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Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem
Love in a salted wound
I could wait months, or years for
Finality
For absolute seizure, by your fingers upon my blighted heart
I speak in words like
Devotion
Desire
But its all lost in my disorganization,
Promises I can only hold above my head
Like a great weight
Supporting you and I
As long as you can hold your attention
Without looking away from my frailties
My own erosions- that as they fall,
Pass through you,
Like snow between the bare branches of my heart.
I am forever winter in the lack of
Your presence.
Waiting for the soft sound of your
Footsteps in the lifeless air.
Some sign of your journey here,
That does not echo back to me,
This is only a dream.
I wait
and wait
and wait
and there is only....
Copyright © Julia Ingolfsdottir | Year Posted 2008
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Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem
I am love,
more than lost.
I am more artist, than living person.
I will not give you the look in my eye,
Nor the eye of the storm.
Or any other mechanical thought
That beams from the corners of my
mouth.
It is the world,
Changing like the weather
Weaving storms into words
And my voice into clarity.
It pools just like this:
Furious and deep,
behind the rumination of my eyes.
I am half fish in this world,
more lost in the sea,
than whole in your arms.
Your sideways glance
Into the well,
Reminds me of distances I swim
to be heard.
Copyright © Julia Ingolfsdottir | Year Posted 2007
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Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem
And who is artist?
I was told before, dollar for painting
(a hundred for creation)
I don't believe that anymore
(never really did)
We are the architects, playing to the open field of the underworld to realities
(an artist with an 'e')
thick conglomerates of sticky color for fingertips
assimilations of rarities in a crown of words
(and I wear it every day)
I walk with a liquid transcription in my mind, and a step before another
planned to exist.
It's the attraction to memory-movement-making
Paste against palette, mouth against ambiance
a sensuality, that goes beyond knowing
and enters the realm of divine.
We are what we are- and what we are is
liquid- little tapers of movement,
beautiful movement.
Even the naked, aspiring snakes of Adam and Eve
begins here.
And who is artist?
I promise you this
They'll never pay you to enough to know.
Copyright © Julia Ingolfsdottir | Year Posted 2007
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Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem
The colors in your sweater
do not grow here
but bloom without regard
in the mirror of your cheeks
We ran with arching strides
through seas of igneous poetry
written for our electric white lashes
Our layers of sturdy bone
And yes, there were times
we nearly escaped the snap of the metallic sky
the same confessor
behind matronly curtained hills
the only words to tie me here
are the mouthful that rattle my cup
yet I can always paint myself
miles deep beneath this anchor
Copyright © Julia Ingolfsdottir | Year Posted 2011
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Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem
The door shuts lightly behind me
soft click
metallic boundaries
I turn around to see,
that you are the one that closed it.
And I swallow
a storm.
Copyright © Julia Ingolfsdottir | Year Posted 2008
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Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem
There is nothing here anymore, he said
As the dirty glass jars fill up with rain
Drop full by drop full
Against diluted ambivalence
turned gray
Wetting both of our tongues
Soaking dark clothing into heavy burdens
So much like myself, I fear
I’m going to break everything open, I reply
Take these shards
String them up into the trees
Offerings of little elements
As they chime softly
Deep
Deep in the evergreens
There is nothing here anymore, I say
Nothing more, but my tangle of dreams
And the light
Which breaks open reflections
One hundred times larger
Than what I can ever be
Copyright © Julia Ingolfsdottir | Year Posted 2008
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Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem
There are times
when the tips of your oars
Impede on me
In the lightless night
When even the stars
are feeling sour and rejected.
Your menacing tongue
Collects the water
and pushes past me
with wordless strokes
For I am nothing more
than the inanimate cat tail strangers
tangled on the shore.
You do not love me even a little
and still
you drift through the only quiet passage in my heart.
Copyright © Julia Ingolfsdottir | Year Posted 2010
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Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem
How should I describe this empty?
So that you may wake from this slumber
With my words,
As some magic kiss.
It is far more deep, and tender
then any other wound.
You
Who had stretched tenderness,
The ability to believe,
Over my once
Inoperable fear
Of forever.
You
Covered me
In a definitive reply to a puzzle
That had never seemed to make sense.
And you
Borrowed from my well of dreams,
In hopes to fill our bellies
With waters less dark
And wanting.
So tell me before you go,
One last time before you go
How should I fill this empty?
This lack of me now,
This lack of
You?
Copyright © Julia Ingolfsdottir | Year Posted 2008
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Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem
I like the rain
And its effortless thoughts
That plunk down on plastic furniture
Sleeping cars
Grimacing pedestrians
Interrupting your Sunday hair
And how we scatter away
In our silly ways, like ducks on a pond
Instead of drinking
The world
Copyright © Julia Ingolfsdottir | Year Posted 2010
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Julia Ingolfsdottir Poem
I picture you
Soft with half sleepy smiles
A tangle of Saturday’s blankets wrapped around
Our inner peace
Skin that smells of waiting coffee
busy daytime movements
and damp rain.
I picture me
With expectations of your kiss
It tethers me to the silent surface of your gaze
So many times, over and over
Because I know the lines in your face
Are my home.
Your magic
Is my magic
We are no more intricate than
The round and swollen sigh of this house
The aging frames
The quiet halls
When even they seem to know
Forever is found in
Autumn beds.
Copyright © Julia Ingolfsdottir | Year Posted 2010
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