The Poetry Marathon

Wearing Hand-Me-Down Arson

 

I was set on fire once and I
never
stopped
burning

there is nothing that I
fear and crave with
quite the same brutality
than the days in between
my highs
unable to call them lows
they’re emulating car crashes
I’m eating survivor’s guilt
and whip lash
it’s nights that follow days
without the sun
sweating somehow against nothing,
maybe high beams
I grew irrelevent to celestial objects
I disowned astrology

in my highness I ask for water
and sympathy
I did not ask for this to be beautiful
they hear me cough
and give me oxygen donations
the flame grows
and fits me like a hand-me-down
so if anyone asks
it’s not mine
I just live in the corner
of the body that grew it
waiting for the rest of me
to find a reason to visit.

 

__ar.

 

(this is part of a series I am going to do on Addiction. this one is from the perception of the Addict. also, my recitation of it)

 

My Morning Love

My morning dates with you

Sometimes last all day long;

As I smell your tasty aroma

I can’t help but burst out in song.

Please don’t ever leave me!

I need you by my side;

You’re there when I am tired

You’re there when I write.

I love you, my friend

And as I start another poem;

I can’t help but be reminded

To make sure your power’s on.

tall dark brown

can i get away to you?

hide in the tall dark brown

to close my eyes and remember

sunny days and long conversations

that lasted into the night

spent vocalizing nothing much

but feeling quite satisfied when it was over.

always wishing it could go on just

a little while longer

always  all ways

pulling away before the fire starts careful not to burn

and sometimes lingering a few minutes too long

just to feel the heat

as if testing to see if it still exists-

it always will

always  all ways.

can i get away to you?

Just to hide in the tall dark brown

to close my eyes and remember

sunny days and long conversations

that lasted into the night-

spent vocalizing nothing much

but feeling quite satisfied when it was over.

Poetry Marathon poem #6

I have ten dollars
to my borrowed name
stashed within my pocket
to spend on food
or gas
Choices.
I’m sleeping
in my car tonight
but that does
not bother me
any longer
for I know
I have something
locked away
inside my heart
to ensure it beats
every lively
lovely happy
moment of pure
unadulterated
joy and litanies sung
for stars that shine
trees that grow
clouds that storm
lightning that strikes
in the heat and dead
of night
forking the sky
with brilliant
luminescence
of beauty wild.
I find myself
here often,
in the out of time
and quiet spaces
occupied by none
other that my open
heart beating soft.
I used to hate it here.
I held negativity
for far too long
and it has not
yielded profit,
so no longer.
Every moment
is previous
and precise
and precious.
I am sleeping in my car
tonight and that does not bother me
any longer,
for I know what I’m worth
and why I am here
petty Universal problems
not under my control
so out of my worries.
I could not have a car,
things may be far worse.
I must keep these thoughts
to hold my imagination steady
ready for the next bright day
of sun or cloud
the next opportunity
to welcome sunrise
and keep breath in my lungs
to watch the sunset
and enjoy my night
to keep my head above the waves
of turbulent troubled seas
and to protect myself
mine own lightning dangerous
but never so
never so visceral
so cutting.
I am sleeping in my car tonight
and enjoying my life
and all its happenstances
gracious opportunity
handing me what I need
when I need
a hand, a shoulder,
safe harbor from my storms
deep inside tumultuous
and raw.
I am grateful
for every second I am granted
to fill my lungs
with happy oxygen
for the day shall come
I breathe my last,
and there is a world I’ve yet to meet
so many people
so many stories to hear and tell
and I’ve nowhere near my fill.

9. Little Black Riding ‘Hood

Little Black Riding ‘Hood

 

He was stylin’

Struttin’ down Florissante

with his guys

in his woods

so fulla himself

he mighta busted.

And then he did.

Busted his head wide open.

 

That damn hunter

with his bigass gun

and his bigass attitude

shot my man

big wolf of a dawg

six times.

Until the black ‘hood

ran red with blood.

And no knife

going to cut him free…

In need of a drink

The morning doesn’t start without it that warm silky motivator drenched in cream and sugar warm to the touch and pleasing to the core sometimes when you reach the bottom it leaves you wanting more. The smell of it can wake you within a moments time the taste will mesmerize you enough to stand in line. Some will save their pennies they do it all the time others do it in their pj’s at home will be just fine.

To My Husband’s Girlfriends

You think you’ve stolen him from me, but you haven’t.

You’ve only borrowed him

Like someone borrows a library book to enjoy for a little while

And then you have to return it.

Think of me as the librarian.

He always comes back to me.

Our home is where he belongs.

 

A man can’t possibly belong to you until

You’ve laughed with him a million times

You’ve held him while he cries

You’ve been with him to watch dreams come true

You’ve stood by him as dreams were shattered

You’ve given birth to his children and seen him enveloped in awe and love

You’ve washed his dirty underwear

You’ve held his hand at weddings and funerals and birthday parties

You’ve prayed with him and for him

You’ve forgiven him a thousand times

You’ve asked for his forgiveness a thousand times

You’ve shared meals with him and then washed the dishes while he dried

You’ve waited, terrified, beside his hospital bed

You’ve cleaned up his vomit

You’ve waited up late with him, waiting for a teenager to come home

You’ve bought and wrapped Christmas presents for his side of the family

You’ve awakened after surgery to see his face, lined with worry, smiling at you

You’ve fought with him bitterly and made up with him lovingly

You’ve let him down terribly and and discovered he still loves you

You’ve shared with him all the things you’d never share with another

You’ve loved him unconditionally

 

That means “no matter what”

But even then he really doesn’t belong to us

He’ll always be his own man

No one can own him

We can only enjoy as much of him as he has chosen to share with us

 

You think you’ve owned a part of him because you gave him your body

Your body – younger, softer, thinner, tighter, prettier than mine

You think that sex gives you power

Sex is your currency and it buys you many things

Money, attention, maybe even a moment of self-esteem

But the very youth you offer is too young to know that

Sex can’t compete with what I offer

My currency is real love, family

Your currency lasts a moment

Mine lasts a lifetime.

 

It’s not that you mean nothing to him

You’ve given him something I can’t

A recaptured youth

The opportunity to be just a man to a woman,

And not a father, provider, plumber, handyman, and errand boy, too

The chance to look into a woman’s eyes knowing she doesn’t see the ugly sides of him

Hot, passionate sex that is only sex

Newness, novelty, discovery

A moment of freedom from all demands of life

A flicker of a sense of timelessness and, yes, even immortality.

 

And, in a very strange way, I love you for it

Because I want him to have everything

Everything he needs to feel whole and complete

I want the times he’s with me and our children to be because he chooses us,

Not because he’s been held hostage for sex.

I love him enough to forgive his weaknesses

And to accept his needs that I can’t fill.

 

You see, you haven’t stolen anything

You haven’t won anything

Because this life isn’t a battle or a competition

It’s about experiencing and sharing

And getting to know ourselves and others

And giving more than we get

And loving – It’s mostly about loving

 

I’m not angry at you

I’ve been you

In my younger years when I didn’t understand what I really wanted

And I didn’t know what real love was.

I know you.

And as much as I may try, at times, to forget you,

We’re connected, and we always will be

Because we both cared about the same man, the man I love over all others

The man I’ve known and loved for almost 30 years.

As a child of God, a woman, and a human being trying to find her way,

I am you.

 

I know what is expected of me.

The world says I should be bitter and angry

That I should hate you and him and myself

That I should let his choice to share a tiny part of his life with you

Negate the beauty and love of the decades he has shared with me.

I’m supposed to make his life miserable

And I’m supposed to rip my family apart and pull my children from their father

All because, for a little while, he needed and wanted you.

 

I won’t do it.

I choose love.

I choose love now and every day.

I choose love whether or not it feels good at the time.

 

And for you I pray that someday you’ll find a love

Like the one he and I have shared for so long.

Because I’ve been you I know that’s what you’ve been searching for and

What you desperately want.

Just understand that you can’t find it by borrowing someone else’s love.

That’s just a mirage.

An illusion.

You’ll have to find it by offering more than your body

And giving your love without expecting anything in return.

Then, one day you’ll realize that you’re worth having it all

And not just minutes of another woman’s husband.

 

I want you to choose that for yourself.

Choose love.

 

 

 

 

 

(ix)

drink:

 

that which can simulate,

(but does not inebriate),

aroma of fresh mornings appropriate;

that which can invigorate,

but does not intoxicate

surely must some ambrosia incorporate.

poured for every potentate,

sipped in every sultanate,

dark-brewed nirvana – siva incarnate!

 

I am some one else

I am standing in front of
The mirror
But some one else is
Standing behind the mirror

My life is hanging
In the balance of
Belief and disbelief
I am close to someone,
but I am well known to
someone else

The same old traditions
of judges and
the same wrong decisions
of the court

Just finding in middle
Of the journey
The road is leading
Some where else..

Seema Sahoo – ©

This is not a drill

This simulation is not as the former

this dreadful trumpet

you’ll be the death of me yet

across the littered ground

(again, the choice is/was yours)

where you will find everything you need

this simulation is not as the latter

I’ll send for the dreadful trumpet

that is,

I meant to say

I’ll send for the doctor

this was not a simulation

Shit the bed

reality fail