first, the sky before my eyes unfurls
a vast, boundless silver canopy,
spreading further along the line of sight,
covering the fields beneath my feet,
and the forested hills that lie beyond.
the land, which had been
as still as a sleeping creature,
is the first to wake, slowly shaking off
the last lingering drowsiness
that accumulated through the night.
right after, amber sunlight breaks through
the clouds, spilling into the expanses of woods,
settling on the calm lake surface,
and spreading over the fields
and grain plots in the mountain hollow.
a pair of hands holds a farm tool steadily,
turning over clods of dark, fertile soil from the field;
every clod brim with the nutrients
that can grow strong, thriving crops.
when sowing seeds, everyone carries...
a steady, earnest wish, gently
tucking the seeds wrapped in hope
into the freshly turned soil.
in the long stretch of days that follow,
someone tends to this field at all times,
devoting wholehearted care to
every single seedling, putting in
full effort working in the fields each day,
watching over the crops’ roots
as they dig into the ear.
I write poetry like i make love
The mood comes to swing
And my pen start digging
Emotions are purged
But first
My skin is aware of how poetry has taken a hold of me
So sometimes i think it's charm
I breath
I exhale
I feel love
And start spilling inks on dangerous papers
The mood is constant
And my pen is always ready to dig
I mean dig into thoughts
I write poetry like i make love
I swing a lot in my emotions
And scribble roughly
Sometimes it's more than that
In the lone sadness of an empty bed,
My mind cannot stop dreaming about you,
And the all pleasant things I wish I said,
But never had it in me to follow through.
You have always been the love of my life.
The beautiful woman who made me shine.
The world without you is a world of strife.
I sparkled like a star when you were mine.
My love for you burns like a yellow flame.
The warmth of your body makes the skies glow.
The twinkle in your eyes set Heavens ablaze.
From the depths of my heart, I want you to know…
I will dig into dirt below the Earth’s crust
And bring Galaxies of golden stardust.
I ready my mark
Put my fingers just before the line
On your marks, the referee shouts
A bead of sweat drips down my face
Boiling the skin it touches
Leaving a moist trail behind it
Curls around my chin
Hanging in suspense
But it can't support its own weight
It falls
Falls in slow motion
It hits the track
Instantly evaporated against the track
The blank fires
My legs shoot forward
With each stride, my shoes dig into the rubber
I see the finish line
The lactate hits hard
My breathing is ragged and coarse
I can't give up now
My eyes go black
My brain shuts off
I wake up with rub burns on my face
But I finished first
Victory is mine
An angel brought the kiss of death
With the scent of decay heavy on her breath
Hair strands like razor blades
Cutting deep into my flesh I began to fade
Heart palpitations made me panic
As the illusions in her eyes made me manic
The curse of her black magic
Brings death and despair so tragic
Her lips are carmine red
Painted with the blood of the dead
I could have set her on fire
But I'm a slave to my own desire
Her claws dig into my chest bringing pain
Covering the floor in sin and stain
Our muffled breaths are brawling
As my will to live keeps falling
Brought down to my knees
Broken and beaten I plead...please
But an angel brought the kiss of death
With the scent of decay heavy on her breath
Revelations tell of a sobering time.? Nay mournfull indeed, of which i here rhyme.
A dragon tail sweeping down stars?
Rumor war earthquakes both near and
far' as the anti-christ; the beast; the false
Prophet too, will be locked in battle with me and you.' Fire called down yet un-holy
My mind returns, unto Laheina the way it
Burned.' The mysterious actions of those
In charge, if you think it'll be easy for us
Let me mark your cards.' No life without
Victory, no victory outside of Christ, hold
The line dig into the Bible, before the last
Trumpets blast.!
it’s 12 again
i find my bare arms pressed up against the hard mirror/shower door
it lives a double life
my breath fogs up the glass
it keeps me warm
razor-like metal dig into my fingers as i grip the tweezers
it’s ironic how something so sharp can bring such comfort.
i stare at the inky dot right above the thicket of hair i call my eyebrow
only visible to the scrutinizing eye inches away
the painted lady on the surface of that unyielding metal smiles at me
i do not notice.
her unforgiving claws disguised as the honed tweezer tips stab into the flesh surrounding that jet-black dot
doing all she can to extract the imperfection
and when she finally succeeds
and the uprooted dot reveals its true identity as a helpless strand of hair
whose only crime was its misfortunate growth
i feel no remorse — rather, relief —
only the twinge of pain
and another lasting scarlet scab
right above my eyebrow
reminds me of the wave of shame soon to come
i soon forget
as i spot another dot
desiring to reignite my ritual of comfort.
Dust flies as cleats dig into the chalk line.
The crowd roars under the harsh stadium lights.
We love this game because it slows down time.
Every pitch is a fresh chance to rewrite the story.
It is the smell of fresh cut grass and hot dogs.
It is the radio broadcasting on a warm summer night.
It is fathers and kids sharing the same worn glove.
We stay through the heartbreaking losses just for this.
There is no clock ticking down to force the end.
Just nine innings of pure hope and second chances.
A perfect swing sends the ball deep into the bleachers.
At this time, everyone forgets their troubles and cheers.
Does Grief hold onto me
Or do I cling to it?
Do I dig into
The depths of its skin
Until this feeling sits
Like blood beneath my naills
Because it is the last thing
On this Earth
Left for me?
Do I lock myself
Alone in the cage
With Grief
Because it may be
All I have left
To remember you by?
Do I fear
That releasing Grief
Into the wild
Will mean letting go of you;
The goodbye I never got
Retreating before my eyes
In exchange for its freedom?
Do I fear that
Letting go of Grief
Is some indication
That there is no longer place
In my heart for you,
That I must give up room
For others?
Do I consume Grief
In all its grimy glory
In the hopes it will
Still bring me gifts of you
Against its better judgement
Or will?
I thought Grief was the monster
In the story of loss,
But is it really me
Hoping to find
Crumbs and remnants
And shattered little skeletons
Of what we used to be?
It was the golden hour,
When he'd started afoot,
Through the long rows of maize,
Down the dirty red road.
It was when the winds blew south,
And the days were a little longer,
That he lifted his belongings of two,
And followed his broken compass.
It was when the ferryman hit the shore,
And the vendor sold the last of his little dolls,
He hummed the song of farewell,
And let his ragged slippers dig into the soil.
It was when the pyre had just cooled down,
And the lingering scent was still afresh back home,
Did he find his refuge in the homelessness,
When he found a home in all of nature around.
Fingers pull at the gashes and scars that litter the body.
They are red,
harsh against the doughy skin they have claimed.
They run so deep into the soul,
Like wells of memory,
easy to fall into.
Then barbed wire,
Displayed as tears,
scratching inside of his throat.
Thumbs lick the roughness of past pain,
eating the contrast of texture between them,
And who he remembers being.
There is no softness left,
his mind whispers,
still trying not to fall into the darkness of the past.
The cave of history is full of rocks,
Sharp with his old blood,
Wet with the waves of depression his therapist begged him to ride instead of drown in.
He wonders about the cave when the tide draws back,
Angry at the darkness,
forcing his fingers to dig into the crevasse of a scab.
He flinches at the freshness of pain,
And watches the light glimmer off the thick liquid dancing down his leg.
He closes his eyes and whispers,
Maybe,
The wound is the place where the light enters you.
5 dollars burning a whole in my pocket
Watching every second of the clock tick
Please bell hurry and ring, I'm waiting to go browse and buy my way to happiness
Everything I ever wanted in the world was waiting down the hall in my school library
Forget Christmas, Forget Spring Break
Nothing compared to the excitement I felt for the Schoolastic Book Fair
I'd walk around every aisle running my fingers over all the covers and down every spine
Searching for the the stories that longed to be mine
These were the days I couldn't wait to get home
I would run outside to dig into my treasure,
What adventure I would find underneath the large oak trees that lined the cracked concrete on my quiet empty street
A literary escape on a chilly fall evening
A different life for me awaits
Insanity floated through the door
An aberration with wild hair entered
Her mouth was open, blood ran out
Down her tunic, past her belt
She felt deranged, a lunatic from where?
There was a madness in the room now
I felt unbalanced, frenzied myself.
Where was my rationality? Why wasn’t I running?
Her fingernails formed into red claws
Almost talon-like, I was thinking of a turkey buzzard
Something unholy that would readily dig into roadkill.
She flashed her dead black eyes toward me.
I froze; terrified.
Wanted to scream, but nothing came out.
She began floating toward me.
We weren't always dolls
Before the dolls - flesh was
RAW
and torn
Before we were dolls we could rip open our skin
and bare it to the world
and when a little girl peered inside
everything was new and unseen
but flesh got harder to dig into
and tear
and stretch over a canvas
and all the little girls grew impatient
for it had been a long time since they had seen something new
so the little girls tapped on our skin with gnarled hands
and crooned
open up
let us see
but we didn't
we couldn't
open up please
let us see
its been too long
but our skin was fully hardened then
plastic as a penny
LET US IN
they screeched
and clawed at our skin
but it didn't yield
when our pretty pink lips parted in protest
only echoes came out
and a little girl leaned in
maybe to peer through our mouths into our stomachs
maybe to taste the blankness
but when it did
it choked
its mouth filled with pounds and pounds of fluff and nothing
whispers of when skin was made
to be torn
and little girls didn't dull their fingernails down
scratching at doll flesh
Deprivation of my rights and freedom
Bodily autonomy, tossed out of
a terrace window, seventy-third floor
of a building in New York that touches
the same ground I walk on, yet reaches much
higher than I could ever imagine.
I scream to them, giant politicians,
but the shadow of their business loafers
overhead scare the sound from my pursed lips.
My individuality exchanged
for a man’s practicality; it seems
as though they've had their fun suppressing us
Toying with my consciousness like a cat
praying on a field mouse, so innocent.
They say: so innocent! Could I be, too?
or shall I wear my curiosity
like a garment, like an oddity for
men to squint at, confine my mind and bones
to the idea that women shouldn’t
bare the decision of what lives within;
shackles on my reproductive organs
dig into my skin like the words they spew
from hot mouths, pouring into the laps of
women, alphabet soup spelling, “no more”.
Let us breathe in the possibility
of respect and dignity, the promise
of true liberty and justice for all.
Far too powerful, they fear, women are.
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