Category: Poetry

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Moon Dance

  There are 7.8 billion poems about the moon; having read none of them, I wonder: If all her glowworms cast their eyes to her size and whimper amongst themselves: why she so low— then what does she do? Diddly.

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Sonnet 17

  Borrow the car Borrow the flour Borrow the book Borrow the shears Borrow the money Borrow the tuxedo Borrow the pencils Borrow the clothes Borrow the tampon Borrow the vacuum Borrow the ice pack Borrow the envelope Do not borrow the soul. The soul is yours.

Walls

  The words house themselves within me, I am not the words. If they come I remain whole. If they do not come I remain whole.

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Artistic Integrity

  I want to be an art critic. I want to have such a glorious eye piece, that the thinnest strokes of oils and acrylics could shine off my lens into your face when you address me as “madam” and I grace you with my gaze.

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Skin to Skin

  Hold hands with me. My feet won’t point in the direction I will them to, they’re on a loop and my mind is getting dizzy. Hold hands with me. I’ve been watching your stride. Your clean-limbed foot swing mesmerizes me. How can you keep so steady? Please hold hands with me.

Peace

  Slow down. Whoa, slow down. There is a way to do this. A way to do it all without feeling pieces of shrapnel carving cave lines into the ear bones. A way to do it all and feel electricity in the veins, singular purpose so singular, elephants in the foothills.

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Crash

  That crash could’ve been an ancient computer tossed from the twentieth floor, the Hewlett-Packard bricks in vintage disarray, the collection of hipster hues in the hallway closet. It was that loud! The raised voices which follow make sense, as if a strong-armed woman in her own right rose up to her man and chucked his grandfather clutter out that living room window, smashing … Read More Crash

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Late Afternoon

  The forest is quiet, refreshing in silence, solitude lingers amongst shaded grass. A young rabbit sniffs at the bubbling creek and takes her chance on the muddy shore. In the echoing sunlight the rabbit sips and is remarkably, brilliantly, a rabbit.

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Lean

  Come here, baby, show me where you like to put your head. For a few minutes, just take a deep breath. One after another we’ll find that time becomes as endless as spots on stripes with your head against mine.

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Rising

  High on a plump cloud she surveys the red earth beneath her. There are little inlets here & there, messages of irrigation, she notes the sweeping river, the dots of farmhouses, the field borders & she shakes her head to shepherd away the dips of a friendly cloud. Her wooden pencil, already discomposed with teeth marks, scribbles sharp against the clipboard.

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The Stag and the Wave

  Fifteen years from now, a young stag will look over his tawny shoulder to his mother, standing pristine in the shadowy meadow, and wonder to his primitive brain why it is he feels as he does. The mottled sunlight shall cast her still and lithe and his own body will look mighty and strong.

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Wah-Wah Sowahwah

  The things that woman can do with a trumpet— they say teach a man to fish but I say, give a girl a trumpet! She’ll call forth the inside animal to roar against the trees and slash long marks in the careful lawn. Roar! she trumpets, go forth and roar! The open air hears you and raises, the wind will gust that roar … Read More Wah-Wah Sowahwah