Category Poems
A brilliant star that wrote his name
O’er constellations bright
Led restive men to seek his fame
And gather in his light
And come they did on sacred space
To learn a sacred theme
For what was writ upon his face
Fulfilled their sacred dream
a fire-fall of glass and ash
the room is filled with soot and smoke
my thorax burns I gasp and choke
I can’t escape it’s all around
I try to scream but there’s no sound
the red-gold flames creep everywhere
and my eyes open
but
there’s nothing there
over sips of Chianti
in sunlight shadows
and he believes her
silver lined promises
He closes his eyes
wanting her words
to be true, yet he knew
she was only
being true to herself
for if he did not love me,
I would not have been where I am today.
He loves me every second of my life,
He cares for, he watches over me,
He guides me from evil,
and protects me from danger,
My Lord truly loves me and I know it.
long, grey spirals of dusk
skirr in.
The moon hangs
out of its socket,
dripping.
The lovers don´t touch,
final lies freeze their breath,
a brittle, vertical icicle.
he calls out yet you pull the trigger regardlessly.
What bothers you more is his skin,
not how you live heartlessly.
Don’t shoot,
she cries out knowing her precious child did nothing wrong.
Now you can add him to the list of
lives prematurely gone.
Even if I’ve sagged and wrinkled
would you find me beautiful when I laughed?
Could you possibly recognize what will
be me in so many years, or will you pass me
by? Even if I do not recognize myself?
Will we ever even speak again, like we used
to, like good friends should? Or will a nose be
turned and no words spoken as we walk back out
of each other’s lives. I sometimes wish I knew,
so that the time I waste wondering is not in vain.
I wondered if I was spared or
punished by it.
See three smiling cousins,
around age eight,
spattered with mud, after
an afternoon spent playing
in the sodden, low spot in the yard
No matter what I say,
I cannot bring him to erase,
That cold December day.
The day was sad and wearisome,
It chilled me to my core,
I’d known that something would go wrong,
Though I could not be sure.
I’d felt so tired and lonely, still,
My heart had ached for him,
Beneath the Christmas trim.
Dedicated to: Aseel Kawash
Have I ever mentioned
The hot chocolate you invented?
Thick and a little sugary
Poured into the wrong cups
By the scatter of our weekly magazines
Have I ever told you
I’ve forgotten the orange-redness
Of my hair when I was younger?
I wish I’d chosen dye more wisely
Yet your drawings of me
Of the smile I attempted horribly
And the fiery, red curls
Made me feel less foolish
I always believed time would cease
At the blissful age of sixteen
