The Poetry Marathon

#4 Dear Stepping Stone

I snuck a peek at an old photo
of you
who you were—
are you still that
youthful, rippling laughter
sparkly gaze
caressing my face,
stroke of softness
under yearning fingertips?
I bought you that sweater
felt alive with you
your easy skater style
and the night you
asked when was I going
to let you have sex with me.

My answer surprised you
but you remedied my rule
and we fell in love.

We fell into
chemistry like a potion
crafted by a wild scientist
mixing melted metals
and I carried your
lust
in my bones
having to wait to see you
was intoxicating
a draught, elixir
of desire.

But then you changed

or was it that you’d
stayed the same or had I changed
or was your patina showing,
not a unique and beautiful
luster as of something
weathered, made precious by time
but a toxic truth,
conservative hate billowing from
your dragon mouth.

And when you left, you blew through
the apartment
gathering your things
and in a gust of anger
and years wasted you were
gone. I loved you then
more than you could see
and it was you, stepping over me.

Is that why they say
love is blind?
Maybe the saying got bent
somewhere along the line.
Maybe someone only ever meant
to imply
love is kind
like in Corinthians.
Because blindness isn’t acceptance
but ignorance.

And that’s why I told you to leave.
I still cried.
Because learning new, hard truth
hangs in the balance,
the fine, paradoxical line between epiphany
and the drowning of a dream.

The Worst Sting of All

Dear Rob,

I’m sure you don’t know what you did
I’m sure you don’t get it
Because while you are perceptive and sensitive and observant
There are some things that just fly right over your head

So I don’t think you know how badly you fucked up

You don’t understand that I lost all trust I had in you
When you didn’t stand up with me
You don’t understand that I lost all desire to be near you
When I realized you wouldn’t defend me
You don’t understand that I lost all belief in you
When the prophecy I spoke so long ago came true

“I don’t mind his non-confrontational style that much
But when it causes him to hurt someone else
That’s the day I’m going to have a problem with him.”

It took five years
But you finally fulfilled my fear
I had hoped you wouldn’t
I had bet that you wouldn’t
After five years, I thought for sure you wouldn’t
But… then…

And of course you didn’t notice
Because the person in question wasn’t hurting you
You couldn’t see, like I could, that this person was going to hurt others
Your dedication to non-confrontation
Was finally about to hurt someone

Last time any words of mine went to you
Was early August
It’s almost been a year
I haven’t heard anything about you

In all seriousness, I hope you are alright
But I don’t know that I ever want you in my life again
You have proven untrustworthy
And that stung the most

Mom in Heaven

Dearest ma

I miss you with all of my heart

In 2013 cancer tore us apart

You were given to me to teach me the way

To love, to care, to be kind and to pray.

You were tiny in build and feisty in grit

My proudest supporter and biggest crit

You sang me lullabies and held my hand

When you left, my heart sank in the sand

I am now comforted by the the encouraging thought

You are flying with the angels and the peace that you sought

Watching over all of us, our guardian above

Shining your halo of health, care and love.

Distance

Was there a door I left open?
Because I don’t remember inviting you in.
Not sure how I want to greet you,
You’ve left a golden hue upon the world,
Yet jealousy and doubt upon my white sleeves.

But maybe I’m the one with broken mirror,
And the chinks in my armor are self-inflicted wounds.
Friday night after dinner or early Sunday morning,
I suppose, you don’t care when, but how
You invade the peaceful valley of my thoughts.

Thought I had left all of your scraps behind,
And put in my pockets, only the most desirable pieces.
But your memory, a burning effigy, is still visible.
When you come in, please sit across from me.
The humble desk will mediate our laughs and tears.

prompt #4 epistolary poem

Dear Harry,

From the old stories

from Hogy Vogy Country to the streets of Philadelphia

Philly what a city!

Liberty Bell

City Hall architecturally eye-catching

Philly cheesesteak is everywhere.

Enough about cities. Since you came here,

living on the east coast as well

is that how you adopted in the hustle business of

doing what you can to make money?

As a new mother,

As a mental health advocate

utilizing the works of aristotle

Shakespeare, and other literary knowns

to help heal without medication.

Work led me to the Upper East Side Manhattan

that had a big Hungarian presence.

Today it is felt in names of schools,

restaurants and churches.

Theatre comes knowledge of power

to create other jobs.

you got housekeeping or janitors

to electricians

to fashion and design

to therapy.

how does art not help mathematics or science?

the ancient greeks invented story telling in theatre as well as arithmetic.

Here to arts meet theatre

meet hustle to create more opportunities to make money.

Thank you.

 

I Am Who I Am

 “I Am Who I Am”

I am me!
Dressed  in my down footed shoes,
And my beautiful hijab.

I am me!
Dressed with no makeup,
Natural with no bleaching.

I am me!
Having no bleaching cream,
Neither do I have any other cosmetics.

But I am still me!
living in a small house,
Belonging to average class family.

Am really me!
Hiding my feelings from no one.
And accepting the fact that
I am a Muslim.
And I worship no other god but Allah.
(Laailaaha ilallah Muhammad Rasulullah).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading Samuel Pepys in Time of Plague

Sex, war, profit,
more sex, court intrigue,
more profit, merriment, mirth
and, yes, the sickly towne

Sad, sickly time
ill news, sad stories
poor sicke people with plasters
the dead

Never been lived so merrily
or got so much
Let us dance and
be joyful the shops are open again

When you have seen one plague
you have seen them all.

Simple

Simple days
Simple breaths
Simple moments
Simple smiles

Simple thoughts
Simple dances
Simple waves
Simple souls

Simple hearts
Simple touches
Simple glances
Simple hands
Simple beats

Simple laughs
Simple minds
Simple love
Simple calls

Simple toes
Simple cries
Simple words
Simple pain

There’s no such thing as simple life

Dear William

Dear William

 

I keep wondering, what you heard or saw. 

The soot grainy details 

of how you fell. 

That last time we spoke a few years before 

you now confided of hearing voices in those final school years 

all I could do was feel 

that at last we left those satchel days behind 

when I severed our friendship 

I regret that. 

So, I felt good our last words were happy, peaceful 

full of interest in each other and how we were these days. 

You had landed this job in France. 

We had been there for each other in the early years 

when no one else had been. 

Fall forward into much later 

your younger brother at a wedding reception. 

We broke out smokes and chatted about you. 

I apologised for having once wondered out loud what had happened to you 

Neil just said his family never discuss you 

I guess some things are just too hard never soften. 

So, dear William, I hope you found something 

got something beautiful out of life. 

I still think of you when the football is on, certain tv shows bring back the years. 

I still miss your bad jokes and remember 

the day Ireland beat Italy  

and being sick on 4 pints. 

Rest easy brother, much more awaits 

 

H4: Joyless

Dear Joy,

 

I hope I find you well

With inspiring things to tell.

My memories are so strong

But time stretches long.

Isn’t that part of a song?

Let’s get together if you are ever nearby.

I miss you so much I could cry.

Don’t have your new address.

Last post came back a mess;

Undeliverable, at best.

For all I know, you might be dead.

Enough of that stuff that shouldn’t be said…

Please, oh please, show up at my door,

any time, any day.

 

Missing you more and more,

 

D. Pression