Untitled Poem/Black Dawn

May 9, 2015 § Leave a comment

A new poem, no where near complete. My mother died last year, and I’ve struggled to find a way to write about my feelings of loss and grief, to express my loss, and I just have not been able to. In fact, as far as writing goes, it’s been so quiet, or I feel too tired, or cliche– I’m stunted.
About a month or two after her death (which was an unexpected and sudden death) I had one of my very few dreams about her, and in this dream I woke up with the words: “black dawn she is silent now”.
I wanted to do something with these words; after all they came from my deepest consciousness. They were given to me like a gift, like a message, but more like a code that I have lost the ability to decipher. Today, was the first day that I made something, anything from those words. And, something, anything that can even chip at the surface of my grief is something to me. It’s not a completed poem, the same as any poem that is published here, but at this point to put anything on paper, and then to transfer it to here is an accomplishment for me. So as it is, it is untitled.

 

Black dawn

minutes before,

the cock crows is
blue luminous light, a blink
a slit, below the horizon line

of earth as far as
we can see

from our own perspective
but, our eyes are closed.

We are all sleeping
except for the ghosts

who watch us
wishing they could hold us

still.

I see her in my dreams

rarely,

As I rise from my living death
she returns to her death,
real death,

mother—
languid, somnolent, cries:
don’t leave me.

She is silent now,
and I’m awake.

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This poem Needs work

August 5, 2011 § Leave a comment

When a butterfly flaps its wings…
we say nothing

What I say is never heard through brick walls
covered with plaster.
My voice clogged with decayed leaves
of ancestors I never met,
rules placed before asking
and silence filled with white noise.
It is never quiet.

I thought you said something.

Although we walk together our hands never touch
we placate emotions like mimes in boxes-
ticking to our own clocks
different time, never together-never in unity-we are
the individual!
We believe this-
the moving box with flashing pictures told us-
“this is truth-
the individual only fights for self! Only the self succeeds!”

Hand in fist hits a plastic table rattling
cardboard skies propped up by two-by-fours
and the man in the suit speaks
the truth
because he says it’s truth-
the woman blonde and bubbly
smiles from the box, says
“Some have died today-but it didn’t effect you,
have a nice day.

And seated on stones in our mime boxes
we applaud but no one hears us.
we don’t care
because inside, here, we can’t
feel anything.

beat, beat, a pulse
my heart?
I think, beating, ringing, crying
in my ear
I place my hand to a clear wall
I hope our palms will touch
but you don’t see me
you are applauding at the flashing lights
I say something but I am never heard-
I can barely hear myself-
they trained us well
from the very beginning
on carpeted floors, necks arched
looking toward tele-gods
we are never enough
and we applaud in silent boxes
but I think I heard you speak
once
and I am afraid
I am forgetting your voice-
your true voice.

Something from Anne

January 6, 2011 § 1 Comment

Thank God someone recorded this and someone posted it to youtube so that we could listen to Anne Sexton read this poem. In honor of the Confessional poets (since I posted something from Sylvia Plath previously) I found this youtube post. Her Kind is an amazing poem, but listening to her speak it sends chills through me. I wish I could have been alive to listen to her read it live.

 

The Bend in The Road

September 18, 2010 § 1 Comment

The Bend in The Road

Let’s try this again.
I’ll meet you at the bend.

There will be roses and
other flowers in bloom.

The dust will be high,
to challenge the mood,
maybe, we’ll have smoke
or a thick misty fog
something for drama to
build the suspense.

I’ll stand in the road
you stand at the fence
both are at the bend in the road.

The scent of the roses
will hit first
and memories of walks
and talks and passion
will return

“oh, I remember the
park when we laid in
the grass.”

“I remember the
rain as it fell
on our heads.”

“The smell of the
douglas trees in the woods.”

At the bend in the road
when the dust settles
the mist blows away
and the smoke dissipates

We will see each other
standing as we promised.
You will know me but
I wont know you.

I had two loves
both walked away
commitments not meant for me.
Who was the real one
I never can say
but one will show
at the bend in the street.

I wanted you most
to be by my side
but it’s the one with
the courage that decides to arrive.

I don’t know you
but you know me
and its at the bend in the road
where we finally meet.

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