Goodbye

There is no such thing as a coincidence.
It was my left hand,
very soft and slightly warm
that touched the hand of an angel those many
years ago it seems in the echoing of Notre Dame
And it was my left hand,
very sad and slightly afraid
that touched the shoulder of a disappearing friend
just today it was his shirt was soft

It remembered me.

His Death

The road was a long strip of burial cloths that day
Cream-colored and dusty, steaming with death.

The rain was the angels' silent tears
Tumbling out of the clouds and crashing heavily to the ground.

A landmark in the street she was
Crying over her child

Oh

Her child with eyes that had danced...
and remember his smile?
his smile always tore my soul.

The river of people swarming around
passing by
they were not there. Their invisible faces could not see
the woman and her son.

Her breasts heaved in keening sobs
Oh
Hear her mourning song it begins

climbs higher with her sorrow.
and
so tenderly low

Let her weep, I whisper anonymously in their beaten ears
but I need not for they have seen more death than Hades himself.

Across the grey river there is a soul waiting for his mother
he watches her rise and stretch her deathly arms toward the heavens
where a god sleeps.

And her cries are heard in Ramah
They are loud then soft, then aching with
a crowd of disbelief gathering in her bosom.

He was her only son, they whisper in my ear, but they needn't specify.

The road was a long strip of burial cloths that night
Cream-colored and clean, empty with tears

She stood in the road a landmark
Reminding us of where her lost son lay
(eyes no longer dancing, smile no longer tearing our souls)

He is not here! she cried loudly to the fragments of stars
He has been sent across the river
You have no hold on him, o foolish night

I brushed a crystal tear from my cheek and saw her
raise again her empty arms to the sky.

No Idea

Above you, O dearest hateful friend
(in fact, beneath you and around you too)
Are ten thousand angels
with brilliant strong wings,
and powerfully tender arms;
their golden faces never look away.

You burrow through life, O loveliest angry brother
Pretending to not remember the flowing white of their robes
back when you were in heaven (remember?)
that must have been...years before you were born.

Sometimes,
O beautiful furious lover

I lose the reason I was sent to protect you
ah yes...I forget that I am assigned to love you
Even when you are the
Worst
Friend, brother, lover
I could
Ever
Imagine.

Still (ha!)

I will smile.
For it is not my position
to shun one
who is loved by the Lord.

“So after, when he whispers," You love me. Real or not real?"
I tell him, "Real.”

- MOCKINGJAY

“At a few minutes before four, Peeta turns to me again. "Your favorite colour . . . it's green?"
"That's right." Then I think of something to add. "And yours is orange."
"Orange?" He seems unconvinced.
"Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset," I say. "At least, that's what you told me once."
"Oh." He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. "Thank you."
But more words tumble out. "You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces."
Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.”
-MOCKINGJAY

I Will Try Again

I will try to be a strong mountain.
So firmly planted on this earth that not even the
Most faithful can move me.

I will try (I promise.) to be an ancient tree.
That hasn't gotten feeble with age; rather
My roots are living deep within the mire.

I will try to cultivate a heart of stone.
Uninhibited by regret and sorrow and ready to slay
The most convincing lover.

I will try (Really I will.) to not care.
Although your ghost follows me around
Calling my name.

A Poem About Me.

I won't blame you, no matter how wrong you are
You're eyes are the last thing I see before I fall

asleep

Only to dream about your eyes again
And forget that you are not mine to dream about
That you would do anything to not see me
ever
In your life
I forget that there are three things you love
and I am not nearly one
I forget because I have to.
Ever felt like the world is a thousand galaxies of pressure
on one small corner of your heart
And that if I just twist this way - yes just so
it will all come pouring out into shining light of day
But the problem lies in the fact that I never know which way is up
So I flounder on the bottom of a forgotten star
Trying to piece together
That dream I had years ago before I fell


asleep.

The one dream in which your eyes saw me

I remember with a shattered smile. You didn't stone me there.

Ten Steps to the Left

Is a girl with bedraggled bangs and
A shine in her grey eyes
She may be thinking about you when she watches
You. Or she may be thinking about her poem
That is stored between the pillows
On either side of your head.

When she smiles at you she isn't seeing
You. As much as she is smiling at the worn-out soul
That is sighing in your bosom. So smile back
You must smile back because otherwise she will
Most likely wait forever.

Look at her watching the world
And wondering what it is that makes her cry.

The Fakest "Okay" on the Planet

I cannot begin to tell you
How my soul burns
When you rustle past my questioning eyes
Without a word
Or a glance
Or even a breath of recognition.

I am invisible now
And my face is smudged off the
Paper
So all you must see is
Two clenched fists
Threatening your independence.

Please stop.
I will not steal you
Or your heart
So please, please stop
Stoning me.

You

There is nothing I hate more in the world Than you When the sun is shining in your eyes and the wind is blowing your hair around and your mouth is serious and precise and a tingle of desire aches into my stomach. When you turn your head and your cheekbones are perfectly wicked.

The Stone Man

I.

His hands are smooth as limestone.
His stance is firm as granite.
His face and neck are chiseled marble.
His august brow is flawless amber.

Voiceless sentinels, stone men are.
Locked away in self-made prisons.

His lofty glare bores through me.
His archaic eyes are stones as well.
His irises are black as obsidian glass.
His scrutiny no one can withstand.

Essences of diamond, stone men have.
The hardest, sharpest, coldest edge.


II.

Look into The Stone Man's soul:
You will see it is
falling to s h r e d s
a fragile bird in a topaz cage.

Look into The Stone Man's heart:
It is
aching with regret

and 10,100,000 years of sapphire tears.

Look into The Stone Man's mind:
You will find a river of sor-
row
eroding away his emerald dreams.






III.

Once upon a long-ago time,
when The Stone Man lived on a living Earth,
and 10,100,000 deaths had not yet died,

The Stone Man's soul
saw the Sinister Snake Woman,
and his heart
heard the Harpy's hideous cry.
His mind
misjudged the Malediction of Medusa,


And f a r, f a r away
(in the bottom of the ocean)
where mermaids sing and sunlight dies:
there,

The Stone Man let his Love lie.


IV.

Now say with me as we w h i s p e r past:

As long as the moon drops tears on the sky,
and the sons of the angels cry for blood...
as long as the earth whirls 'round the sun,

I will hold the quartzite hand of The Stone Man,
and I will gently rock his garnet heart,
for no one in hell can touch my Stone Man...
lest his amethyst eyes tumble apart.

Alfred Noyes (1880-1958) The Highwayman

                    

                                        PART ONE

                                                 I

    THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
    The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
    The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
    And the highwayman came riding—
                      Riding—riding—
    The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

                                                 II

    He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
    A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
    They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
    And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
                      His pistol butts a-twinkle,
    His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

                                                 III

    Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
    And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
    He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
    But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
                      Bess, the landlord's daughter,
    Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

                                                 IV

    And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
    Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
    His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
    But he loved the landlord's daughter,
                      The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
    Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

                                                 V

    "One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
    But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
    Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
    Then look for me by moonlight,
                      Watch for me by moonlight,
    I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

                                                 VI

    He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
    But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
    As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
    And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
                      (Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!)
    Then he tugged at his rein in the moonliglt, and galloped away to the West.

 

                                        PART TWO

                                                 I

    He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
    And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
    When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
    A red-coat troop came marching—
                      Marching—marching—
    King George's men came matching, up to the old inn-door.

                                                 II

    They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
    But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
    Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
    There was death at every window;
                      And hell at one dark window;
    For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

                                                 III

    They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
    They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
    "Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
                      She heard the dead man say—
    Look for me by moonlight;
                      Watch for me by moonlight;
    I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

                                                 IV

    She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
    She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
    They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
    Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
                      Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
    The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

                                                 V

    The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
    Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
    She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
    For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
                      Blank and bare in the moonlight;
    And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain .

                                                 VI

        Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
    Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
    Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
    The highwayman came riding,
                      Riding, riding!
    The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!

                                                 VII

    Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
    Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
    Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
    Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
                      Her musket shattered the moonlight,
    Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.

                                                 VIII

    He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
    Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
    Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
    How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
                      The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
    Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

                                                 IX

    Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
    With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
    Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
    When they shot him down on the highway,
                      Down like a dog on the highway,
    And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

                  *           *           *           *           *           *

                                                 X

    And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
    When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
    When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
    A highwayman comes riding—
                      Riding—riding—
    A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

                                                 XI

    Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
    He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
    He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
    But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
                      Bess, the landlord's daughter,
    Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

 
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

Oxymoron

The very voice that hurt me
Is the same that is healing me
With every syllable he speaks
I remember where that piece of my heart
Was lost
And he builds me up
Word by word
Until my whole soul again
Is fresh and clean
Like the morning

Stream of Conscience

My heart is caving into my fingers and my mind and my lungs
And every part of my body is aching with tiredness and weari
ness And nothing in the world can stop me from crying and cr
ying And crying big great tears that swallow the whole world a
nd fall Onto my glasses leaving salty stains that blur my vision
because I cant see I am an invalid I do not know which directi
on the sun Is when it is shining in my face I do not understand
why the world Goes upside-down every twenty-four hours and
why the trees Have lovely little green buds in the spring but th
en in the winter Those beautiful small lives are crushed and fro
zen by heartless Snowflakes in the same way my heart is open
and tender like A new wound or an unstitched scar but I am so
afraid that when Brown eyes forget to look at mine and when th
ey fall away so very Fast that I barely see the sparkle that is wh
en I am afraid that the Scary huge snowflakes of dislike will fall
into my open wound and Seal it up tight oh so very tight but with
the wrong thing inside I do not want hurt to be closed up in my h
eart or dislike what I Want to be in there is another heart curled
up close like a friend But so much more than just a friend an ally
and a lover someone Who will support my whole body every time
my soul forgets how To rise every morning and someone who will love me like I am.

Okay

I will hide my
thousands of tears
behind blue-ish eyelids
............because thousands of tears
............won't make him love me.
I will run away
from all that makes me happy
for thousands of days
............because being happy
............won't make him love me.
I will cry
with tears not in my eyes,
but in my thousand-year-old heart
............because my heart
............won't let me stop loving him.

Night-Light

Early in the morning when the whole world
is slanted and tipped on its side
with sleep

Every face is different in the morning
when eyes are still cloudy with leftover
dreams
and hands are still soft with memories

If our eyes should meet in the morning
we would see tender
liking
in each other's countenance

And it wouldn't catch either of us
off-guard.

There Are Certain Diamonds That Do Not Fall from Heaven

I wasn't expecting
more than a giggly situation/
with the chance of a flirtation/
and the certainty of fine muscles.

I wasn't prepared
for a mouthful of tears?
and shaking hands that couldn't breathe?
when two shining eyes fixed on me.

I wasn't ready
to break into my own heart--
in order to see his--
open like a weeping rain cloud.

So I choke on my mourning
and cough up my sympathy
in wheezing
gasping

words

words never say enough.

H

An iniquitous soul on trial
sitting in judgement.

"She's innocent!" I cry.

The room is close and hot,
refusing to hear my voice among the thousands of prosecutors,
bullying to bring forth their false accusations and hearsays.
The defense attorney says his piece,
his evidence is flawless and
....irrevocable.

"See?"
My anxious pleas resume.

Not a single ear hears
Not one mind is swayed
the prosecution continues to lie
....and cheat and fake
....and convince
The judge - oh - the horrible grinning judge
He bangs his gavel
....in the torrent of aspersions

"Guilty!"
the lord of the Earth cries
Guilty of murder, of adultery, slander, gossip and coveting...
of hate, idol-worship, lust, false testimony and gluttony.

And the church shakes its solemn withering head at me as I walk away,
broken.

C

When the sun is a darkening blot against the dying sky
and oceans are salt beds of lost dreams
and every soul on the earth is merely an echo in the mind of God,

I will remember
the soft tenderness of Romeo's lips
.........how it feels to be in love.
I will remember
my soul shattering within my shameful bosom
.........how it feels to die of a broken heart.
I will remember
briny tears gathering like storm clouds in my eyes
.........how it feels to cry.

Not even death,
I think,
could tear those memories asunder

Palm Sunday :)

  Rejoice greatly, Daughter Zion!
   Shout, Daughter Jerusalem!
See, your king comes to you,
   righteous and victorious,
lowly and riding on a donkey,
   on a colt, the foal of a donkey.

-Zechariah 9:9 (NIV)