All posts tagged: poems

Enchanted Rock

  It’s been difficult to find time to breath lately, so I haven’t had much of an opportunity to write very much at all. It’s been busy to say the least trying to find balance between work, school, etc.. and now Wojciech & I have finally opened our small business (more on this later… yay). I thought I’d be able to handle such a heavy work load, but I’m proving to be less intrepid than I had thought. I’ve been waking up before the sun just to get a full day’s work in (prep, work-work, housework…boring topic, I know.) Though I recognize that I’m lucky to be where I am in life, especially comparatively to others, it’s not without a struggle. But I digress. Spring has really sneaked (snuk?) up on us. The skies are swollen with storm clouds and the rain has helped all sorts of wildflowers pop their heads up along the highways and grassy billows. Mother Nature has certainly had her hands full brightly painting springtime here in Texas. Wojciech & I …

Dining Room in the Country

There is no wall between the landscape Parallel lines split clean passed Pastel symmetry divided by stucco walls, Vivid but barren The colors do not blur, but blend against the brush Geometry stilted against memory A lasting gaze A woman leans against the pane, Outside looking in. More feral at heart than the cats That’ve claimed her chairs. A wild thing, that tree plucked clean by pulpy hands Flesh happy to have picked flesh Now resting on a clothed table Until dusk inherits the red Resting against shoulders We can cover with our thumbs How has it happened that a piece can be held in your hands, possessed, purchased, & owned But never really known?

January 24th, 2016

My sister & I were born in winter in the dead month that rings in the new year. 25 today Is it true? did I let the youth slip between my fingers like water through porous stone? I can’t count the memories like I can years, can’t justify all the misplaced months stammering in and out of idleness. I could go back, content in following one clear path. Again, as a second calling. But that isn’t life. That wasn’t the hand I was dealt, or even the game that I gambled myself into. We have only one chance, ultimately, and though the faces that weave into that web are kind ones… I’m still left with the “what ifs…” They glow like the inside of a curtained window, offering  the possibility of warmth, but never enough to truly feel. I’m 25 today When did I spring up out of adolescence? When did that line form between my eyebrows, When did those dreams become displaced pangs of quiet nothingness Too cold to flicker into realities, too poignet …

Sleepless Burdens

Homeless man shaking a cup Can you imagine he was someone’s dream once? We’ve made a wasteland and call it peace, We’re malnutrition, but yet we feast, Keep on ice the bodies of the unclaimed deceased And remains in hushed increase By you and I, So they stack them four tombs high. Unidentified. Budget cuts. Children left to die. And they were someone’s dream once. We cut corners and call it tact We leach media and call it fact- Concrete and don’t turn back. And that homeless man shaking his cup, You’ve just learned not to look at. And those badlands are blinked as the beacon of “freedom.” & So people don’t dream anymore. They look and see cash on the shirts on their backs Sloth made simple And you slip through the crack Like a penny stepped on my single-soled Pride & the secrets they keep of those who’ve Suffered and sighed. But go buy a new dress because you’re slight of hand Of the Maker’s of a collapsing land threaded Together that tapestry …

Can’t Get Started…

I’ve been in a slump. Getting up before the sun would even think to rise. Brush my teeth. Go to work. I’m going through the motions, but I’m not getting anything done.  Maybe it’s because I’m afraid, or just ambivalent. I need to start writing it all down, but the words won’t come. I’m typing this now in hopes it will act as some sort of remedy. I’m uninspired precisely at the time it hurts me to be.  I’ll feel my hand gripping around the pen, ink will spill out, but the paper inevitably crumbles, again, into the discard bin.  I’m the type who stresses easy, whose hair is turning grey as my fingers run against the keyboard. Do you ever feel like an imposter in your own life? Like you’re faking yourself out? I look at the steps that I have taken and I can’t remember whose shoes I was wearing when I made them. I look at this reflection of a person, but she doesn’t look back. It’s hard to motivate myself to …

A Vague Transgression

Our last night The split in the blinds cast slitted shadows on your skin The moon leaks a pale blue into the Filtered air and kicks up into our lungs  Cat in the sink sleeps away this August heat It’s four a.m  Phone sounds the waking bell You kick the sheets that tie around your knees and go to brush your teeth I pinch the creases of my eyes to keep from crying  Tears seep inevitably between my fingers  Walk downstairs  Wait for the coffee to steep  ….wait a little longer than it usually takes, Trying to grasp the precious moments you’re  Still with me, wishing maybe You’d stay for breakfast Or an extra day, or week But you don’t falter on those plans you made We walk in somber silence into the humid morning, Dragging our feet across the pavement to your car Grab the handle, kiss and wave goodbye Your lights fade across the blacktop lot I march back with folded arms into our empty flat Crawl up the stairs, flick off the lights …

The Reasons Why I’m Leaving

Because I tried to wear another’s ring But it burned me Because I show her your picture everyday Because we picked out funeral plots And joked like the jokeWasn’t ours Because the smile on my face is feigned Because Annie’s too young to understand That she has your eyes Because the closet smells like tobacco and patchouli When I open the doors Because I hear you in my head laughing when I think of something funny Because I always seem to forget where I’m driving to Because she folds clothes onto Her paper dolls and walks them into the fire Because sadness is selfish And new shoes are expensive Because I spend my days in listless Envy for the end that came to you, but not to me. Because I’m nothing but a half-human, half-venlafaxine Drone standing on legs I had forgotten I had Keeping your grave decorated because It feels like home Because my fidelity wasn’t forced And now I can’t be free Because I spent 25 years Killing time, And now it’s killing …

Life, Death, & Hospital Dinners

There’s that smell                                  That pale green laughter That chokes your throat Translucent yellow walls Glowing under florescent lights That will cut you out of Tourniquets and into heaven. The woman with the chipped nails and Painted smile holds a tray filled With today’s fate: a slew of pale things Grey peas, stiff meat, and something they Call potatoes Ladled with orange petroleum And she says, enjoy And I thank her As such a courteous fool does Ted Bundy got steak And eggs before he died Could I have not made the same Request? When the mind turns to mush That’s all They care to feed you I proceed with futile attempts To stab at the peas of Government sympathy With something that is neither A spoon, nor a fork Enjoy, indeed. But here I sit, propped up by Starchy pillows not meant for rest The flowers on the table have turned Pungent, and the pictures of smiling People I no longer recognize Have abandoned me just as my mind Has them And I’m sure …

On Things Forgotten

Recoiled skies pass in reckless abandon The wind blows through the windows, Prickly pear and other thorny things sprouting limbs And creeping up the walls of this old sheriff’s office Remain the only living occupants. If walls could talk, they mightn’t choose to speak… We leave things hanging on hall trees, And mounted above mantles Small reminders that there was life inside at Some point. But the bones and blood Of these buildings runs cold, Until there is nothing but the Forlorn faith of somber cries From voices long underground. Ghost towns and old railyards mark the skin of This heartland, Long bleached from the sun and Rusted away from unfair weather. It’s a wonder what this place must’ve been Before time turned executioner, Before people picked up their shadows And blew away like rain-flit flames Struggling for a life that is no longer theirs. Now the frames wilt And weather away in rural decay, Things that once housed, fed, and warmed Now sink back into deformed Earth. Laughes do not echo off the walls, The …