Poet's Corner

Hey y’all! This is a collection of poetry that I’ve written, some recent and some older. Let me know what you think! J And, I'm sorry, but the blog keeps messing up the indentations and spacing, making my words/transitions harder to follow. It's a real bummer, but I hope that you can still get the feel I intended...

Ocean

Freedom in the epochs of the sea

once covering cliffs,

Now covering me.

Clear, crisp freedom!

sailing weightless

I’m a seagull here,

swooping.

Refreshed, subdued, elated am I.

freedom in the silt of history

Washing all around me:

dinosaur, fern, rock, bone.

This ocean was once the sky

a sky of deep ripples and undulations

Encompassing all of us in gentle

blue.

(untitled)

All the world’s poetry

if you pay attention.

Life’s impressions, stencils

vivid half-stamps.

Our laughter, lace

looping around that which should be forgotten.

Glances, gorgeous flickers of…

what?

Radiance.

Funnel

Emptiness coupled with overflow

The two thrash and write within my heart.

Endings, beginnings, patterns

that aren’t probably even there.

Hoping, praying, hoping, hoping.

You’re gone, gone, the one I love.

My disconnect from you unreal, too real.

Worrying, hating, worrying, worrying.

It’s right, it’s wrong

I miss you, I don’t want you,

All I want is you.

Y-O-U.

you.

me.

you & me.

Who is, who ever was, you?:

The one I loved, the one I love.

Love, love, love, change, accept. Harden.

Harden & accept.

Grow, shrink, shrink, grow

A piece of me gone, for the best, maybe so.

The frustration of never knowing what to make

Of this, too involved am I.

you you you me me me

you & me.

love love love. grow shrink

GROW

Louisiana

When I think of you, the first thing I see is sticks.

Mysterious, vertical sticks that pass for trees,

Lonely among the shallow swamp water.

Then, it's a padparadscha sunset,

the color of Sally Fields' grief.

Next, a rosy face with a warped nose,

laughter streaming off it like the sweat from the gumbo pot

and burning just as fiery.

Last, moss silently waving as the big, yellow moon

and the saxophone's crescendo rise.

I see you but I don't know you. You remain my enigmatic collection of beauties cast in stark relief.

Childhood

Lately, I've been seeing jacaranda leaves casting their oval shadows on my little arms.

I sigh and lean harder against the trunk, digging my feet in the sand,

Letting the sun burn my insides bright and warm.

I'm alone, except for the sun and the leaves and the sand. It's just us, safe.

Then there's the smell of green jello, or is it green uniforms?

Either way, one smelled like the other: synthetically emerald.

And my teacher, green too, an Irishwoman.

Her skin so thin I could see her mossy tired veins.

Surrounded with oxidized copper.

Missing the sun, missing the dunes.

Three homes in three years, interchangeable in appearance and in my love for them.

Dun colored stucco, matching the soil-less garden beds.

Petunias! Oh, petunias! Pushing through the sand, fuschia.

Houses that persisted to remain dark although the sun enveloped them:

Dark woodwork, thick blinds.

Designed more with office workers in mind than a family,

Indistinct and bland. But home nonetheless;

The office furniture of my past reduces me to tears of longing.

Burned grease married the grey cafeteria,

A fine, dismal couple.

Recess a cage I could not escape,

The green grass meant to be freedom

Instead presenting me with a crisp boredom.

Mask came down; thoughts surged and resurged and resurfaced.

A botched translator of children's speech

is what I became.

Looking at the white-gold smear left by a shooting star,

Nestling my head into the cool dip of the sand,

Thinking this would last

forever