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Best Poems Written by Gry Christensen

Below are the all-time best Gry Christensen poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Exit 7b

1.
they say everything here is
somewhere in the middle of the road
where names get bleached and keys forget about their doors
and there is something we should dig our coated nails into; 
the layers of regret and anger
that our mothers tell us to peel off 

2.
but the sun bakes us too hard and rancid
laying down on styrofoam mattresses
where someone pokes their thumbs through the plastic
watching nothing but empty bubbles reflecting
and life is faded, glossy pages of a magazine
with a worn bar stool with cigarette burns thrown in between

3.
and we all carry this restless, tormented beauty 
that gets up and leaves
as soon as they say
it will settle down 


© Gry W Christensen

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Sometimes I Forget His Name

Sometimes
I forget his name
there are cavities 
in love too

dark gaps 
in the cracking heart
where aching
doubt and memories 
pulsate.


© Gry W Christensen

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Brewing Sunsets In Teapots

I brew sunsets in teapots
I drink the dawn from a mug
and in my bicycle basket I have seduction in a jug
so now and then I take someone clean shaven home to my obliging bed
when I guess I should sit quietly pristine, 
with my legs crossed instead
but each day is so fragile
they black out every evening in the west
and all I got is these frail minutes
and I only want to live them, as if they were a fest.


© Gry W Christensen

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33 Rpm

because so it is,
he says

ashtray's empty
and
Dolly Parton
cries
for
Jolene
spinning dizzy
in the
corner
 
in my mind
all words
leave the
paper
 
love laid to rest,
I can
recognize
the 
smell.


© Gry W Christensen


(My take on "Relationships". My entry in the "Relationships" contest, ending Aug.  25. )

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From a Cafe Table

In this hour 
they called it the French lace minutes 
the sound of autumn leaves falling 
unbearable to the ear 
I slip out in the 
echoing space 
between now 
and then 
it's an insect like feeling 
that buzzes around 
too fast 
to be recognized 

then a coat slides to the ground 
heels are clapping hands with wooden floor 
ashtrays are laid to rest 

and on a bus ticket my pen is scribbling 
you are here 
you are here 
you are here


© Gry W Christensen

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When In Paris

When In Paris
I think I see
you
lost under
some umbrella
and in my imagination

I am so lonely here
I stop on sidewalks
and let my keys
slip to the ground
with my address engraved

I walk to the old and settled in the parks
I pretend you are one of them
with hands that smell of crosswords
and begonia cuttings,
arms gently stretched out for the pigeons

And then at night
in my room
I cut holes in the bathroom mirror
and ask the ghosts
to rattle the table and make the mattress squeak.


© Gry W Christensen

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The Anchor

I once loved
an anchor
one of those
that sails
on skin
one of those
that has 
a rowing heart
and pelting blood
within


One of those
who blows
mussel covered
kisses
one of those
that tells
mermaids salty lies
one of those
who'll
go down with
rum and shackles
the day he finally
dies.


© Gry W Christensen

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Fata Morgana

for all that I am
is in this mirror
shifty shades
and 
shadows
fogs of breath 
on the glossy surface
and my eyes; 
tired of seeing
the traces of me 
outside the frame.


© Gry W Christensen

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What They Know

Cat purrs at earplug
Blue plastic dancing with paws
I lack their wisdom

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Glass Jars

The last
taste of summer
was
tucked
in
my pockets

empty
mason jars
with
the
scent
of butterflies

had
lids
with
lingering
raspberry

labels
spelling
will-not-go-down-sun

ran
with
sandals
and
band-aids
to
the
end
of
a childhood.


© Gry W Christensen