poetry

Suffering

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how it seeps into our lives
like acid rain in the gutter of our world
and though we scrub our skin
and mop the stained pavement,
it returns, dark and thick, unblockable.

how it creeps into our lives
with chirps and whistles, childlike,
hidden between the pages of our books,
behind the minor notes of major music,
its words and melodies compiled
into a cacophonous calamity of sadness.

how it breathes its life into our lives,
slithering snakelike into the brightest moments,
reminding us of who we could be,
of what within us we have lost,
of who we are in this moment, this
undefinable, sorrowful,
searching-for-meaning moment of suffering.

Birthday Party

/ lovizmytrio / 1 Comment

it is her first invite
(i wish it was her last)
and we sit in awkward silence
exchanging knowing looks

we’re surrounded by excess fat
skimmed off meat
once set aside just for the rich that has
oozed into our barely-middle class neighborhood

in gluttonous globs it surrounds
even the youngest rosy cheeks,
tripping and slipping their every step
as they unwrap, unwrap, unravel.

by coming here today, we are guilty,
and though our portion size is smaller,
it sits at the edge of the heaped-to-ceiling plate,
torn to bits in minutes by a ferocious four-year-old.

we take our leftovers in six baggies home,
but they are not for the dog. they are for us,
our girls, to chew on all evening, to try and
fill the growling hole in our gut-wrenched stomachs.

My Call

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i can’t write these words
without the acrid taste
of your absurdity
resting on my fingertips.

you may think
your mightier-than-thou
attitude makes you
stronger than us lesser-thans

but no one could be
lesser than you
with your cold, know-it-all words
and your severe lack of respect.

you may think you’re
calling it like it is, but all
you are really doing
is being the pot.

i am not the kettle,
so don’t try to twist this
around with the knives
you’ve stuck in our backs.

we can play like this all night,
idiom after idiom,
idiot after idiot,
but i think i’ll call it a day.

Wild Waves

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in wild waves they come
splashing me with sticky, salty skin,
throwing me into the undercurrents
of what they think is right.

i stand on the shore facing their storm,
waiting for the moon to send the tide back,
their glistening white foam
tickling my toes with bubbles and warmth.

they push and pull and topple seashells onshore,
their distant fatherly clouds pounding down,
and they lap, lap, lap the sand at my feet,
not always waiting for my command.

in wild waves they come to my beach,
and though i try to clear the sticky salt,
it seeps in, breathes through my skin,
and together we intertwine our arms and swim.

How to Write a Poem

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

just take two words
something plus something
combine them together
in a mix of machinery
(metaphorsimileassimilation)
and you have yourself a poem.

Example:
my phone is a bleeping cockroach
hiding in the closet
all day long
creeping out on vibrating legs at night
and flashing its bleary eyes
at me when i open the door
and release it to freedom.

In This World

/ lovizmytrio / Leave a comment

with the words
O my brothers
O my brothers
Anthony Burgess
stings my ears with
a new kind of violence
just as the wind
stings my skin
and the sun
stings the cold away
and before i miss it
i stop, the rogue farm
on one side of my
place in this world,
the corporate conglomerate
on the other,
and snap the photos
to record the moment:
2,000 miles in
not twelve, but eleven months,
the same day i discover
i’ve walked fifty in seven days
(108,688 steps)
and though they are numbers
(just numbers?)
they represent everything
that is possible,
that i believe,
that i thinkicanithinkicanithinkican
do in this world.

Wool

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you may think i have wool
that blinds me from your version
of reality. but i pulled that back
ten years ago with my degree,
so don’t think you can
blindfold me again, as you do them,
the bleating sheep who wander
in their field of frustrated naivete.

i will pull it back, this wicking wool
that hides your response in
its porous, scratchy fibers. and i
will see the truth for what it is:
without the wool, you have no cover
for your reckless requirements, just as i
have no reason to cover my knowledge
with the cries of your freshly sheared sheep.

Beam

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just as i step into the light
that beams beneath the night
i take your hand in mine
and reach across your spine

on the other side of the street
is where our souls will meet
she will lead the way
we will learn to play

like children we could be
the ones who are always free
they make us who we are
we search for the first star

but this is just a dream
this bright and shining beam
the truth is there are shadows
the truth is in the hollows

your steps catch up to mine
can i reach across the line?
i search for what we’ve lost
our hearts caked with frost.

Ache

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i reached out my hand
(could have touched your shoulder)
but you shimmied away
(the invitation lost in your hollow eyes)

the words sat on the tip of my tongue
waiting for your beckoning call
but you didn’t reach
and i was afraid to bring them forth

your song played twice in my ears
as i pedaled home. you will never know
how much it makes me cry, how you
are in my aching heart when i hear it.

but we are separate now. and you
will never quite forgive my choice
just as i could never quite forgive
those aching moments that i sat there.

i reached out my hand
(i could have touched your shoulder)
and i am waiting here now,
the words caught (captive) in my throat.

someday you will define this for them
(this time i won’t hear your explanation).
but i will wish i could be there, captive,
so that your fingers could touch mine,
so that your ache is my ache, our ache.

Symphony

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when it was just us,
your birdlike chatter sounded
like a jungle symphony of beauty,
your words dripping with inquiry,
your passions intense with dedication.

now, bright new birds have invaded
our once-peaceful jungle of language,
and cacophony blinds my ears,
stings with acrid haste my tongue,
sends us spinning to the canopy, lost.

i hope that we can find the place
somewhere between the lowest and highest limb
where the movements of your symphony
will smooth out our tumultuous cacophony,
so that together, birdlike, our song’s lyrics
will draw out the best voices in all of us.