Slate Grays

my hands are dry and rough from working
my eyes are small and used to squinting
my stature average, verging on petite
I have thin skin and veiny feet
my complexion’s poor, my tone is pale
genes say my bones will be quite frail
I have no nails as they are weak
my voice is too high when I speak
my mother thinks my hair’s too long
I think all compliments are wrong
I’m a sceptic, sometimes too much so
though I try to be fair to friend and foe
my opinions strong, my manner shy
in public you’ll never see me cry
in private I keep emotions tame
my anxiety has that cause to blame
I hate to shop, but buy a lot
no place could ever be too hot
I dislike snow, I dislike cold
I’m terrified of getting old
I have good friends who understand
I’m always later than I plan
I’m sensitive, and feel more pain
than I let off, or care to explain
I never intentionally drink alcohol
and for this, flunk social protocol
I dislike freckles, and have a bunch
I bend, I slouch, I slump, I hunch
I get depressed but never treat
I just stay up late and never eat
somehow, I’ve seemed to manage this wreck
to keep my addictive tendency in check
though these faults I easily admit
I’d like to think there’s some good to it
I’ll never regret the time departed
for when I love, I love whole-hearted

    

      

Copyright L.M. 2008.

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Movement (October 2006)

cornered
secretive journeys of unknown eyes
follow helplessly through firm air
the new shield
meant only for she who is immortal
sacred
and pure
sets sail for a heart of oblivion
chartering courses yet to be taught
a childless excursion
seeping into a well-known chasm
and yet
boredom worries few
tethering sinew stretched taut
jumbled words of wisdom sought
their carabine stalking guilt to err
and you

Copyright L.M. 2006.

A Word of Grace (December 2006)

it’s in her style
paths of words streaming
seeming
beaming
their peace upon us all
as we sing out delight
at the voice in our heads
perhaps mouthed in pain
or wreathing
or the simple hurt of breathing
barely there and yet
a final stanza’s set
forgiving all we weren’t

unopened in the eyes of many
sitting all alone
in waiting and impatience
wondering at such
use of passive tense
for not all eyes can see
splendid verbose beauty
but sit here we

gliding fingers highlight text
whose passion rises ours
left only to second-guess
whose life personified
yours or his
hers or mine
ignorant of time
and so it settles
her adorning mind

    

    

Copyright L.M. 2006.

(My sister had a different interpretation for this poem when she read it; she thought it was about the Virgin Mary….. have another read and you might see why she, and I now too, can glean that meaning from it…..)

The Impossible Point

Philosophy came early to me; I guess I always used to think a lot.  When it came time to sharpen my pencil, I’d often stare at the sharpest tip I could make, and realize how it was still rounded.  That’s when I came up with my Impossible Point idea.  Of course, it wasn’t new, and it certainly wasn’t Earth-shattering.  But it was at an early age, and without outside influence.  I just thought a lot.  I’d try to tell my friends (the ones who thought for themselves) and they would argue that no, I just wasn’t sharpening it enough.  They didn’t get it.

It was through those eyes that I realized how things aren’t always as they seem; when under a magnifying glass, everything changes.  Or, sometimes, it’s the exact opposite.  Sometimes, when looking too hard, when focusing too much on something near, you miss the main picture — you entirely miss the point.

And it’s always important to see the point….. rounded or not.

Open Mic Night

a night of hills
rounding o’er the surprises
at the almost intangible
we crashed
but would you look now
the sky separated
no more lenses
and look how it shines

sparkled eyes sending
flashes of truth and water
yet you stay
what a day
at the razor edge, slipped
but somehow fell up

how could you doubt
every same word
every same thought
every same hope
that I should see them too
presents your proof

I wanted to see through
the piercing eyes
the flicker I suspected
was maybe for show
mischief like a contact lay
across your iris, scratching thin
just enough to let you know
the trouble you were getting in

yes, I say so honestly
whether or not I should
but this eve you’ve proven
after everything, it’s still good

so all those hills we scrambled over
skating ice and slipping tripping
end up scorching the fruits
and giving something we can put to use

no more lenses, show the truth
look how you shine
and we will be fine
just show me all this hidden you

    

     

Finished: 6:03 a.m., Saturday, December 1st, 2007.

Moon Dog Numb

I took solace in the tears the moon gave me
pretending they were for you
it was full tonight and I passed the site
the cruel arena
I couldn’t find a plan so I kept going
and wouldn’t you know? I slept
while my tears dried on my cheeks
while I stood there staring at the moon
yes, I slept,
everything reduced to numbness
all the passion and anger
slept tonight in my pain
reciting my own words and those of ____
just so I can swallow some air
I’ve been breathing dirt for days now
I can’t feel anymore but that’s okay
it’s better than feeling awake
would you settle near me and watch me
so when I choke there’s a reason
since the scene never plays itself out
if it makes any sense at all

may I be removed? I thought I saw a star
I’m sure I did in my eyes
and the long clouds dripping dip through the moon
I watch behind the dead tree
magnificent as the Seven’s and just as achingly cursed

spelling my letters as I read them
I couldn’t find the keys in the scramble
the door was wide open and I walked into it
beginning with my mind
and ending with my feet

I can’t cry for you
I used to be much better
can’t slow my eyes getting wetter
so let me cry for the moon

Finished: 6:20 a.m., Sunday, November 25th, 2007.
Copyright L.M. 2007.

Distinction

I guess I was overcome
so cold, so frigid
snapping crisply
I went to control my actions
and found it closed
so I walked

I found my step
along with cranberry thoughts
and I knew I was alone
for the good and the bad
I stomped out the march
of my walk

imagine my surprise
when my eyes grazed the snow
and the indents were fresh
but they weren’t mine
someone else had come
for my walk

oh how the mind reels!
alas I’m not so alone
this arrogance of mine
just wanted to sulk
in its singularity
on my walk

so I rounded a tree
traversed back behind
crossing new paths
with each little dance
to remain with my stance
and my unparalleled walk

Copyright L.M. 2007.