24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
“Write a poem from the inside out.”
From the Inside Out
By Patricia Harris
Hiding,
Anxious about what is seen.
Staring,
Through the curtains again.
Knowing,
That I must go out and be seen.
Lifting,
My head up,
Holding,
My hands out.
Starting,
My day off, anxiously.
8/5/17 12:11pm
Marrow
You sucked out all my marrow
from my narrow
frame
and replaced it with the same
liquid guilt that fuels you.
If only forgiveness
could be intravenous
then
maybe you’d be able to
move on too.
Will you come in through the door, knocking,
asking to be let in?
Or are you gonna kick that sucker down?
I was born inside the house, kept
inside for my health and wellbeing
protected inside.
Where am I meant to go now?
Destroyer on the doorstep,
here with a warrant.
The sun is high
Warmth beams down
Day half done and half not made
When it was early
So much unknown
Mystery thrills
Memories yet made
And when it’s late
Hope for a story
Better shared than kept
Was the Jabberwock
Looking for a great battle?
Or . . . “wrong place, wrong time?”
6.
(Wallace Stevens says) we say God
(Wallace Stevens says) we say God
and the imagination are one.
I’m as curious about what one is – is one ever? –
as I am about what God may be.
(Besides a woman.)
(I tire of pointing it out.)
While the imagination is fertile like a womb
and brings forth yadda yadda yadda….
So okay. I guess.
Comparisons do break down.
I also wanted to be indivisible but
there was generally a component
to the component,
another side to that door –
four sides, actually – with a cautious stipulation,
minor equivocation in whispers overheard
from the next room, a damned good reason
these three shouldn’t be joined asunder
and I will speak my piece
and I will forever hold it
and it will all be one.
Breakdowns, though inevitable, cannot be predicted.
A poet spends a life staging love songs
to the imagination
which is a church
with many sides, built to get us out
of the trees, out of the house, into the win
and lose, the love and lose, the publish
and failure, more failure,
an imagination that races not like the cliché
but really hurtles to stay ahead of the block
inside the ice cream emperor and fashion
in poetry and the right secret facebook
group and the rot inside. Sorry not sorry.
The truth about the church. The truth about
the number one. The mystery of the holy trinity
and if the imagination is running the show, God!
teeth chattering
I wring the day
out of my clothes
only an hour
to walk all the way
from aye to nay
Pulsing, throbbing
rushing, shaking
Fear of feeling
Fear of breaking
Oh, my soul
No rest, no ease
Walls, they crumble
with each beat
My heart bleeds,
I can feel the blood running down my torso,
between my breast like a waterfall of warm liquid.
But I pull,
I pull even harder.
I can feel my pain,
my crushing, self destructive pain
But I ignore it
And still I pull my heart out,
and watch it
where I threw it
still throbbing in the mud of yesterday’s torrential rain,
my heart still pulsating,
bleeding in the mud
and all that blood
covers the memories of yesterday’s storm
And then I see today
my heart,
I feel my empty shell
doubled over in pain
and I kneel down to retrieve my heart
before the herd of dogs
suddenly stands there with teeth bared
And I want my heart back,
my life,
my hope ,
my future.
Endless thoughts lingering in the hole of center
Universe speaking in the tightness of time
Lingering in the front and center
Of things surprisingly sometime
Wishful thoughts emanating to an existence
Writing the innermost thoughts in the face value
Indeed working in the core persistence
Looking at it as its par value
Longing after time space effect
The causal factors reflecting on notion
Listing on the motion confect
Anew time everlasting motion
A state of mind exhausting known possibilities
A future within written in past hooked sensibilities
© Roy Mark Azanza Corrales 06082017 3:10 AM PST