the garden needs tending. And the soul needs rest. Saturday is torn from other pages. I wrote this draft as part of National Poetry Writing Month. I hope to collect these works for a mixed media/writing piece I am working on entitled Love Letters to My Brother in Prison.
Tag: poems
friday
jubilant friday lingers on the lips and tongues, bitter and sweet drinks offering fun, freedom, forgetting. Friday music hovers over minds clouded with rushed desires, cramming life into too short hours. Frenetic Friday drives us mad with yearning. I wrote this draft as part of National Poetry Writing Month. I hope to collect these works…
thursday
Thursday is false. Thursday drowns in unrealized desires. Thursday the glass is neither half empty, nor half full. The glass simply is. Thursday rots into humus, nourishing nothing. Nothing is left. I wrote this draft as part of National Poetry Writing Month. I hope to collect these works for a mixed media/writing piece I am…
tuesday
Concentrate: try to think of a way to make Tuesday special. There is none. ———– Thinking of songs mentioning Tuesday. The Moody Blues and The Blue Nile sum up Tuesday: moody and blue. Tuesday is a timed impasse that cannot be walked around, only endured. ———– Yet tuesday hovers like mist obscuring hills. You cannot…
monday
gray clouds mist on monday morning commuters crawling on gray roadways. A new work week holds no promise, only repetition. Each day festers into the next. I wrote this draft this morning as part of National Poetry Writing Month. I hope to collect these works for a mixed writing media piece I am working on…
sunday
the thorns of a new week crown through the pink clouds in sulfur-yellow shards of sun. each passing day, week, I fight to make this stumbling more than the sorrow of missing you, less than the joy of counting the days until we are reunited. Time is a two-faced lover: easing and stealing. Yet I…
revelation
And you said, You and I as a couple are as ironic as Mother Teresa with a photon gun. I said, “Oh, I know. You are so handsome, so witty and you really have your shit together.” I guess it wasn’t funny. A two year old letter read and reread countless times lies on the…
summer’s slow retreat
I that final summer we spent our nights on the pier, the moonlight bathing the water with its cool hands. night sounds, frogs humming and burping, crickets, and water slapping rocks serenading us. long hours lost in eternal embrace, caresses without end, daylight hours, too, passed in hide-and-seek cornfields. ski trips and trains marked our…
Life Imitating Art
I push in the tape and I lie on the bed alone, eroded by a glacier of memories. I have chosen a love story, though I never would have when we were together. The movie begins, a technicolor dream, figures arise before me, you and I. A passionate kiss lingers between lovers. So soon torn apart…
boyfriend
your eyes are a pale-green altar. a torture device of worship, love. I hide my face when I look at you and see my own inadequacies, complicities to the war-torn vestige of our former years. Poisonous memories choke my throat and I cry tears, a sacrifice.
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