The Trouble With Principalities

She could think of a million reasons
why she was lost
and justified every one of them.
Survival mode sat on repeat for decades;
hearts in a heap under her feet,

hers at the bottom.

It’s not difficult to be a victim
when you have lost all hope.
What does a hundred more tears matter
in the scheme of things?

Love was still lingering
as an afterthought,
mingling in the waters
between misery and despair.
She was a ticking time bomb
with seconds to detonate.

Sadness had become a fixture in the house
from birth to middle of the road ,

but there was one constant;

a light in the distance
that could not be extinguished
by man or circumstance.
Sometimes, you have to fall on your knees
and surrender to something bigger,
something stronger than you.

There is an unpaved road
that leads back home
to the one that knows you
better than you know yourself

and beyond those hills and valleys,
there is a river that flows red
leading to destiny
paved in gold.

You can see it from the valley,
hear it in the meadows
when the night is full of stars

and your soul has had enough
of trying to carry the weight alone.

~

Here Lies Me

She was sweet and misunderstood,
naive, attention seeking, but, soft,
self destructive and abused.

She was me, untamed.


I am not sure when it happened.
There was no time of death,
no glowing moment.
She just walked out
in the middle of the night
with only the clothes on her back

and some unfinished poetry
left crumpled in the corner.

There were too many years to count,
too many instances when love
was an afterthought.

There have been days
I thought I heard her
tap, tap, tapping on the window,
but when that door closed, I knew

it had to stay shut.

I catch her sneaking adjectives
in a perfectly constructed sentence,
playing violins to my heart.

Silly poet,
never satisfied
with being a chapter

she wants to be the book.



~

Répondez, S’il Vous Plaît

You can keep my past,
heavy, in your pocket,
my mistakes,
as souvenirs on your mantle;

an impressive repertoire of iniquities,

but, he… he interprets my whispers,
quiets my hunger
with gold-edged pages,

red letters in a book;
shows me the poetry in psalms,
picks me up, shakes off the dust,
turns poets into prophets,
opens hearts like lotus flowers
with just a touch of his hand,
brings bouquets of promises,
in his time,

and I won’t need a watch where I’m going.

When darkness tries to steal me away,
he leads me into the light,
fills my aching spirit,
not with temporary, earthly things,
but, a warmth that moves mountains,
calms streams.

He walks on water,
washes over me
to clean the inside,
the vase,

the vessel
to share my testimony,

follow me.
Follow him.

There are those, like you,
lips that dare to mock his name,
sneer at the very thought of such holiness

and where be you?

In smoldering places
void of dreams,
a pit full of ashes, pitiful you,
seeking me?
Oh, yes,

Misery loves company.

~

Supplication

Darkness, swells
in the pit of your stomach;

and sleep becomes an impossibility.

Through sheer blue curtains,
dreams clouded by stark reality
as bloodshot eyes
force themselves open;

fingers find solace in his face,
intermingling in prayer.

 

 

~

Brisé

Opaque stars
dance swan lake,
in a Texas sky,
tears of Odette

fall
in pirouette,
thunder

louder than the distance
between you

and I.

~

Love Letter #11

This day burns
like a violin playing,
sorrowful, then sweet
with notes dangling
between lashes;
waves of sigh
where love resides;
fading stars, drawing nigh
to the night
in all it’s blissfulness;
dark and melancholy,
this heart, skipping beats,
these breaths
out of sync, like me
and this weeping
willow tree.

In 1986

I don’t mind washing dishes
It gives me time to think.

Perhaps I can fit in
a few lines of poetry
between tucking them in

and waking up for work,

or should I pretend I’m asleep
so I don’t have to hear his voice
like razor blades grinding my ears
and the click, click, click
of that video game controller;

the chorus to Roseanne reruns
playing in the background.

Let’s face it-

Without those sleeping angels
in the next room, the man upstairs,

and these syllables
that flow, like flowers
through a slipping mind,

I would surely expire,
at 26.

Is it 5:30 yet?

~

Love Letter #4

Black is the color of ache;
a hunger for just one song
to fill up our empty vessels
with flowered beginnings,
with crystal endings and
nothing but laughter in –
between.Carry my burdens
and I, love, will carry yours.
Let’s leave a trail of petals
for others to follow;write our
names in the sand, our love
as poetry in printed memoirs
of the many adjectives of us

~
~Day 20 of a poem a day in April for NaPoMo (National Poetry Month)

When It Falls

I feel like a tree, in winter;
such heaviness
upon slender limbs.

We are only branches
in this forest of massive trees

and some days,

ten digits are not enough
to hold all this pain.

~

~day 19 of a poem a day in April for NaPoMo (National Poetry Month)

Ghost

Step out of my sun
and take every dark thought
with you.

I found these stars
many moons ago
before your cloud of despair
hovered in

falling aimlessly
upon my dreams,
redirecting joy
into pools of gray

until I came up singing

but, it was a long way back
into the light.

~

~day 16 of a poem a day in April challenge for NaPoMo

Paroled

Thirty-one years to life
but I got out on good behavior
with credit for time served.
You tried to keep me
in solitary confinement,
but I escaped from the bottom
of your barrel and I will never
feel that low again.

~

Food for Thought