Details |
Therese Genota Poem
step into the train
as cherry blossoms kiss you
a fragrant goodbye.
Copyright © Therese Genota | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Therese Genota Poem
I find myself
getting lost
within the concrete
that is cold and cold
resigned to white walls
while the worth of my words
are measured
in glass flasks
there is no soul here after all
and I will soon grow
used to the blank stares
of mirrors
the hardness
of science
this time memories
of sunshine
will not save me at all
from such a fate
Copyright © Therese Genota | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Therese Genota Poem
Take us into the folds of your tattered skirt –
O mother, whose gap-toothed children
buried in smog reeking of mirth
carry stones in their chest like men.
O mother, whose gap-toothed children
hiding hearts scalded by your warm concrete
Carry stones in their chest like men -
cloak our bodies even with the bitterest tears.
Hiding hearts scalded by your warm concrete
Mother, will your children still remember
how you cloak our bodies even with the bitterest tears
as dark fumes taint your pure laughter
O mother, we are testaments to your decay
so take us into the folds of your tattered skirt,
and rot with us in our shared tomb of ashen gray
buried in smog, reeking of mirth.
Copyright © Therese Genota | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Therese Genota Poem
In the garden I knelt as a young boy,
with dirt-caked nails that dug deep in the soil.
Searching for neither coins nor toys
that would take away my childish coils.
Instead I search for the worms and birds
Who whispered to me secrets of their tiny world:
that if you listened closely to the hum of the earth,
you would learn to fly across the universe.
Now I kneel before the ground once more,
grasping for the soil until my fingers are sore.
Even if I sit still and watch the flying birds,
I still cannot hear the hums nor the chirps.
As I grow more but my days grow less,
I cease to hear these whispers of innocence.
Copyright © Therese Genota | Year Posted 2015
|