Words ll

Words ll

Words at my feet
float-
on rain-soaked sidewalks,
dredged up from the mud.
Weigh heavily,
my disillusioned poet.

Still-
my breath catches
as words swirl in the tidal pool,
shift and sway.
I gather them gently,
softly in my palm.

Close my hands-
feel the weight of language,
it's connection to history,
to the universe,
sky and moon.
The sun descends,
stars blink open their eyes,
earth rotates it's wobbly axis.

All this-
from a handful of words
once at my feet,
now embedded in my skin,
flow through my mind,
telling me a thousand stories
all at once.

Dream of Snow

Dream of Snow

Sitting present
on my lunch break,
I dream of snow,
falling on a silent night,
a distant shore-
Japanese silk painting,
mountains covered in mist,
utter stillness-
White blanket
comforts the landscape.
I close my eyes,
wait for sleep
to overtake me.
I sleep deeply
and dream of snow.

January Morning

January Morning

Cold January morning.
Wrap my hands around
warmth of hot coffee,
wrap my mind around Monday.
There is poetry here-
I know this.
It is garbled,
coded,
mixed with
the daily detritus.
Seek words,
unique thoughts,
write them down.
Easy recipe to follow,
tricky to master.
Cold January morning
doing my word sit ups,
stretches,
keep moving
pen to paper.
I still have something to say.
Trees spread long shadows
across the landscape.
Frost decorates windshields.
Wrap my hands around
warmth of blessed coffee,
wrap my mind around Monday,
continue to crack the code,
master the recipe,
find my poetic voice.

Miss Nomer

Miss Nomer
(misnomer: noun-an error in naming a person, place or thing.)

Secretly,
I know my name is Goddess
who seeks the sun,
brilliant warmth on bare skin.

Sometimes
my name is Gypsy,
wandering endlessly through
a rigid existence
Grasping desperately,
each creative straw.

Some days
my name is Nomad,
having no home or fixed position.

Dark days,
I am Despara,
hopeless for a better outcome,
tucking deeper inside,
waiting for the war to be over
and the rescue that never comes.

Tomorrow,
I will name myself Minerva,
then change it to Desdemona,

maybe Emily Energy,

Mary Fairy...

possibly Frank.

Final Lament

(For Dverse poets open link night, I post an old poem I wrote while in the midst of struggling with major life changing events. To fight my panic attacks, I found the idea of metaphoric suicide very cathartic and have always been in love with gothic poetry. This is by no means my state of mind but a mere exploration of an idea. I am working toward finding my current poetic voice but, for now, it remains silent. I didn't want another open link night to pass unanswered) 


Final Lament

Severed ties to the living,
bring me closer to the dead.
The pounding of my anxious heart,
fills my mind with dread.
Luminescent breath of ghosts,
obscures the moon above my head.
Shadows thrust upon the tomb,
where my feet now gently tread.
Fiendish sounds, mid-blackest night,
a sepulcher for my bed.
Will peace now overlook me,
for the life that I have led?
A razor pricked across my wrists,
strange demons now are bled.
Eyes fixed upon cold, marble stone,
life runs out crimson red. 

                              

I Fall Surrendered      

You saved me from drowning
and placed me in your ocean,

I fall surrendered at your feet.

Let mercy pour down upon me
wash the mud from my skin,

I am tattooed with words,
let them be prayers.

When I am Dead, My Dearest

When I am dead, my dearest,
and gone beneath the ground,
lay me gently in the earth,
so roots can travel down.

So roots can travel down, my love,
that break the flesh and bone,
my pallid skin, frail porcelain,
beneath the grass and stone.

When I am dead, my dearest,
and the soil my eternal bed,
when my breath has all expired,
lay no flowers at my head.

My hair will weave a firmament
of stars as sacred crown,
when I am dead, my dearest,
my love, when I am gone.