I was digging again in that field of forgetfulness exhuming old hurt danger and grief If one waits long enough the threads and threats even the bones of it will be gone Better to let it all rest It needs no turning Hold this promise: every atom feeds what is to come
Tag: poetry
Stillness
In the end all is stillness and wind waving across the long grass
F*cking Awesome (Explicit Version)
I'd like to fuck Awesome do you have any idea where I might find him? Or do you mean the fucking itself is awesome? Because I'm cool with that, too Maybe I'm confused: Is Fucking the surname or the given name? Wait! Is fucking here the noun, verb, adjective? Or a gerund? I love those But I digress: If you see Awesome tell him I'm DTF
A trio of poet friends decided to write pieces using the phrase “Fucking Awesome”. This is one in a short series of poems with similar titles.
Children
Our bodies, swollen with others' hands and feet their needs we fed them life drawn from us Now they walk about in the world speak, laugh oblivious to their first homes Just as each day I forget where my own small head once lay
Fortune
Where to fall, where to rise This phrase liberated from a cookie a question, unpunctuated Where will you fall? Into love? Despair? And where will you rise? Unbidden and unafraid
Another Time
My child breathes (in) another time Tells his secrets (in) another time Builds forts and alliances (in) another time Licks cream and wounds (in) another time Reads post cards scrawled (in) another time Knows his mother held him (in) another time
Many Things
There are many things I want to tell you and even more want to be true: you will know your beauty and your worth you matter this story ends well
Sensitive But Unclassified
These secrets small lush treasures bright jewels tucked in corners and among filing papers Pyrite, more than miner's love still the work of a thousand ten thousand years My treasure subtle enough to evade your care and attention in the end I am sensitive but unclassified
Late
You stayed up late laughing, slapped drunk hands on tables while the rest of us pretended to sleep I didn't have a heart to scold you But wondered how much irritation was exhaustion and how much longing for a youth I lacked the courage to live
Tonight
All day we occupied our minds and hands with what we thought needed our doing Tonight we tell ourselves it was enough and mattered, that we, too mattered And that tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow we might matter still or at last
This Verse 