This summer I took some chances while listening to Chance the Rapper because I liked the beat But listened to Kendrick when I wanted some street poetry Some urban poetry From poets who grew up in suburban towns with an urban state of mind Designed to have inclined to remind mankind of what it’s l
A mindless leaf fluttered out of nowhere and perched on my sandaled foot. In the distance, a disorganized medley of birdsong made up an unrehearsed orchestra. Idyllic as it was, I was in the middle of a fairly typical snapshot of spring.
She fell on top of me, burrowed her face in my fluff, hands smacking the down inside of me, legs kicking, wriggling, growing restless at the foot. Every night I gave her comfort, she told me her secrets, whispered in the meekest of voices of the taunts and the teases and the tortures of the day.
when I offered you a heart full of love you answered, like this woman in a toy store when I tried to spend a two-dollar bill a relative had given me years ago, when I was young . . . Keep it. It may be worth something someday.
* “I am going on a diet,” she announced. “But McKenzie, you're only six! Besides, you’re beautiful!” I shot back. “But,” she insisted, “I need to lose weight. “No, you do not. I’m your nanny, I know these things. Now eat your lunch.” Later that day, we watched an episode of Hannah Montana.
The sea shimmers as if a child, has poured glitter in its soft blue path. Mountains linger over such water and are outlined by a china blue sky. The sun dances across the water, casting this magical scene. A fisherman casts his line in various shades of orange and red. Clap Water collides with th
He leaves his shoes on the doorstep. Size twelve and a half, wearing through the toes and curling with wrinkles of use. He stopped working at the orchard in November, but red Oklahoma mud still caulks the crevices and holes, stains the laces.
Five dozen shouting. All mouths open vocalizing hatred for hate – some to be cool, others to get it out – shouting loud, looking left and right for the movement. Where’s it going? Never looking from where it came; Grab a slogan, get to the sidewalks, Pound your message into the pavement, The mud
The people in my world are all for free speech so long as it’s not mine. Stemmed from a mind of national concern, it hardly counts as an emergency when I try to dig my nails into the glass separating me from the world and tear them apart. Waiting for pity or strength to release me so long as no o
It looked a bit like Lila, but it wasn’t Lila. I don’t know why people say that when someone dies they look like they’re sleeping. Her skin was dull grey and colder than ice. Her long body lay limp and heavy on the stainless steel table. Her clothes were dirty and rumpled.
A cool breeze shuffled my hair, causing deep chestnut strands to tangle in my eye lashes. As my purse swung loosely at my hip, I slowly lifted my hand to shield my defenseless eyes against the brilliant sun. I exhaled deeply, letting the awe and amazement settle in the pit of my stomach.
Sometimes I just sit there, waiting to be struck, with one poetic thought. Other times I am struck, with a line to my poem, and I have nowhere, to write it down. Inspiration comes from, nature and the world. It comes from the people, I meet, the ones I love and hate. Inspiration comes to me, on i
Bumping the van, our holey road twists onto the dark side of each mountain, drawing us into night and the nervousness of a stranger at the wheel in an unfamiliar place. The stars are swallowed, the moon gone from the rough highway and jagged peaks. Suddenly, I see an orange glow in the black, bes
There is so much beneath the surface of what we are being told, like cream rising to the top of milk, like layers in the ocean, like light filtering in only through the top. The rest is inky darkness, so much life and truth swirling beneath the surface.
I used to tread over damp ground yet seek shelter from the rain. Those wilted lives, half-truths fed to half-lovers, are gone. The hollows of your cheeks are cracked like parched earth from years wasted needing me to kiss you. My storm-cloud eyes have found you under the tallest tree, wading in t
A creaking windowpane, Pelted with snow, Reflecting light onto the dusty, deep brown floor. The rooms seems to sigh, pained with age, Abandoned; left waiting, The cold is kept at bay by a single lamp, Filling the small space with warmth. A cracked oven door clicks open, Spreading the aroma of bee
Once upon a time Goliath fell. They built buildings on his body and David walked away without looking back didn’t know his victory until he moved opened the door to have his pebble drop at his feet looked up and his apartment was the white pulp of a gigantic eye dripping blood.
I have problems and I’ll swap mine with you like trading cards. Long lovely disorders go over the lips like chocolate but honey, we’ve been writing about these pits of darkness long before shrinks slapped name tags on them. While the rest of the world cringes and looks away together we will scrib
Used and abused Still standing strong You are the one I lean on Who knows how to turn it around With me through thick and thin No matter what, where, or when The pain of being without you Excruciating Day by day, I’m deteriorating I am going to do everything I can To get back home to see you agai
The Ponderosa Pines hunched ponderously, Their convoluted gestures frozen With dry, rasping limbs in stages of vexation And narrow forearms lifted high In savored moments of exalted epiphany. My brother and I climbed the questions They grew, Our legs crouching and stretching Over the contours of