Tag: poetry
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Our Lady of Needless Tears
she weeps night after night into cupped handsbecause she never learned how to pray, hersadness and misery have an authorwhose name she refuses to think or speakswearing “I’ve moved on” or “I’m in a new,a different, chapter of my life now.” Thismorning she swore to her well-meaning sistershe would start mass next week, but she’s…
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Edward and Lisel
today I’m stealing poems from LiselMueller’s Alive Together. my copyriddled with small book marks: six neon greensticky flags and one hunter orange, onereceipt dated 2004 from Barnes& Noble, and two rogue Yahtzee score sheets,completed without dates. Thirteen pagesare dog-eared. Rare as it is, I have scrawledmarginalia alongside several poems.I recall now that it was Lisel…
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Of Death She Stays Aloof
she always was an odd child, fascinatedwith death and dying despite her shelteredlife early on and into adulthood;never lost a friend or close familymember to it, not even so much, orlittle, as a pet goldfish; she had nouse for dead things, things she said were merelydiscarded clothes, the truth of life beingsomething merely disguised by…
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Satori Zhatahz
got this livin-in-the-now thing goingon now, he says, though the haunt in his eyesbelies the now; somewhere on the road tosatori we met at a bright crossroadsof seeking, which is really something forparallel paths. we sat to center andfollow our breath — he his way, and me mine. my breath moving outward, I trail behindto…
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Assets
in a boat along the shallows of a drunkenmoonless night and you call to me from beneaththe lamplight, trollop in a ragged dress low-cut to showcase healthy plentitudesof cleavage, a bosom for all to relish—for a price, and as it should be. The worldwas always about commerce. Life is theeconomy of heartbeats, breaths, meals, trysts,and…
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Aubade
We all want to be beautiful, Liza beneath some argent moon in her fullness, at daybreak with its pink-lined clouds and sky pure as mountain springs, bright as topaz and us waking from dreams of golden streets . . . Liza, paradise is deep within, resides here within the placid soul, the restful mind. Each…
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Breakdown
you’ve lost all hope of reason, she says. her hypodermic is that for which I came. what the fuck ever happened to refuges, to the sanitaria of yesteryear? I need a peaceful stroll upon a lawn unwired and without the green threat of work, the soft voice of a sympathetic soul. my dreams are meaningless…
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Written in 2012 about This Current Year
LITTLE APOCALYPSEit’s the end of the world, the end of time,the end of all things, the prophet tells us.but there’s never a calendar entryto guide us, just the vague hint of “in yourlifetime”. all we thought was holy will berevealed as lies of the Adversary.fire and mayhem, disease and flood . . . it’salways the…
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Poems are Like This
he was something special “back in the day”;she still writes sonnets of/to him, though he’s deadto her these three years; one has to wonderif it’s dedication, obsession, orperhaps merely her addiction aspoetess; in the end – does it reallymatter if the poem is to or foror about anyone in particular? some say one way, some…
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The Poetess
younger, she wrote of transcendence beyondthe body, of ecstasies grander thanwhat the flesh can offer; she wrote ofexperiences so wholly spiritualnothing might compare. such were her metaphorsmany considered sublime . . . with age and lifeexperience, her poetry turned moretoward the body, the thrill of nerves touched byhands of her true love; later, the bodilylonging…
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