My Final 10 Poems:
1. A Gorgeous Drive-Thru (Revised)
2. The Visitor Returns : Again
3. After the Art Show : Revised
4. From the Auditorium: Revised
5. To Mine Caffeinated Love : Revised
6. Sensitive Teeth : Revised
7. In a Plastic Bag : Revised
8. Still to Read : Revised
9. Flowered Rain Boots
10. Hidden Among Velvet
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
A Gorgeous Drive-Thru (Revised)
A Gorgeous Drive-Thru
(Revised)
the thickened thighs,
that curdle like
cheese
and jiggle as if a
mold
of jello never lost
its
shape, but grew with
each
step, each turn
adipose arms,
that continue to wave
even after the hand
has
stopped; they are
exuberant,
joyful to meet a new
face
a new body to perhaps
hold
swollen stomach,
for centuries has
brought
happiness to
children, once
clothed in red felt;
even
now the gentle sway
and plunge of fingers
can tickle
bursting buttons
on jagged jeans,
‘tis a shame to ruin
a new pair; ‘tis
embarrassing
that
it even happened, like
ripping
the seam while
sitting,
one shall never speak
of
it again
the constant cry
from tainted teeth,
oh how the dentist
loves
to fill the black
spots in
the enamel; sure it
costs, of
course it hurts but
it’s worth
the greenbacks to
have another
bite, to taste that
which claims
“have it your way.”
The Visitor Returns : Again
The Visitor Returns : Again
Ice crystals rip through clouds
reshaping into droplets
on their descent. On a hood
they glaze, stack, crawl
toward the face hidden
from their reach.
Clutching the nylon they rattle
as one step, two steps, the body
drops to the ground, hands dig into the cold
slush, loosely forming what should be a ball.
The body rises, a hand pushing
small droplets out of eyes.
The drops hanging onto the hood
back away to watch the toss
of the arm, and the bundle of ice that arcs
through the air, landing against the window
where the lace curtains are captured.
The body steps backwards, fingers tap
the jean material attached to legs.
Larger molecules of moisture take the chance
that the small ones failed at.
They throw their weight over
the brim, landing on the nose in delight.
The hand rises to sweep them away,
but stops, the curtain is spread apart
revealing the face of the body’s match.
A smile, the droplets long to be in between
the lips, curled against teeth that aren’t meant
for them. They begin their descent,
one last toss of their weight
but they rattle as one,
two, three, four steps.
Bonds cling to bonds but it’s not enough.
They tumble to the pavement
as the door opens where the match
stands in the light casting shadows
onto the sidewalk, onto him.
Ice crystals rip through clouds
reshaping into droplets
on their descent. On a hood
they glaze, stack, crawl
toward the face hidden
from their reach.
Clutching the nylon they rattle
as one step, two steps, the body
drops to the ground, hands dig into the cold
slush, loosely forming what should be a ball.
The body rises, a hand pushing
small droplets out of eyes.
The drops hanging onto the hood
back away to watch the toss
of the arm, and the bundle of ice that arcs
through the air, landing against the window
where the lace curtains are captured.
The body steps backwards, fingers tap
the jean material attached to legs.
Larger molecules of moisture take the chance
that the small ones failed at.
They throw their weight over
the brim, landing on the nose in delight.
The hand rises to sweep them away,
but stops, the curtain is spread apart
revealing the face of the body’s match.
A smile, the droplets long to be in between
the lips, curled against teeth that aren’t meant
for them. They begin their descent,
one last toss of their weight
but they rattle as one,
two, three, four steps.
Bonds cling to bonds but it’s not enough.
They tumble to the pavement
as the door opens where the match
stands in the light casting shadows
onto the sidewalk, onto him.
After the Art Show : Revised
After the Art Show : Revised
I pressed my face against
the cold glass. Sleep shadowing
the back of my mind as I squinted
into a darkened room
that hid the painting I longed to see.
Muted blues and greens swirled
to form flowers without petals
and rusting buckets filled
with holes. Each dripping
colored oil onto the hardwood floor.
My fingers tapped on the clear
surface, my gaze drifting
to the locked door behind
which a trickling stream
could be heard. Pastels brushed
on with water flowed from frames
corralling the oil into a tight circle.
The colors swirled, mixed to form
a dark grey. Their movements
settled, shapeless and picture-less.
Merely a blob pooled on the hardwood.
Then a creak came from the floorboards.
They fell away, drinking oil
and water.
As the boards closed,
and the paintings hung blank
I turned from the grey
room, dragging my feet
through the atrium. Each
step echoed against the linoleum.
I pressed my face against
the cold glass. Sleep shadowing
the back of my mind as I squinted
into a darkened room
that hid the painting I longed to see.
Muted blues and greens swirled
to form flowers without petals
and rusting buckets filled
with holes. Each dripping
colored oil onto the hardwood floor.
My fingers tapped on the clear
surface, my gaze drifting
to the locked door behind
which a trickling stream
could be heard. Pastels brushed
on with water flowed from frames
corralling the oil into a tight circle.
The colors swirled, mixed to form
a dark grey. Their movements
settled, shapeless and picture-less.
Merely a blob pooled on the hardwood.
Then a creak came from the floorboards.
They fell away, drinking oil
and water.
As the boards closed,
and the paintings hung blank
I turned from the grey
room, dragging my feet
through the atrium. Each
step echoed against the linoleum.
From the Auditorium : Revised
From the Auditorium : Revised
Peter, shakes his head, glasses
flashing in the fluorescent lights
as Jesus kneels with an empty
bowl near tube socked feet.
“Unless I wash you, you have
no part in me.” Jesus stands,
silently mouthing words
that aren’t in sync
with the sound system.
As the lights dim an automated
orchestra tightens their strings.
“Do it again,” from the sound
booth where blue neon shines
like a space cockpit, the director
lifts his head. “Jesus a bit slower.
Peter take off the socks and glasses.”
The men on stage pull at thrift shop
dresses, shuffle on cushions.
“We’ve got one last shot
to nail this scene before
show time. Ready?”
The director moves amidst
the light, waiting for his
actors to stand still,
listening for the music,
staring at empty seats.
Peter, shakes his head, glasses
flashing in the fluorescent lights
as Jesus kneels with an empty
bowl near tube socked feet.
“Unless I wash you, you have
no part in me.” Jesus stands,
silently mouthing words
that aren’t in sync
with the sound system.
As the lights dim an automated
orchestra tightens their strings.
“Do it again,” from the sound
booth where blue neon shines
like a space cockpit, the director
lifts his head. “Jesus a bit slower.
Peter take off the socks and glasses.”
The men on stage pull at thrift shop
dresses, shuffle on cushions.
“We’ve got one last shot
to nail this scene before
show time. Ready?”
The director moves amidst
the light, waiting for his
actors to stand still,
listening for the music,
staring at empty seats.
To Mine Caffeinated Love : Revised
To Mine Caffeinated Love : Revised
To thee whom I long to taste,
After a night of battling paper dragons
with a sword of ink
I know that you aren’t far off
and yet I can’t seem to produce enough
quarters to pay for your dark nectar.
My dear whose perfume alone transfixes,
I wish to break this wooden barrier
where the scarved beauty
adorned in a jeweled apron
awaits my payment
so we may be united.
Oh bittersweet love of mine,
who urges me to draw near
I fear our affair can not continue,
as valiant as I may be,
it seems your soft brown skin
will never touch my hands, my lips.
I bid thee adieu steaming delicacy,
contain the foaming tears
yet resist the braceleted aproness
when she pawn you to another.
I shall shuffle to my room,
my hands searching my pockets.
To thee whom I long to taste,
After a night of battling paper dragons
with a sword of ink
I know that you aren’t far off
and yet I can’t seem to produce enough
quarters to pay for your dark nectar.
My dear whose perfume alone transfixes,
I wish to break this wooden barrier
where the scarved beauty
adorned in a jeweled apron
awaits my payment
so we may be united.
Oh bittersweet love of mine,
who urges me to draw near
I fear our affair can not continue,
as valiant as I may be,
it seems your soft brown skin
will never touch my hands, my lips.
I bid thee adieu steaming delicacy,
contain the foaming tears
yet resist the braceleted aproness
when she pawn you to another.
I shall shuffle to my room,
my hands searching my pockets.
Sensitive Teeth : Revised
Sensitive Teeth : Revised
The stereo turned to full volume,
a man and a woman plastered
on a pixilated screen,
sitting, drinking, dancing, kissing, leaving.
Their hats clutched to their heads
as man made wind wraps
their hair about their faces.
Lovers sworn to write letters,
promised with a kiss to never
stumble into the open
arms of another.
Yet they lie.
On the couch beside me,
a velvet box shaped into what
pumps blood throughout the body.
I shove an overstuffed chocolate
into my mouth letting
the monochromatic couple betray
and woo and fight.
As I reach for another sweet
the nerves in my teeth cry out.
On screen the woman cups
her face in her hands.
The man is walking away.
I swish water through my mouth,
ridding my teeth of the pain
caused by chocolate.
The stereo turned to full volume,
a man and a woman plastered
on a pixilated screen,
sitting, drinking, dancing, kissing, leaving.
Their hats clutched to their heads
as man made wind wraps
their hair about their faces.
Lovers sworn to write letters,
promised with a kiss to never
stumble into the open
arms of another.
Yet they lie.
On the couch beside me,
a velvet box shaped into what
pumps blood throughout the body.
I shove an overstuffed chocolate
into my mouth letting
the monochromatic couple betray
and woo and fight.
As I reach for another sweet
the nerves in my teeth cry out.
On screen the woman cups
her face in her hands.
The man is walking away.
I swish water through my mouth,
ridding my teeth of the pain
caused by chocolate.
In a Plastic Bag : Revised
In a Plastic Bag : Revised
He’s here.
In my aisle.
Wearing Chuck Taylor’s
and a button down blue shirt,
the collar slightly raised.
His knees are bent
ready to support the box in his hands
or perhaps my weight as my legs jello.
Above, soft 80s rock music
sweeps me to a world where
rules don’t make sense.
His brown eyes shift.
I lean into bagged jelly beans.
Oh turn away,
this world has rules, barriers
that mustn’t be crossed.
I pick up a colored bag.
His hands glide over empty
shelves, brushing dust away.
He stands, hurrying to answer
those that call
from speakers above.
A faint brush of arms.
A second of connection.
From the shelf I pull a velvet heart.
Clutching the box to my chest
I step to the back of his line.
His line is long,
everyone wants to hear his voice.
To see his smile.
The elbow with the basket
filled with cat food swishes
her skirt as he chuckles in response.
I wait.
He’s smiling at me.
I step to his counter,
my eyes on my hands.
My hands on the velvet.
He’s speaking.
I’m nodding.
I’m leaving the counter,
a single heart in my plastic bag,
as he’s whistling along,
with the radio.
He’s here.
In my aisle.
Wearing Chuck Taylor’s
and a button down blue shirt,
the collar slightly raised.
His knees are bent
ready to support the box in his hands
or perhaps my weight as my legs jello.
Above, soft 80s rock music
sweeps me to a world where
rules don’t make sense.
His brown eyes shift.
I lean into bagged jelly beans.
Oh turn away,
this world has rules, barriers
that mustn’t be crossed.
I pick up a colored bag.
His hands glide over empty
shelves, brushing dust away.
He stands, hurrying to answer
those that call
from speakers above.
A faint brush of arms.
A second of connection.
From the shelf I pull a velvet heart.
Clutching the box to my chest
I step to the back of his line.
His line is long,
everyone wants to hear his voice.
To see his smile.
The elbow with the basket
filled with cat food swishes
her skirt as he chuckles in response.
I wait.
He’s smiling at me.
I step to his counter,
my eyes on my hands.
My hands on the velvet.
He’s speaking.
I’m nodding.
I’m leaving the counter,
a single heart in my plastic bag,
as he’s whistling along,
with the radio.
Still to Read : Revised
Still to Read : Revised
One hundred pages
still to read
and the snow continues to fall.
Coffee was an option,
that dark sweet elixir
that makes my hands shake
and keeps me awake,
but my wallet moans in starvation.
Instead I sat among vibrating machines
that stirred, tossed, jiggled my clothes
wet and dry.
The book I took with me but
I’d rather speak to other faces
who too were throwing out lint
and counting the seconds on watches.
Now back in a quiet room
seated in front of crystallized glass,
watching the clouds bleed white,
the book lays open.
Still one hundred pages
to read and the snow
continues to fall.
One hundred pages
still to read
and the snow continues to fall.
Coffee was an option,
that dark sweet elixir
that makes my hands shake
and keeps me awake,
but my wallet moans in starvation.
Instead I sat among vibrating machines
that stirred, tossed, jiggled my clothes
wet and dry.
The book I took with me but
I’d rather speak to other faces
who too were throwing out lint
and counting the seconds on watches.
Now back in a quiet room
seated in front of crystallized glass,
watching the clouds bleed white,
the book lays open.
Still one hundred pages
to read and the snow
continues to fall.
Flowered Rain Boots
Flowered Rain Boots
-After Tricia’s Poem
It’ll grow tall,
he always told them
as they leaned their cherry cheeks
over emerald bushes.
Their eyes narrowing to slits.
Mitted hands and flowered rain boots
kick at puddles, brush the boughs,
throwing slush into the air.
It won’t grow,
he knows it’s true.
It’ll put a dent in your ceiling,
he always crossed his heart with ripped gloves
as they tilted their necks
only to find the cone-needle backside.
To this they stomped their feet.
Dwarf earmuffs are pulled out of an onyx purse,
as mittens find something sweet.
Teeth crunch, feet mimic parents’.
It won’t even hold lights,
he knows this.
It’ll enchant your dreams,
it’ll make every wish come true,
it’ll die, once placed in water.
And here I am,
in his lot after years
of hating his trees.
After years of watching
my parents hand over cash
that he swallowed whole,
and making sure that he licked
the coins from their fingers.
Snapping my coat to the last button,
my flowered rain boots
hit the first puddle before
the car door can shut.
-After Tricia’s Poem
It’ll grow tall,
he always told them
as they leaned their cherry cheeks
over emerald bushes.
Their eyes narrowing to slits.
Mitted hands and flowered rain boots
kick at puddles, brush the boughs,
throwing slush into the air.
It won’t grow,
he knows it’s true.
It’ll put a dent in your ceiling,
he always crossed his heart with ripped gloves
as they tilted their necks
only to find the cone-needle backside.
To this they stomped their feet.
Dwarf earmuffs are pulled out of an onyx purse,
as mittens find something sweet.
Teeth crunch, feet mimic parents’.
It won’t even hold lights,
he knows this.
It’ll enchant your dreams,
it’ll make every wish come true,
it’ll die, once placed in water.
And here I am,
in his lot after years
of hating his trees.
After years of watching
my parents hand over cash
that he swallowed whole,
and making sure that he licked
the coins from their fingers.
Snapping my coat to the last button,
my flowered rain boots
hit the first puddle before
the car door can shut.
Hidden Among Velvet
Hidden Among Velvet
-After Amanda’s Poem
I used to peer over the edge,
my nostrils picking up the sweet scent from the dresser’s gloss.
I would walk backwards
until I saw my reflection
in the mirror, that hung on the wall
above the caramel paneled drawers.
My reflection glowing
as if gold were freckles.
On my toes, with my hand stretched,
I fingered jewelry boxes and perfumes
that cast pinks and blues
onto the paneling.
I now look down at the chipped gloss,
stained with nail polish and substances
long forgotten, I run my finger
over what still shines.
I lift my eyes to the mirror
that seems to betray my image,
I’m either too wide or unproportioned.
My ears stick out too far from my head
or the lobes hang too low.
The caramel paneling has abandoned me,
adding a yellow hue to my pale complexion,
making me look jaundice.
In the jewelry box
left by my mother,
when it seemed that she’d left us,
hidden among folds of velvet
were the pearls of my youth.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)