National Poetry Month 12/30

4.12.17

knees buckled
under the weight of my memories
not what I've endured
the pain radiating from my core
is something more sinister
more dangerous
the pain that I've inflicted
haunts me

National Poetry Month 11/30

4.11.17

Dangerous thoughts
invade a quiet mind
to protect her belovéd
she grew distant
withdrawn
her skin wilted
her soul a desert
vast
empty
full of death

National Poetry Month 10/30

4.10.17

What is freedom really

when we are prisoners

to love
     to work
          to family
               to time

National Poetry Month 9/30

4.9.17

I do not recognize my face
I know that it's me starring
at myself in the mirror
I cannot tell if it's
time or age or something else
the women starring back
a stranger
there's a hint of familiarity
in the sadness of the eyes

has she always been there?
I cannot tell where reality lies
in the past or in the present
Mirrors are supposed to be
the keepers of truth
but this one
no this one taunts me
with a face I do not know
What truth is there in a
reflection?

National Poetry Month 8/30

4.8.30

I want to write you sonnets
alas my love isn't that profound
I want to sing you ballads
alas my lungs are short of air
I want to give you every thing
alas my pockets are full of lint
I want to show you my scars
alas I've forgotten where to find them
I want to give you myself to you
alas I lost her along the way

National Poetry Month 7/30

4.7.17

tall
stalks of green
i hydrate them with love
bright yellow buds
greet me at dawn

daffodils in bloom

National Poetry Month 6/30

4.6.17

I will not parade my pain
     on a stage for you
I will not make a mockery
     of my misery
for voyeurs looking to get off
My history wasn't meant to be
     scored on a rubric
My tears were not meant to be
     validated by an audience

No

I will not parade my pain
     on a stage for you
This stage
This venue
This theater
This house
this is my temple
my holy place

This is where I come
     to commune with goddess
this is not an office
you are not my therapist

I will give you every ounce of
love
     grit
          fight
                 flaw
                       light
but I will not give you my pan
that burden belongs only to me

So no, I will not parade my pain
     on a stage for you
I will not send you home
with comparison notes
I am not looking for acceptance
I don't need validation
This work isn't about me
This work isn't for me
This work
    is greater than my personal narrative
I don't step to the mic seeking approval

I am merely a vessel, here on this stage
the cries you hear in my throat are not mine
they come from another place
Stories I was destined to tell
You were destined to hear
but let this one thing be clear

I will not parade my pain
     on this stage for you

National Poetry Month 5/30

4.5.17

we are the wretched 

what world is this
where children are expendable? 
a child who has yet to live 
and life will elude her 
poison will set her lungs ablaze
decades before she speaks revolution

she will never know beauty 
she will never know poetry 

she 
     will
           never  
                    know 

this is not holy
this is not political 
this 
is 
war 

war waged on the wretched 

National Poetry Month 4/30

4.4.17

I wonder if the moon is lonely 

night watch woman 

guarding the sky 

recipient of prayers 

giver of energy 

mistress of tides 

what do we give her in return?

we take and take

then abandon her at dawn 

seldom mind her waning and waxing 

wait impatiently for her full return 

we watch in wonder 

      with nothing to offer 

National Poetry Month 3/30

4.3.17

She doesn't listen to Townes any longer
a feeble attempt to erase him 
     from her memory
gazing on the world with vacant eyes
some ill begot love lived laced 
between whiskey and longing 

the past had become a raging river engulfing her
her lungs burned with lack of oxygen 
all she could think to do 
was turn the music off
save her heart from hearing another note

her soul lingered suspended between
guitar strings; it go so 
she couldn't stand to hear men sing 

the blues 
stuck to her marrow 
she wanted to loose her/self 
silent 
dormant 

she doesn't listen to Townes any longer

National Poetry Month 2/30

4.2.17


He 
took great pains to hurt her
used his words as weaponry 
hoped to carve deep into her psyche

he was misled 
thought there was something there
something worth cutting
she

had no feelings
a vacant vessel 
incapable of sensation 
he tried to damage her 
she swallowed his insults like
     morning coffee 

wondering when would this madness end?

National Poetry Month 1/30

4.1.17

subway
car to car
the poor plead with the poor for pennies
panhandlers pondering which prose
will fare better for their pockets
the are storytellers

will their tales of poverty earn a penny from your pocket? 

eyes averting as
minds attempt to rationalize 
pinched purses 

contemporary paupers 
pleading 
people
paying 
no mind