Tag: poetry

Ivy

Posted on by Brooklyn

Ivy

I have little suicides
running up and down my arms.
Ivy on a mansion wall;
chaotic beauty, generating
new buds each passing week.
The more I cut them back,
the faster they grow,
coming in thicker than before,
choking one another, racing
toward an end they do not know.
Always vying for position,
for sunlight, for glory,
they go on regenerating
when one is left behind to die.
Crawling up my flesh,
they speak in whispers,
tighten their grip,
daring me to slit their tiny
throats once again.

written: unknown – likely 2005 – 2007

 

 

 

WARNING: 18+

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Iceberg

Posted on by Brooklyn

Iceberg

I love you in the darkness –
Even when there is light.
Not the noise of the daylight,
More artificial. . . late when
The house is silent
A book open before me.
In the story I place you
On a ballroom floor
Wearing the black velvet locket
Encircling her neck with particular tenderness.
Or, the mouth, open, poised
Waiting for lips to whisper to your throat
Words shaped to fill
The empty spaces of your soul.
Yes, in stories, I love you.
In darkness – only. In winter. In Fall.
When the leaves gather on the frost,
Auburn and yellow upon crystalline white.
The spot, the colors, I spread your
Black hair across, opened your mouth,
Shaped that emptiness with my lips,
Whispered the truth to your throat –
On leaves of auburn and yellow.
The truth of darkness and stories;
Stories of solid whispers and a love
That I can only feel beneath my tremble…
Beneath the shadow of the leaf pressed
Against the iceberg of your skin.

written: October 7, 1999

  

 

 

 

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Honeymoon

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Honeymoon

The waning of their love began with the honeymoon.
Suspended in the sky, a tether of understanding
she sheds light on their story.
Lying naked and exhausted from sex
their sweat sparkling in the candlelight
they look to the sky,
clasp hands
and ask some wish of the stars —
long life, health, love?
All the time
she looks on, winking,
knowing what they do not.
Waning slowing, waning nonetheless.

written: November 30, 2001

  

 

 

 

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Conversing

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Conversing

I cannot invoke bouquet;
withering and dying before it passes my lips.
Implausible 
that it could rest 
in the quietest recesses of me,
nestled along side
precious 
and slender –
huddled together 
in this hostile land.
 
I’m allowed
the close landscape of
jigsaw and gerrymander; 
stalemate and sawdust; 
hash marks and hypotenuse 
(and hypotenuse), 
stretching out
connecting the angle 
of my bouquet 
just out of your sensing.

written: December 22, 2017

  

 

 

 

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Dandelion

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Dandelion

I have fallen through my one memory of you
too many times to count.
Hitting the sheets, soft like lilacs and dandelions
each Sunday morning.
And you were so strong,
picking me up like a grain of pollen,
tossing me into the air where I was weightless;
where I would find myself still, years later,
unable to gain the momentum to touch ground
and become something, anything—
a lilac, a dandelion, a wish, a weed

written: unknown – likely 1999 – 2001

  

 

 

 

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Piracy

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Piracy

Rabidly fleeing our wedding ceremony,
we took to the seas.
It was our honeymoon,
and the last night I stood alone on the ship’s bow
and imagined seas of the 1600’s
when Blackbeard ruled
the Bahaman waters.
I saw Spanish clippers
emerging like ghosts on the horizon,
sails of blank pages from a book
waiting to be written in cannon fire.
But, surely, there must’ve been a time, early on—
before he tied delicate red ribbons to his face
and lit slow burning fuses—
when bloodshed was hard to reconcile
with the “Letter of Marque.”
A dozen souls poised on a ship’s mast
as it slipped into darkness.
Maybe his heart sank a little
with each watery death,
until, eventually, it simply floated—
a buoy of warning to the world.
The moon slips behind a cloud,
and I’m sure I hear scores beneath me
tapping gold coins together,
gurgling,
“Step lightly, Pirate. Regret weighs more down here.”

written: unknown – likely 2004 – 2005

  

 

 

 

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