Poem 009: Moth on the Window

It's a moth on the window,

trying to reach light

separated by glass pane,

a wall holding back small body

in the glow-speckled dark

from what lies ahead.

A brightness cascading

in precise angles,

warming at the edges,

clarifying what the speckles

won't illuminate.

The moth doesn't know

the tangles of glass,

the unyeilding translucence.

It doesn't know how to pass

what all seems to be so

clear.

...

008: Threaded

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I’ve been held together by thread,

Threading thoughts

I filter through teeth,

Scraping away unpleasantries

And truths I thought might make you

Leave.

A thread I guided with trembled hand,

Going over and over mistakes,

Tricks of mind, personal deceptions,

Leaving lumped cross stitching

To be the perception of me.

I taste what I should have said

As I choke on the thread

Coming up my throat.

It’s smooth, water,

Cheek to earth,

Natural – where I was

Before I picked up a needle.

Here I am,

Starting to unravel.

...

007: Tattered Carnations

A petal blooded girl

Spilling red roses and fuchsia

From wounds where wings

Used to be.

Wings of calla lilies, carnations,

Daisies for a daisied mind,

Flower girl with blooms in her hair

tied around her hips,

On the road, petals pooling,

Hands trembling with

Tattered carnations

She pulled from her own back.

Calla lilies linger

On her tongue, ghostly,

As teeth grind white petals.

Day, periwinkle lit,

Picks petals from her feet

And speckles the air

With her shame.

...

Poetic Beginnings: Three Tips to Help You Start Writing Poetry Today

*This is an archived post from my last blog Smile, Sugar. I have lightly edited it, but it is mostly unchanged from it's original writing and posting in early summer, 2016.*

Let me state up front I'm not a poetry master. My poetry isn’t a godsend, and I only barely have my creative writing degree. I’m an average girl who likes to write poetry (take long walks on the beach, cuddle by the fire…) and think I'm decent enough to maybe help others out. Cool beans? Cool beans.

Poetic Process: Writing to an Obsession

I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I know it's been a while since I've put up a poem, but I've already mentioned what a funk I've been in. Like other aspects of life, I haven't been inspired on the poetry front. Life has been muse-less for poor little me. Booo hooooo. I'm getting back to it though! Since I have no new or technically interesting work to share with you, I thought I would go ahead and do some collection talk and discuss methodology I have going on with it. In particular, I'm going to discuss writing to an obsession. I highly recommend reading my poems Watercolors and For You for this post because they're relevant afffff.

006: For You

I never loved you,

But with flowers, I tried.

Pulling from gardens

I grew for you,

Every flower [blooming]

For you. I slink through

Scents to bottle for you,

Picking petals

From each one for you.

Three, seven, thirteen,

I start counting to see

If there are the same number of

petals on each flower for you.

Mind daisied for you. I say

I hate you, I love you, I hate you.

I always loved you,

Do you love me?

I break it into pieces

I put in the flowers –

For you.

...

005: Tantrum

Freckles are embers

singed by bleeding indigo flames

from mouth unkind.

Charcoal falls, ash rains,

fist collides with the wall.

It burns from my knuckles.

It’s burning. Everything is burning.

I am burning.

Dense black and purple smoke

fills lungs, it tastes

bitter on the tongue.

A flash in my eyes,

I scream unkind with

bleeding indigo flames.

...

004: Light

I turn on a light

and flecks speckle air -

flitting, glinting, charming

in my aura. [brightening]

In white palm, I take them,

pale gold, sparkling,

and crush them to

glittered dust

I run over my body.

I twirl the coy ribbons

flirting in the air

around my finger,

tingling warm, summer morning,

and weave them through my hair

so it looks like it

shines.

It is not gilding

if it is light, not gold.

Made of shadow, stroked

with light, I am dusk.

...

003: June

Careless days back in June

with lazy breeze no match for sun fever.

Gazing, watching, wondering in blue.

Bugs around me dance effervescent.

I’m lost under the willow tree

with thoughts that ponder skyscrapers.

Concrete cracks spit dandelions

they crush under their city shoes.

But flowers grow in my stomach,

drawing in honey bees

who hum evening symphonies

for orange watercolor atmosphere.

Tip-toed starlight sneaks into the sky, elegant

and slow. Take a moment, listen

to the night, become lost again.

Breathe, intoxicate yourself with nature’s perfume.

...

002: Cocklebur

Lingering in the eye,

It draws along nose

To Cupid’s bow,

shapes the mouth,

evoking language,

philosophy.

Tangling teeth with spools

Of old thread –

A thread through lips,

In breeze,

Waving and waiting,

Waiting to catch

The bur on a sleeve.

001: Watercolors

With watercolors,

I paint the air between

Us.

Yellow, because I’m trying,

And burgundy because you

Like the way it looks on your

Skin.

I dip my brush

Into crystal cup,

Ballerina shoe ribbons of color

Dancing to orange,

Mixed to sensible harmony.

I go for blush pink

But the mixture isn’t right.

The colors mush to

Runny earth tone.

I pour my cup in the air

Between us

To wash away the color,

But we already watched

The paint dry.