Hour Eight – Listen Before I Go (Erasure) By Billie Eilish
Take me to the breathing blue love,
Endless like you.
I’m leaving soon.
(Sorry).
The salty headache
Does not feel so deja vu.
If you see me,
Save me.
License (For G.)
You keep saying that you will have your license soon
but your legs say otherwise
your feet swell into pooling things
the special socks barely help
you say this because
you’re sad
and
You feel like
a burden to us.
But it is more that we
your progeny, have done poorly at your tomb
Our tensions have turned us from sculptors and guards
into the ungrateful, the can’t be bothered.
I don’t mind driving you around
Even though at 9AM I may grit my teeth
and hope the AC is loud enough
you can’t hear my sniffling
But
You won’t ever need your license
When the time comes
I will carry you to meet God.
HOUR 10 The Oil Painting’s Flaws
The Oil Painting’s Flaws
A noble offering presented,
Captive subject to their art,
Passive sitter, dehydrated as the brushes stroke,
And the kindred imps design their masterpiece.
Impressed by his magnificent suggestion,
I goad him on, desiring above all else to be his.
A noble offering presented,
My graceful body for his art,
Passive concubine surrendering to his affections,
And the splintered being breaks into my soul.
Impressed by his magnificent power,
I goad him on, at first, but his demeanor alters.
A noble offering pinned,
Captive subject to his grip,
Passive temptress, deflated by his masterful body,
And the cracks in the painting begin to show.
Terrified by his magnificent awesome domination,
I plead with him to show a merciful side.
A noble offering, I desire,
My fearful body for his art,
Passive slave to my own ravenous desires,
And the bars on my self-inflicted prison sketched.
Terrified by his ardent yearning, hungering for him,
I plead with him to offer his loyal adoration.
Hour 9: Bless Your Heart
If ever at a loss of just what you need to say
Take a page from the Southerner’s book
It will show you a quite congenial way.
If someone is attempting to try
To cause an awful mess.
Murmuring “Bless your heart”
Any situation it will address.
If you see someone undertaking a task
That will surely cause a bit of harm
Well, Bless your heart is certain
To lace criticism with some charm.
In the event someone is rude to you
And you need a phrase at hand
Bless your heart will rescue you
With a smile and the wave of a hand.
A southerner is quite adept at smiling
Showing bright sunshine on their face
While inside they are seething
Bless your heart, it’s anger with some grace.
Heart
The heart is hollow
A hallowed hall
Of contracting walls
It rests in a chest
A treasure
Not meant to horde or hold
A living lesson
In letting
Go
Loss does not break it
For it is crossroads of chambers
Made of the
Constant rhythm
Of moments
Gone in a beat
A verb in noun form
The tide’s engine
Alive
In motion
It breaks
When it
Goes
still
Empty Silence
Standing rooted in shambles
On the floor of my soul
Deep into Oblivion and empty calmness
Thoughts come and go
Chastisement come and go
But the guilt stays
Tending to decay
Causing us all to be soulless
Lifeless, devoid of thoughts
Expressionless, lacking feelings
Losing vision and purpose
But there in the deep empty silence
Comes the invincible light
That flickers at its first glance
Then it iluminates the soul
Spreading joy to the mind
Without leaving out the body
And the face gives a smile
A smile of hope
A smile of faith
A smile that says
My silence isn’t empty anymore.
Poem 9: Another Breath Poem
Another Breath Poem
First breath takes in spring winds blowing down slopes
of the Rockies over lilies of the valley and lilacs to new me.
My first mingled breath with a brown-haired boy named Darrel
as we stood nervous in a shack with a Black Widow near.
Summer breath mingled with wild clover and mustard,
freshly mowed hay, dank aromas of rich earth in the air.
New breath of yucca blossoms tinged with hot sands
from winds blowing across a desert I did not yet love.
Later, when I breathed in the cloven leaves of creosote
after a rain, my lungs grow fingers to stroke the air’s hair.
New breath now mingles grass and maple leaves and pine
that becomes a pool I want lie in, suspended, and gaze at the sky.
They say—-Hour 9
They say the grass is greener on the other side
What if the other side has no grass?
What if the grass were blue?
Green doesn’t always grow the grass
And grass is sometimes not welcome
Is the grass unruly and wild?
Is the grass neatly trimmed?
Is the grass choked by dandelions?
Are there patches of dirt throughout?
Seems too much trouble and to many unknowns
Even though the grass is supposedly greener
I’ll stay on my side and tend my little corner in the Universe
Becoming-Prompt 8
Womanhood
always comes with duties
The black version comes with more than that
Our minds unravel when expectations are
uncontrolled
unlisted
unnamed
but
present themselves like a stress inducing button was pressed
overanalyzing both sides of my body
never caressing the thought
a soul is its center place
making us unable to rock ourselves to
sleep at night
Fixating on outside appearances
more than the clusters
of problems brewing within
while the man gets to work late
less is expected
we work overtime
til sleep does us part
We are supposed to carry on
with imaginary hugs
of support
and virtual I love you’s
I had a commonplace with her
we held hands in being unable
to perform
the ritual and roles
that make our stress spiral