in between the stanzas that is where you fit fingers caress keys and i drift inside the melodies that make up you and it is too much baring the weight of this desire against the despair that held me captive only yesterday its so complicated wanting to want and needing the need of this thing growing inside of me to go a way but there…
Tag: poetry
when revolution is your only option
the end may justify the means as long as there is something that justifies the end. there are no words only deep longing silences that cover us each in sorrow and regret in my mind images twist and twirl leaving me breathless of times that never were but still feel real in my hand i…
divorce, a work
there are sadnesses here full bellied heavy they drag the ground holding me in places departed decades ago unsheathed sorrow runs into the very pores of things requiring oxygen’s exhalation and i find clogging where flowers once bloomed with abandon joys abound in laughing sounds heard across thresholds he is singing and a random beat…
love, indeed: a birthday poem for langston
he is small but in a very big way his feet the size of your average 7 year old never mind that he won’t be five for 2 more days he has taught me more about me than i could have learned in a classroom full of memoir biography and ancestral maps my head a…
Life Stand Still Here, Mrs. Ramsay said. (Virginia Woolf has always been a friend of mind.)
time muffles and mutes many things… the brilliance of diamonds the surprise of a first kiss when held to the test all dim and fade u hold on to the shadows of memories laughter drifting on waves whispered passions a hand held too tight unbelievably such things diminish the thought of them slip through finger tips…
destiny unknown
humility triggers internal swells. starlight cracks and flickers in the night. chains grittle and spray. blood and bones paint the way. gravity claims the tawdry refrain. planted starboard she relishes the sight. –prompt borrowed from sundaywhirl.wordpress.com
untitled i
its in the birth of an ending and the death of a beginning a slap issued a cry that’s stifled these are the things we cannot undo the things that leave us undone a hand that never enfolds an i that doesn’t conclude with sorry it is a love that was never truly found or…
a writer comes of age
…it means you are a slave to the words bursting forth from your mind… 7 years old / what do you want to be when you grow up, he asked me. a writer, i answered. 8 years old / i sit for hours my legs cross eagle and numb, pencil in hand diligently scribbling on…
Invitation
i. mommy play with me, the edict yelled from backyards kitchen floors and single paned windows. ii. mommy play with me, a modest request, summons to frolic and for one moment remember again what it is like to be swept away in a hurricane of joy. iii. mommy come play with me often meets not nows followed by…
fearfree living 