I have so little, so little
before my toes reacquaint themselves
with gelid strains of earth.
Give me something new, please.
I reach and reach, and I find
nothing.
March 8, 2011 at 10:50 pm (Poetry)
Tags: 2011, character study, dreams, life, love, slice of life
My thoughts reach
out in the sifted dawn-
light for you and I both
dread and wish to see
the curve of your ear,
the rise and
fall of your chest.
What lies
underneath the sheets?
Aren’t you scared?
How it beats so
like a drum as you wander
through worn dreams…
It hurts, doesn’t it?
I lean against the wall,
listen as you push
away the covers and
rise. You sing so soft,
a nightingale anew—
I hope so much that I fall
asleep to your cries.
February 27, 2011 at 4:47 pm (Poetry)
Tags: 2011, anger, change, dreams, Poetry, protest, response, society
Take out the parchment rolls,
splattered with iridescent lace
patterns telling history invisible
to those blind with blots
invoked by Privilege.
It radiates with age and yet
we can feel the pulsing of
the threads underneath:
WEWANTTRUTHAND
BLISSANDWEWANTREVO–
Hush! Not so loud!
They’ll hear, hear and
not listen. Remain
silent, under the eye
of the storm.
No, for now, write your name
here by mine, glittering
with night-shed tears
and all our thirsty dreams.
We strike at dawn.
February 14, 2011 at 8:22 pm (Poetry)
Tags: 2011, dreams, experimental
Up the intake of comet glitter,
cut back on the static
white noise you keep in a jar.
Do a line of powder
snow while you’re at it.
Doctor’s orders, follow them well,
because your bones look more like
toenail clippings, newspaper
headlines or the frosted
skimming of winter milk.
Your voice has left you.
We’re out of splints for that.
Chords can only be mended
so many times with just thread
bare recklessness.
Prognosis seems bright
however, as long as the day
continues. We will send you
whispers, wisps of fairy sprouts.
Take care, love, take air.
