Ta-da!
I am alive
I woke up this morning
I am happy
For nothing can stand in my way
I am loved
Because I love so many
I am alone
But I am never lonely
I am finished with my first poem
With 17 minutes left and counting!
Go, go, go
The old saying goes
“Dont bite off more
than you can swallow”
or chew or
something like that,
I don’t remember.
All I’m sure of is
I’ve done exactly that
On An Ordinary Day
I get up and fight
for autonomy,
for a quiet space that’s mine,
where nothing but words and ideas
can visit.
No television.
No demands.
Not going to happen.
So, I fight daily battles
for moments of my own,
include thinking time on my too-long to-do list,
shut myself in the room of my mind
where the door never quit latches,
where the outside world always sneaks in
and waits at my feet.
In those precious snatches,
I lay my sword on the table,
breathe in the almost silence,
gather my skittish thoughts in a pen
or a Word file.
Some days I win, knowing
tomorrow I’ll get up
and do battle again.
“I Was A Young Man Once”
They journeyed back
Across continents, an ocean.
Through time and long-buried
Memories.
To stand in an emerald-green field
Neatly punctuated with white
Crosses, Stars of David.
They were supported by
Walkers, canes, wheelchairs,
Each other.
Their memories rushing forward
Like the waves of Normandy
As they set the world free
From tyranny
And became
Prisoners of war
In their own minds
Carrying men to safety
Through the tide of courage.
For long moments
They were not betrayed
By their aging bodies,
Foggy minds.
Once again, they carried
The world to freedom
On their shoulders,
In their arms,
On their honor,
In their hearts.
“I was a young man once.”
Eve Remillard
6/22/19
Just Stop Yelling
Two rooms away
Enough to muffle, never enough to silence
The tone carries through; Frost’s sound of sense
But snarled, sharpened, and lacerating
Frustration meeting rage, puberty facing age
Mother versus father, father versus son
Never me, though. I only listen
I can’t drown out that rhythm of venom, that cadence of wrath
Slammed door, sarcastic greeting, drunken retort,
nasty reply, escalating insult, menacing pause,
and before ten minutes are out they’ve found eachother’s throats,
my hands have found my ears and my tears, my eyes.
Nobody knows you like your family.
I get it. I understand the sides, the reasons, the tactics,
And the agonizing, fundamental, waste of it.
There’s no point to this battle; no growth, no change.
No speeches or screeches or infuriating “SO”
Can mend what’s broken in them, in us.
Tonight could be different. I could march in there.
I could tell them where they’re wrong and right and wrong-est.
But they’d see it as another army on the field.
So why join a war with no winners?
How do you pick a side when you love both and hate the fucking fight?
And so I listen to the people I love most in this world rip into one another,
Their barbs and shouts and pronouncements muddled and blurred by wood and drywall.
Biting back tears and words both
Two rooms away.
Hour 1
I am the warm air rising from the ground
in the city, I am the burning asphalt.
I am the sigh of passing cars
on the freeway, I am the rainbow in the puddles.
I am memory and thought wheeling
like twin ravens of old.
The traveler at the crossroads, but also the crossroads
The man in the tent, the dog on the highway
The wolf, the crow, the burning eye
The spear, the gun, the echo of laughter
I am the feet that walk the road
ever turning
The hat pulled low to hide
a cragged face.
Hour 1: Lost, Looking In
Lost, Looking In
I am lost, looking in
Wandering the circle of a cup and saucer
I am lost, looking in
Pacing the perimeter of a brick house
I am lost, looking in
Fading in the mirror every morning
I am lost, looking in
The portal of a photograph for old truths
I am lost, looking in
The house full of people is empty
I am lost, looking in
Flickering in the windows of a train
Persephone (hour 1)
Persephone whispered to the flowers, “I am lonely.”
How quickly a plea becomes a confession of guilt.
Surrounded by sun, friends, and mother. Looked after by
A far away father.
Yet, she sits-
Pining for more.
Persephone clenched Hades’ freshly pressed dress shirt-
leaving little crinkles from her sweaty palms.
“I am so afraid,” she called over the roar and swirl of their godly speed.
“Of what,” he grinned, peering over his shoulder.
The Goddess of Spring, immortally younger than
the centuries of experience that surrounded her all the time,
wasn’t sure how to tell this man, this handsome, wild, incorrigible man
that she was afraid of, “everything.”
Pomegranate seeds pop like silent firecrackers
Juicy, blood dripping everywhere.
They stain your tongue, your dress, your soul-
But only if you eat enough.
Persephone’s belly tingled with each seed she swallowed.
After the sixth seed, she shyly met Hades’ eyes.
Face flushed and pink, she revealed, “I am still hungry.”
Little Goddess of Spring,
Goddess of the Innocent,
Goddess of backseat-makeout-sessions,
Goddess of living-in-your-mother’s shadow,
Goddess of the lost,
Goddess of the Underworld,
You said, “I am sorry,” to your mother,
but from one little goddess to another,
I have to know,
did you mean it?
Persephone filled the Underworld with flowers and rain.
She filled Hades heart with love
She soothed the Titans and calmed restless souls.
One day she had convinced herself, “I am nothing,”
But slowly she learned, in the world of the dead, “I am alive.”
I am Cat.
I am Cat.
I like to lay in the sun-soaked
rectangles on the floor.
I feel so warm-sleepy-happy
deep inside my core.
I am Cat.
I want to eat the pointy plants
on my window sill.
If the humans could leave me be
I’d have my spiky fill.
I am Cat.
I bring the humans presents
that they quickly take away.
That legless cricket took hard work!
I’ll try again another day.
I am Cat.
I love the soft wet food
they put into my bowl.
The turkey fills my stomach
but the gravy feeds my soul.
I am Cat.
I will catch those birds one day,
that live behind the screen.
But for now I attack the floor
to show them what I mean.
I am Cat.
Sometimes it’s dark and doors are shut,
The humans trapped inside.
But then in morning they emerge!
I am glad they haven’t died.
Inconceivable
I am a friend, I care too deeply
and that isn’t the crime
the world likes us to believe it is.
I love fully and invest in my pack,
a pack full of lovers like me.
I am a worker, not a worker bee.
Not mindless, but devoted to
the job I do and the people I do it for.
I live a fast-paced, hectic life,
which is worth it – for them.
I am a student, but soon I will teach,
I shove past obstacles and panic over tests
so that one day I can be the one assigning them.
The routine, the structure, reassures me
and those assignments begin to give me purpose.
I am a volunteer, our work is never done.
Always one more thing, a load of laundry,
a trap to set, a dog to walk, an injury to tend to,
sadness is replaced by joy, only when our
animals heal and find the love they deserve.
I am depressed, usually for no reason
I battle with my own mind, it plays tricks, it lies.
I try to remember that no one hurt me,
I breathe through the episode,
desperate to think about living again.
I am a human, inconceivable,
I can’t be described in just a poem.
But my spirit can speak through one.
My perspective and my intuition can be shared
and my soul can shine through, the words capturing me.