More of the same

Isolationist

Alone: quite by
oneself, solitary
unaccompanied.
This small set of
nondescript words
has the power to
chill the bravest.
Solitude leaves you
with a hungry gulf
that will devour
your consciousness
unless you combine
your energies with
another and thus
fill the creature’s
mouth with words
and calls and texts.
This holds true for
all but the small
subset who need
time apart from the
swelling
jarring
heaving
dizzying
push and pull
of their fellow
humans. These,
we must leave
to their alone.

You Asked For It

Here are my latest two poems from my Advanced Poetry class. The first one is a persona poem, so the voice speaking is not me. It's based on my experiences at my physical therapist, and yes, I intended for it to be creepy (therapy isn't really, that's creative license on my part). The second one isn't any particular kind of poem, just free verse.


Therapist

I don't want to hurt anyone,
But I do.
I cause pain
To heal.

I take her arm
And wrench,
Hard to the right.
She squeezes her eyes
Shut and inhales sharply.
Breathing cages
Her screams.

Pain makes her
Better. I'm making
Her better.

************************

Breath Before the Plunge

I'm leaving;
We're saying goodbye and
You make that face
(pursed lips pushed
to the side, eyes
gazing down) that means
You are weighing the risks
Of telling me something important.
I ask with my eyes
And my silent inquiry
Is enough.
You take a long
Slow breath and
Open your mouth
To speak.

New Poem

The assignment for this poem was to draw inspiration from a line from another poem or piece of literature and write it according to that. The first line of mine is from Emily Dickinson's poem beginning with that line.


The Accident

“Because I could not stop for Death,”
He got a little ticked and
Stopped me himself
(rather abruptly).
He told me
That my license to feel
Youthfully invincible had expired.

I ended up
With a broken wrist
And an appointment to see him again
In thirty-seven years
(give or take).
I’m hoping
He’ll give me an extension for
Good behavior.

A work in progress

"Haerer's 'Lucine'"

Show me whites of every color,
Hiding swirls of vibrant ink.
Show me curves
and coils
and blossoms.
Show me no jarring straight line.
Show me dimensionless flowers and
Show me shells of no earth's creature.
Show me both together,
Marrying and mixing,
Birthing dreams and terrors in one womb.
Give me ever eyes
To see the world with.

Silence

It's quiet. It is currently 4:10am and I'm working the night shift. Many people despise this work period, calling it "The Graveyard Shift" and avoiding it at all turns. I'm discovering that I rather enjoy it. I've been a night owl for years, ever since my parents rescinded their 10pm bedtime rule and let me choose for myself. Night holds a subtle charm for me, a shady beauty that the day's glaring brilliance can't capture. Night is a time for stars and moon, for humming insects and the the throaty call of nocturnal birds. I love allowing my eyes to adjust and seeing clearly in what was pitch darkness a moment before. I love cool night rains and the outrageous light show of a nighttime electrical storm. I love working at night because the hotel is still, and customers don't bother me with petty complaints. There's something exhilirating about being the one in charge of a whole hotel. It brings to mind the night watchmen of years past, men who would sit on the ramparts of a walled city and cry "It's 5:00 and all's well!" While I don't hold a title as auspicious as "night watchman," I'll watch all the same. It's 4:22 and all's well.

New poem

Summer Snow

I saw a swirl of snow today;
The warm wind floated it by,
And the sun shone through the flakes
Dappling me with tiny shadows.
I lifted my arms
And let the snow whisper past,
Kissing my skin
And leaving the delicate scent of spring.


Also, I wrote a haiku as a companion piece.

White petals whisper
Swirling from a molting tree
A summer snowstorm.

Chatter

The two people behind me are amazing. They've managed to keep up a constant stream of chatter for the entire class period, but I haven't understood a single word they have said. It all blends into a low-toned murmur that balances just on the edge of my hearing range. It's just irritating enough to distract me from the lecture. I can't imagine why they would bother coming to class if they were going to ignore the lecture the whole time. It's too large of a class to take role, and there are never any extra credit assignments. Why didn't they just skip it today, if they were so bored? My professor, who apparantly has the ears of a fox, wonders this too, in a loud voice amplified for the entire class to hear. The two culprits sink into an abashed silence, much to the relief of those around them. The lecture continues.