Tag: poetry
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natal: relating to the place or time of one’s birth (the Oxford Dictionary)
didn’t you rip down the front-porch-lavender? the roots could not resist your blunted claws. you left the soil all ravaged and ruptured drenched with sweat and your vaguely-oriental musk like the crows gorging in the undivided fields at the far-end of summer and severed cornstalks everywhere. didn’t you stand on the threshold before the vicar…
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My Husband’s Teenage Daughter came to live with us Recently
When I hated my music teacher. It was so unfair. And I actually love music to this very day, a music person I would call myself. She sent me to the principal’s office for blowing bubbles in music class on my birthday. And I hated her. And this was before she was forced by a…
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Grandma’s Closet
The door at the end of the long hall stands open The third bathroom is in there Sent to the room by my mother’s voice busy behind the door of the second common bathroom, the guest bathroom Go use Mimi’s I obey The faint gold light from a bedside lamp whispers as I step twice…
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The Bog
Moss-heavy limbs fall from charge of a warm southern wind rest in a compost graveyard of other arms that have been Once boasted of leaves awarded with weighted sog You might pray if awarded knees The warm low water releases a fog Time will turn you into swamps breath and a story told around the…
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The Worst Gut Instinct Ever
There was a timein the not so distant past,where I didn’t much bother withwhether or notthe bubble was centered.I figured if it looked level,it must be level.I had convinced myselfthat I could cleave myselffrom the sins of the world by sight,or by sound, or by avoidance.I had convinced myself that I wasthe only arbiter and…
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Warped
I.Escaping scars as the years slowly tick byis inevitable. Banging into walls, the bruises and blisters of liferun like a roadmap. Trophies awarded for fortitude,for qualifying for life,for finishing the race. They are the markof a well-lived life. II.What, then, about invisible scars?Escaping detection in a mirror’s reflection,they lurk in deep crevices. Peeking out just…
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Lydia
She pried open the shells all day.Or cracked them with a hammerextracting the purple veinalong the hinge of the shell.They were hard to open.She broke the handle on her little knife.She left the worm inside to dieor gave it to the poor to eat.Then wiped the white-washed walland left a purple hand. Featured Download: If…
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A Preliminary for the Identification and Classification of
Tyrian purple [ancient Greek πορφύρα, Latin porphúra] from a species of predatory sea snails in the family Muricidae, originally known as Murex. In ancient times, extracting this dye involved tens of thousands of snails and substantial labor. The main chemical is 6,6’ –dibromoindigo. One of Paul’s first converts in Asia— a certain woman named Lydia,…
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Catalogue
It was a long time ago on a farm. The cows horse pigs chickens. The pond cellar farmhouse barn sheds hay-wagon fenced-fields a definition of function. On the table a fork butter-knife coal-bucket by the stove pump- handle. The dirt road is the oldest part of memory. Wild animals roamed at night. Hyena aardvark wart-hog…
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(Don’t) Eat Your Feelings
Empty chocolate wrappersstrewn across the unmade bedlike spent shells from a smoking gun.Sweet ammunition rests heavy in her belly,A failed salveon festering wounds,her growing girth bears witnessto the shattered glass of her past.A daughter’s fulfillment, a mother’s glee. Featured Download: If you would like a resource to help you write poetry like this, CLICK HERE.
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The Anchor of Your Life
I believe that all roots run deep,Though they may not be visible to the human eye,They build a strong foundation,By reaching out and intertwining. They become a secure anchor,As a life begins to grow. I believe that every day has potential,And that the layers of your life,Are expanded by experiences,That connect the rings of your…
