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Linda Mortensen Poem
"Helo," he cried from underneath the ground,
but we buried him too fast,
and the time is past, the sky is ebony,
I can even touch it with one finger,
my wrist dripping diamonds and pearls,
the wrist you grabbed beneath the moon,
and we sought to uncover the ways of the ones
who bring forth soliloquys on a whim;
death means nothing to the forsaken flowers
left behind for the puppy to chew.
"I'm sorry we buried you too fast,"
i could hardly speak as I choked on chocolate milk.
My watch has stopped from diving into the ocean
and talking to the sharks
who laughed at my imagination
and then gave me nightmares.
We'll dig you up from your resting place
and let you sign a contract for life,
listening to the blood sing in your veins
and watching as the purple bleeds scarlet
on all of your capes.
I haven't written to you lately,
I know I haven't sung a tune,
but the skies are too dark
for the sun to shine in this lonely room,
and I gave the pen to a homeless man
who needs it more than i do
though he just got kicked out of the post office
right before noon,
is it closing time already?
We'll give you new skin
and erase the mummy's bandages;
we have a party tonight
and you can't look too ancient,
but death is fashionable nowadays
so you should be a hit.
Copyright © Linda Mortensen | Year Posted 2006
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Details |
Linda Mortensen Poem
"Help," he cried underneath the ground
but we buried him too fast
and the time is past, the sky is ebony,
I can't even touch it with one finger,
my wrist dripping diamonds and pearls
the wrist you grabbed beneath the moon,
and we sought to uncover the ways of the ones
who bring forth soliloquys on a whim.
Death means nothing to the forsaken flowers
left behind for the puppy to chew.
"i'm sorry we buried you too fast,"
I could hardly speak as I choked on chocolate milk;
my watch has stopped
from diving into the ocean
and talking to the sharks
who laughed at my imagination
and then gave me nightmares.
We'll dig you up from your resting place
and let you sign a contract for life,
listening to the blood sing in your veins
and watching as the purple bleeds scarlet
on all of our capes.
I haven't written to you lately,
I know I haven't sung a tune
but the skies are too dark
for the sun to shine in this lonely room
and I gave the pen to a homeless man
who needs it more than I do
though he just got kicked out of the post office
right before noon;
is it closing time already?
We'll give you new skin
and erase the mummy's bandages,
we have a party tonight and you can't look too ancient,
but death is fashionable nowadays
so you should be a hit.
Copyright © Linda Mortensen | Year Posted 2006
|
Details |
Linda Mortensen Poem
i can be violet as I raise my head of knowledge
toward the shrinking sky above, it knows nothing,
and we wait for the sign, we set our watches
and we groove where there is nothing to play, to sing,
to remember before the sunrise.
But sometimes it's better to regret
than hope too late and dream just enough.
I sent you a letter filled with aphids
to chew your mind away.
You won't be thinking the same things soon,
you won't notice that I'm gone,
leaving the maroon ribbons tied to the drawer
that no one has ever opened before.
"Somehow I miss the realizations
but then I find them again," you say
as you leave town on Sunday,
you can't see the sign that I see
and together doesn't make a "we"
But I love the darkness
I love the mystic breeze
turning my face into a soft oval shape
as I turn my eyes toward the trees,
they have always spoken to me.
I'll see you again in a hundred years,
I will fight to dissolve a heart winding
around the bricks of this domain,
we will open packages of dusty books
but never shed any tears
and we won't sing a refrain.
Copyright © Linda Mortensen | Year Posted 2006
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Details |
Linda Mortensen Poem
Is that your heart you're tearing out
and nailing to my wall in a frenzy?
A mishmash of suggestions and recommendations,
a slip of the tongue
that turns into an inferno,
the day that's already done?
I remember more than that.
Days slip by me and I am solemn,
I kneel in prayer only for you,
my lips paralyzed with a fervor of feeling,
the lips you glossed with purple grapes,
the avenues I've never seen.
Leave me alone tonight
before the door opens to release;
I like prison so much better,
the cold floor feels good under my feet.
I like sleeping in an unmade bed
with cookie crumbs surrounding me;
the sweetness of your life
and the sarcasm are too much to see,
but it's too expensive to go blind.
I can call the wind at my command
and tell it where to go,
I can see life before you know
if the womb is alive and well.
The gravestones are singing at dusk,
it's my job to wipe the dust off
and guard against the skeletons
who want to chat about the flowers they don't like.
"Do there have to be roses here?
And do they have to be red
like the blood that was shed
when I died before you were born?"
How can you wipe a tear off a skeleton?
You can't, so you make a promise
that you'll find the right flowers
to fill their hollow bones,
to answer their invisible questions.
But not on a stormy night--
that's your job.
Copyright © Linda Mortensen | Year Posted 2006
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