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the cord is thinning
frayed and lost
that life line between you and me
where i once began in you and you in me, no ending
we finished each other’s dreams
no line between us
one body one mind
wrapped together in a single panoply against the hurt
the fabric that stretches against
the necessary division
now runs long
and lost itself to
dropped calls, tattered edges
leaky love
all the answers you gave
now question marks
unfinished, yearning
appendage
with vessels popped
bled out
the line
is stripped to strands now
billows about
losing the pieces that once made up the whole
our vine has raveled away
dissipated to the past
and i can hardly feel you
anymore
“Nobly” by Belinda Chlouber, is now showing at The Willard Arts Center in Idaho Falls, in her show “Words & Paint, A Collaboration with Family Writings.” See more of her work at http://belindachlouber.com/
i observe two women at the table by the window
one like me and one like you
and i wish she were my mother
and that was me sitting across from you
i would watch and listen to you from across the table
like i see her do
watch you eat your soup
with crinkled lips
see your eyes make contact with me over your bifocals
your necklace dangling
i would take in the familiarity of your face, like mine
share a salad with you like two women would
passed would be the days when we would have been at odds
sharp words from opposite sides of the table
delivering judgment upon each other like passing stale bread across the dinner table
i watch your face look astray when you hear a word askew
marvel at your manners which once repelled me
and for the first time, not experience you as formidable but as someone who was once a vulnerable child
our conversation stops for a while as we sit together
mother and daughter, woman to woman
peers at the table of some restaurant on a Friday afternoon
the lines on your face and your delicate bones would reveal we are cultivating a new relationship, the beginning of you depending on me for a change, you leaning on me for advice
the woman in me resumes our conversation
and then i listen for some of me in you
my mother in me.
like these two women i hungrily spy upon
we would have certainly become friends by now.
“Love is Like” by Belinda Chlouber
See more of Belinda’s work at: http://www.tenfingers.com/
this poem was recently published in Poems from Conflicted Hearts
1.
i’ll erect a facade hard and smooth
as we glide down this steel alley
weld my surface
so your broken glass words pass over me
steel my edge so your shards can’t cut
keep your words from needling their way
into my heart
shun the internal bleeding
that fills an ocean
between our crumbling shores
2.
i’ll watch him retreat behind that steel wall
he’s erected
to block my broken glass words
deflect the shards that i send to rip into him
feel the cold of his armor
that keep my words from cutting into his heart
watch him turn away from the internal bleeding
that fills an ocean
between our eroding shores
“Sock Fights” by Ginger Slonaker. See her website at http://www.gingerslonaker.com/
Dear Readers,
Just want to let you know about a new eBook which has just been published. Three of my poems (two never posted on this blog) are included, with River Ganges being featured in the promotional releases for this book, I am proud to say!
Click here to buy on Amazon or see Tayen Lane Publishing for other formats. Email me if you’d like a print book, we need a minimum of 100 to print, so I’m taking names.
was when were high school
eyes still budding to open
feeling our way
precarious beginnings
universe green and bright in a town
too small and steely
he lived around the corner
played me records
and talked funny
my living room couch, late summer night
his sillouette
peter frampton hair
framed above me
his hard body, soft lips
waves like First Love unfolding
but father footsteps approach
so we unpeel joined skin quick-like
flash scene change, re-pose bodies
hide flushed cheeks rush heat
interrupts sweet fingers laced
so i walks you home so you could walks me back and you again
to stretch our goodbye like rock lizard heat
was alone except for spying crickets
on our midnight street still hot from the day
our chests beat a goodnight whisper
your shadow was to fade in wet texan air
was start of school year what drove me away
left you in night mist that stole you gone
cut short the wonder, the magic
and now my memory
stuck
with One honey taste
of our lost, soft
summer dream
Black is the New Red, courtesy of Boris Koodrin
see his website at: http://boriskoodrin.com/index.html
where is the salve for my heart
singed
like a love letter barely retrieved from a fire
holes where the words used to be
make incomplete sentences
where the poetry of love once spelled our song
where is the salve for the wound of blame
the ointment for the fire of pride
the soothing milk for the brand of righteousness
when only half charred words remain
can we piece back together
our letter dangling from my finger tips
this paper love so delicate
that so easily succumbs to flames…
where is the salve
to put your words back in my heart
Wilted Dahlia by Sarah Curtiss
see more of Sarah’s work at http://www.graceartgroup.com
his opening move was bold and drew her into the game
but love flares in unexpected ways
and a fair number of pawns were cleared out early on
piled like wish bones on the sidelines
she advanced a black bishop putting his white knight in jeopardy
he retreated his knight in an easy move and while avoiding eye contact, reached out to touch her hand
she withdrew her hand and charged her bishop ahead, chasing his knight
he made promises and she listened
but she did not change her position and found her Queen was blocked
by her own entourage, essentially trapped
the squares of their life did not move beyond the grid
were all marriages a tornado of limited moves?
his rook swept forward and captured her last bishop
she knew there would be no reparation
and retracted her knight
in a surprise move he took her Queen
she reflected back to the beginning, wondering if she had made the right move
he spoke less since everything he said was wrong
and she felt as helpless as her impounded Queen
the board grew cold, the mean lines cutting her off from him
he checked her king
then she checked his
knights jumped around the board in vain
castles and bishops drew lines that were erased
and drawn again
in desperation she marched a pawn forward in baby steps
bit her tongue and prayed
hoping to reach the Other Side, to win her Queen back
he played her, ignoring the pawn, letting her have the advantage
it was a simple move, yet it had the power to overcome blockades
…if he is not the Enemy, then who is he?
this time, she did not move her hand away when he reached over
her pawn reached the 8th row, winning her own Queen back
from this vantage point she saw past the black and white limits she had built to cut him out
64 squares and so many combinations
compromise is not a tactic of chess, but it is one of marriage
forgiveness is not a tactic of war
but it is a tactic of Love
a stalemate is a dead end of ideas
we are not just one dimensional pieces
we can let go of the boxed-in expectations built in our heads
we can change the rules
of our game
he castled his rook with his King
so that his white King now faced her black Queen
square to square
eye to eye.
then she saw
in spite of their battles
she was still his Queen
and he would always be
her King
Collecting Clowns for the Prince
by Lila Afiouni – see more of Lila’s art at: http://www.lilaafiouni.com/
i’m going to love you in all your messiness
release you from my “you didn’t turn out to be who you were supposed to be for me-ness”
i’m going to love you in my frustration
of watching you throw gasoline on your own life
and then cuss the line of fire
i’m going to love you in the face of watching your angst
and the impact of your bewildering choices
i’m going to love you for all the rest that you are too
your admirable indifference to establishment
your unique and brilliant mind
your tenderness and poetic heart
and the way you always try to be a hero
a champion to the underdog and teacher of all things
i’m just going to love you
for the rest of my life
Art Courtesy of Jim Blake
white out
when he’s gone…
the edges of the landscape
open and widen
Room to Expand, Room to Repair
who am I without him, I get to ask myself
and when he’s gone,
the quiet and the peace
the joy of having my space combined with
I miss him
emptying his pockets, my baby’s jeans
stretching their blue legs over the dog bed or dresser
I find his lozenges
a rubber band
receipts
endless receipts
and change…always loose change
when he’s away i organize, put things back
where they belong.
sift through our mingled lives
try to make sense. to make sense out of the disorder.
and the receipts
the endless receipts
where do I put them?
I pile another slip of paper on the snowdrift of his desk
Sifting and shifting and folding the towels and touching his things
makes me miss him
cramming one more t-shirt into the too-full drawer
too many shoes
too many shirts
too many details…the paper trail of our lives.
and the receipts, why so many receipts?
swirling around my karma
the miscellaneous dimes and quarters
uncashed checks
folded up contracts. unsigned.
undelivered.
his receipts piling up inside of him
heavy luggage won’t go away
drawers stuffed to the gills with old stuff…he can’t put one more thing in
the drawers, his psyche
tidying up now that he’s away
but I can’t clean his drawers or make his receipts go away
only he can do that.
making order on only one side out of half the chaos.
batten down the hatches
peace is here
Peace is Here in this Madness
in this Misunderstanding
In this Disconnection
in this play-acting, like I am This and you are That
can’t get inside…the receipts block my entry
i am blinded in the white-out
of slips and pages
unshredded
that no longer belong
just to him
iwritemyself 