Surviving
A lightning strike
and the plains are on fire
a herd of gazelle flees together
all in one motion
leaving nothing behind but flames
smoke drifts across the blackened dirt
slowly new shoots emerge
green feathers of a phoenix on the rise.
I ate an brownie once.
Not a kids birthday party brownie.
Three hours later I remember saying,
“I don’t feel anything should I eat more.”
Within minutes I found myself ordering dinner at a restaurant.
A fried mac and cheese grilled cheese sandwich.
I laughed until I cried at how big the sandwich was.
We were waiting in line for a concert later.
The girl in front of us was holding a chihuahua.
It was cold.
Like, the why am I outside type of cold.
The chihuahua girl was turning into Satan.
Red face and horns.
In the background, everywhere I looked,
all my worst memories were on display.
Projecting onto a snow globe amphitheater screen.
I kept thinking is this fun?
Is this fun yet?
I was trembling, the way most people do when Satan is showing you your traumas while holding a small yappy dog.
I pulled up Uber on my phone.
It took a while because I forgot I had fingers.
Typed in hotel.
The Uber driver,
I was sure,
was not my real Uber driver.
Our hotel felt hours away.
I was convinced he was taking us to the wrong hotel..
Which he was.
This happens when you just type in hotel.
I was trembling, the way most people do when you flee from Satan and his wrath and his dog in a strange city in a strange car with a man who looks nothing like his picture and you’ve only typed hotel into the address and not even the right hotel.
Our next driver asked why we were hotel hopping.
I lied and said our last Uber driver was not to be trusted.
Which wasn’t all that much a lie at the time, seeing as he wasn’t our REAL Uber driver.
When I got home I found half of my sandwich tucked in my purse.
It still wasn’t fun yet but I laughed until I cried again anyways at that big fucking sandwich.
of curve and sinew beneath
Heaven’s God. I am the
Eve of Sin grown from roots
of Knowledge- the garden of
sweetness taken from the trees,
its fleshy fruit I
hold upon my tongue. I am
rejuvenated shame, open eyed too
I hear God coming… close.
when seed turns to bloom I’ll
define Death searching for me. never
losing periphery of Yeshua’s gift to die
upon the cross. my heart is still again
-this portion of me residing in Him so
I’ll never die again so lightly.
note: end words ‘beneath the roots of trees, I am to close.’ and ‘I’ll never die again so lightly.’ are from I Am Too Close written by Wistawa Szymborska. I’ll never die again so lightly was also used as my last line in the poem as i felt it fit the theme well.
i don’t really write love poems.
i’m not longing for long gone passion
or throbbing in my lusty loins.
not in particular.
and i hope my heart
never skips a beat,
cause that shit sounds
downright dangerous to me.
i don’t need to be completed
‘cause i’m feeling wholly whole
with all my parts screwed on tight.
and let me keep my breath,
lord have mercy.
i’m using it.
Misunderstandings
“All words are made up.” – The Mighty Thor
Journey with me into “Mystery:
Something that is difficult or impossible to explain.”
Like people using a redundant word
that contains the word they need to use
Used in a poem:
The supervisor said, “irregardless,
you need to do better”
The word hung between us like a mirror
and I saw the monster of my superiority complex
Reptar, prepared to stampede
and wreck this minimum wage job
but the spectre of rent
haunted the beginning of the calendar
I try to do better
bring home another check
The purpose of
a morning walk
is to greet
the stub tail cat
who ambles up
from her porch
and flops down
for a scratch
Brave Soldiers with helmets and swords
Queen Victoria in her crown
septer and orb in her hands
In bronze and stone
fixed in time and place
Pensive Poets, Passionate Preachers, Prominent Politicians
stand witness to the past
and inform the present
Pedestrains – Mind the Monuments!
Remember the significance of lives lost
Remember or the sacrifices and contributions will be forgotten
Pigeons have no respect
They swoop in with no reverence
Perch on heads and shoulders
Poop on helmets and crowns – swords and septers
Then – without regard or reflection
they move on
Thunder splits open day
lightning seeps neon
into cracks.
Woman moves forward
leaning into sideways
slashing rain.
Ruffled by wind kimono
blends purple velvet
with cherry silk.
Parasol rises over head
like a crimson
mushroom.
From underneath kimono
crinkled ruby flashes
glitters with rain.
Bare-headed servant rushes behind
his rough feet slick
with diamonds.
Rain poet keeps moving
from parched town
to parched town
bringing with her
a deluge
that floods fields
sends villagers scurrying
from darkened sky
pings hollowly in buckets
turns beetle out of his home
endears earthworm to his
loamy mansion
propels buds skyward
opens the mouth of May.
~inspired by Ogata Gekko’s piece “Rain Poetess,” 1887
H19
bead on brown body
his vigilance is wanton
a bitten cherry
she reigned in the sun,
sheltered by headphones
oil beads glisten
smooth brown body
free but desired
his vigilance is wanton
a parasol drink held, a bitten cherry
her thoughtless glory is his illusion.
his thirst craves a false horizon.
Bead on my body
His vigilance is wanting
A bitten cherry
