Corner: A Poem

Corner


There are some days
When all I want is a corner,
A place guarded on most sides,
Angular but safe,
A place to stand or crouch,
To be solitary and quiet.

A corner where nothing is crooked,
Where the walls are smooth and cold to the touch,
The floor swept free of cobwebs,
With light from a window, perhaps.

All I want is a small place without anything,
Where I can read books
Or write poems,
And sometimes just cry into my hands
Because I want to.

There are some days
When all I want is a place to be alone
On purpose.

 

 

©The Wild Poesy, 2012-2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

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Corner: A Poem

Deepest Pains: A Poem

Deepest Pains

 

How much does it hurt, my dear?

Tell me the number of aches in your bones,
Take a tally of the pains that run through your veins.

Count them up, let me know,
And I’ll pick you a flower for each one.

For each pain, have a posy,
A cascade of daffodils and daisies.

Tell me, my dear, how much does it hurt?

I’ll point out enough stars to cover your scars,
A burst and a blaze in the night.

Your arms, once a war-zone,
Now painted alight with luminous spheres,
The plasma now dancing and ebbing.

How much does it hurt, my dear?
Tell me – and I’ll tell you, too.

We’ll count up our cuts and our bruises,
Fill our arms up with galaxies
And stellar bouquets.

We’ll gather up rosebuds and planets, and find
The deepest pains are not here to stay.

 

 

©The Wild Poesy, 2012-2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

Deepest Pains: A Poem

Sentinels: A Poem

Sentinels


See the moon hanging there in your chest,
In the place where your heart should be.

Glowing and constant:
Mother-light to your night-wandering.

Too irregular was your old heart,
Too deep and too raw;

A heart that worked too well.

But here the moon stands in its stead
With such strength, silver shielding your soul.

Pouring out quicksilver to fill up your wounds,
Sending stars out as sentinels
To your old weary nerves.

Holding you in enveloping palm,
Bright moon lets you rest from your uphill climb,
Lets you breathe the fresh air
Of night for one moment,

Unhindered.

Lets you sleep without waking
Until you can manage
To use your own heart without breaking.

 

©The Wild Poesy, 2012-2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

Sentinels: A Poem

Listen: A Poem

Listen

Listen to what people don’t say.

Hear in their breathing the ache
That they carry,
The hollow hallowed rattle in their lungs.

The sound of the words getting stuck
In their bones,
Getting trapped in their ribs,
Shipwrecked.

Listen close to their pauses and silence,
Hear in their throats the heaviness.

See the light in their eyes
Attempt to convey
All the things they can’t say,
But long to.

Listen close, listen deep.

Hear the prayers in their sleep.

In the breath they exhale
In frustration,
Hear the hate,
Hear the hope,
Hear the fear and the love.

Listen close,
We don’t say what we mean.

 

 

©The Wild Poesy, 2012-2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

Listen: A Poem

Falling of the Year: A Poem

(Note: accompany with this song)

Falling of the Year

The ground is grey as goose-down,
And browning at the edges.

Earth washed clean in the wind,
Which lashes like a whip,
But even though cold is still welcome,

Like the other side of the pillow.

And the coarse branches of trees

(Dying on the outside
But never more alive),

Craggy and jutted at the sky,
Prodding fingers in the clouded ribs.

Swept-dirt path wends in the twilit field,
Here surrounded by waving wheat
You can take a breath
And smell the death of seasons,
The faulty and failing leaves
Bister and crumbling under your shoes.

And the flagrant wind is cavorting
And scrubbing out the heaviness of air,

Leaving only the sharp bare bones

And breathing.

©The Wild Poesy, 2012-2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

Falling of the Year: A Poem

Pearls: A Poem

Pearls

In the swelter of summer nighttime,
Collapsing on the new-mown grass,
My eyes flew into the stars where you awaited,
Your arms stretched as constellations
Towards me.
I could see your hands in a late rainstorm,
Spread out and clutching at the droplets
That glint as diamonds against the clouded sky,
Your tilted lips parted to drink
The earth-saturated pearls
Before they reach the ground
As they descend so rapidly.
Your eyes could be seen in the springtime,
Twin cornflowers standing against the grass,
Alone in the constance of the green obscurity
Of another flagrant field
That is too alluring for its own good.

©The Wild Poesy, 2012-2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

Pearls: A Poem

the roses are blooming: A Poem

inspired by the poetry of e.e. cummings

the roses are blooming

something i have never seen; your eyes,
alight with flames of flowers, are slightly
smiling; nothing is found in furrowed fields
which are not around here any longer

if you show me the reaching branches
of trees, their boughs grey with winter;
i see the slow descent of madness
fall upon the heads of the innocent;

i’ll show you crying skies above your
broken, out-stretched hands, bright springs and the
summer’s darkest nights always shorter than hoped
for; roses bloom without your muddled thoughts

though failing daisies fall; how many years
we have left before out bright future
without the hope of ever surfacing again;
your fingers tangle hopelessly among your hair

how did these days darken quickly, without
thoughts of blackening the skies, without the
insanity of forgotten dreams smashed against walls
with clay jars; the roses are blooming

©The Wild Poesy, 2012-2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

the roses are blooming: A Poem