Category: poem

• the aftermath

  scattered and devasted
  like how glass feels
  after a break-in
  shatters the street

  it is –
  the aftermath
  that counts.

  September 27, 2011

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• written waiting for a late train in Penn Station NYC

  train station waiting on the last
  late train
  woman in beehive
  and daisy dukes
  while another in
  impossibly tall shoes long eyelashes batting at
  the pretty men
  business travelers
  wearing a path in the floor
  how they tour
  and turn
  making deals with the air itself
  and Amtrak personnel
  create a new sign

  yawns

  and how the screeching never stops
  yet it’s never right
  and how the light
  reflects

  another group of models in beehive
  so fitting before a trip
  back to Baltimore

  and how the light reflects.

  September 23, 2011

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• my mother’s philosophy

  everything you repeat
  you believe;
  everything you believe
  becomes real.

  September 22, 2011

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• the cycle

  begins when i slam
  the door with “this is over”
  again
  and you cry and beat
  your fists

  takes a turn when
  i slam vodka shots, drive
  cross eyed
  and wait out your
  return

  begins when you let
  me back in
  and we whisper gently
  let’s lay quiet
  awhile

  September 21, 2011

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• looking back

  Her Reflection
  http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/03/her-reflection.html

  Like Climbing Vines of Ivy
  http://presssend.blogspot.com/2011/02/like-climbing-vines-of-ivy.html

  September 19, 2011

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• tequila stream of consciousness (2003 – a ballerina)

  all this travel
  and the world slips
  back in line with
  stars
  splintered dock where the black waves
  lap close to my splintered feet
  and crash just a bit white and
  a few feet below me
  [you aren’t there]
  but one man tried to kiss, hold and grab
  before i shoved and clawed
  and ran on splintered toes
  tippy toeing and ballerina-like
  jumping back in the sky
  you would say
  i was drunk again
  tequila shots and beer
  muddling up what was meant to be
  and not.
  how in my mind
  i would see myself a dancer
  behind a curtain
  black dark curtain sky
  in my mind
  i’m the pretty “can’t take your eyes off”
  woman, not girl,
  but again all this travel
  and lack of sleep
  makes me crazy
  look at how the sand
  reminds me to
  take shoes off. lay softly still.
  forget about you.

  September 16, 2011

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• victory letters (2)

  above in steel it
  is ws g90 cs/b
  it’s granular and upside down.
  it means nothing to me, this me
  head thrown back,
  headache pinching one side.
  florescent lighting affects the metal
  and creates a ripple effect
  i start to see patterns
  numbers – letters – squares.
  i notice the ws repeat
  i see the secret messages and the meaning
  is pinching my brain.
  my neck stiffens
  but i don’t look away.
  the world relies on my ability
  to decipher the code

  soon the walls will fall to the side
  and before the darkness
  i will rise in victory.

  September 14, 2011

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• train haiku

  sway soft like a young
  girl’s dress. we roll on mindful
  of trees and the gap.

  September 12, 2011

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• straw sandals by Jennifer Marin [Guest Post]

  So, I like everything about this guest post – from the message preface to the deceptively simple verse. Jennifer Marin is a fabulous designer (among other talents) but has never considered herself a poet, at least not that I know of. Goes to show that everyone has a little poetry in their soul 🙂 Please follow her at @Hungry4Design

  “Looks like my handwriting…. Found it in my 2006 notebook – from the very first 3 months I was here [United States from Venezuela]

  Another year is gone
  A travelers shade on my head
  Straw sandals at my feet”

  September 9, 2011

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• living alone

  days without
  words

  i am nothing more
  than
  vapor

  water on the stove boils
  til dry

  the hiss of a gas flame
  laments
  the loss

  a cool glass sits with
  a clink

  September 8, 2011

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