Tag Archives: Poems

Fences

 

We used to sleep on the porch
in our sleeping bags on warm nights
square spindles cutting crisp shadows out of the moonlight
the cats would slip between the rungs and leap
fifteen fearless feet to the ground
a jaw-dropping distance, nothing to them.

My family tells me
when I was a toddler
I pushed my head between the bars of my crib
got stuck
and bawled, red-faced, until my mother
buttered my ears and pulled me free.

Climbing the horse gate, hopping over chain-link to retrieve a ball, squeezing between barbed wire, edging carefully under an electrified one
all my memories of fences
are of boundaries broken
rules defied
for better or for worse

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

I know this merry go round

 

next comes
confidence caught on the updraft
losing gravity floats apart
scatters into madness, confusion
stress and self-hate
pull out all the coping mechanisms
plug the hole, wedge the door
battle my own brain
and wonder
can they see
what I won’t show
can they hear
what I won’t say
suppressing impulses
success is excess
I hate myself so much more
when I get what I want
when I reach a goal
when I outpace my peers
this is
the American Way
it would be easier
to subsume myself
into the crowd
I have to force ahead
be uncomfortable
accept who I am
in order to grow
accept who I can be
who I should be
or should I just live
a life of quiet desperation?

 

 


 

 

Remember how I started submitting prose and trying to get 100 rejections? I got two rejections… and one challenge win. WTF. I don’t deserve to win for my terrible writing! AAAAAA! But I’m also proud. I am amazing! I am too many things at once! AAAAAA! Pass the coffee!

I’ll post a link when it’s published! Wish me less crazy today!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Use your words

 

Write it bigger
Pace it faster
Happy ending or disaster?
Raise the diction
Cut the laughter

USE
YOUR
WORDS.

That’s too sappy
More emotion
Lust or love or bland devotion?
In a park or at the ocean?

Use
your
words.

Change perspectives
Try relating
Art?
Or mental masturbating?
Ask your friends to give a rating

Use
your
words.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Narrowing of Time

 

I think I might start posting weekly instead of daily. Spending time on my work makes me create better work, which makes me post better work, which makes me a better writer and blogger, which spares you having to slog through too much mediocre crap, and that makes us all better people. But there’s something else.

It took something like *checks web stats*  2500 compliments, but I think I’m confident enough to start submitting work to publications. THANK YOU. This means I’m going to have to spend more time writing, redrafting, refining, etc.

I read somewhere (I can’t find the source anymore, sorry) about a girl who made a goal to get 100 rejections. I like this idea. I’m going to try it.

 

 

 


 

Narrowing of Time

 

Walking down the street
the snow is falling fast
gathering on my hood and the ends of my hair
filling my pockets, hardening on my shoes.
Nobody else is out in this weather
save for the occasional passing car.

I arrive
shake the snow from my clothes
make my purchase
and turn back
only to be confronted
by my previous self
her solitary footprints
perfectly traced.

I see her transparently
which step she is taking
where she is heading

Time holds us apart
but the snow thinned
our linear illusions.

I pass her through
over and over
caught up in her ghost
all the way home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Journal – someone I remember

 

I am empty

I have been empty for weeks now.
Is it because I have stopped writing?
Or have I stopped writing because I am empty?

I exist
I
Do
So why do I feel
I must prove it to you?

Because there’s nothing in me
I will tell you about someone I knew
From a distance.

She wasn’t particularly pretty
But you never realized it
Because she had charisma.
A smile you were proud to earn
Bright intelligent eyes
She would decorate the office
Her own, or the common areas
Leaving little pieces of her personality
For you to encounter and delight in.
She could cook food like no one else
And she was good at her job, too.
She fixed your problems without trouble.
She was a bit of gossip
I don’t think she even had a very tender heart
So what was it about her
That fascinated us?
I’ve been trying for years to understand charisma
The it factor
Something to do with being who you are
Something to do with purity
Something to do with confidence.
There are things which defy definition.
There are people who, when described,
Sound unremarkable.
Yet if you meet them
You count yourself lucky for having had the experience.
And if they asked you
You would follow them
Without knowing why.

This woman, she retired.
She doesn’t keep in touch
She doesn’t attend functions anymore
She has faded out of casual conversation.
We were never really friends.
But every Halloween and every Christmas
Some of her decorations make it back into circulation
Sometimes one of the long-time staff mentions her fondly
She was popular
Though she is out of my life in almost every sphere
She lingers in my memory
A bright fingerprint on my brain
Unique to her own face and voice and charm.
I didn’t need her, I don’t miss her.
She has made an impact nonetheless.
That is charisma.
Rather,
That is how
I fail to define it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

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