that word
I use to celebrate
my commitment to chocolate
& coffee
more than I do
people
so much so
it loses visceral force
spoken
but
your definition
is not so much
that flowering
into an us
that is more than word
& is really
dependence
dressed up
& made presentable
to name
your gasping need
an emptiness
I will not step inside
to fill
so
I overuse the word
& you
cannot feel
the power behind
the real thing
See on Scoop.it – Pure Poetry
Join 100 Thousand Poets for Change organizers Blaq Ice- Chicago, IL! The Protest Poet, Bulawayo, Zimbabwe! And Mujeres Poetas Internacional II friends Gabriella Valera, Poesia e Solidarietà, Trieste, Italy!
See on www.bigbridge.org
playing games
it is hard to distinguish
the thick line
between love & need
when you outline feeling in squares
& skip over them all
so fast, so lightly
child hopscotching
and counting numbers
to some finish
only you
& that tossed pebble know
moving through patterns
you drew
& have worked so well
you no longer watch your steps
surprised somehow
when you trip
that your falling
blurs
those colored chalk borders
for T.
i wish you love and flight
away from the cage of bone
that holds you, broken
and breaking further
as you strike against
those bleeding bars
to reach light
you are a floating thing,
and fragile;
a swallowtail with a torn wing
or hummingbird
with feathers missing
capable of flight
but not completely
learned in it
but still, you try
and you should
as your strength
comes from the air
you gasp at the force
and shock
of this vise
squeezing
and shaping pain–
no, is not part of the trap
you laid and walked into
yourself
it is your heart
coming alive again
and pulsing, just like those wings
for freedom
***I should call this my coffee-break poem, as I had to go to work early, and this insisted I write it immediately 🙂
if I stand here
balancing air
in my palms
as if weightlessness
counts
for something
as if feathered breath
is a factor
in final choice
it is because dreams have form
and can be
tangled inside
those intricate
threaded catchers
that seem
to hold nothing
and that is what I am doing
weighing substance
in thought
her veed shadow
slides over grass
taloned
purposeful, patient
in slow spirals of seeking
interposed
between sunlight
& safety
for the small things
she hunts
your fists
shatter mirrors
punch holes in walls
& you with
bleeding knuckles
slam your own face
into a door
to prove
what
(?)
that what breaks you
inside
to sharpness
is your heart
breaking
& you must
keep milling it
to the point
you suck pain
from an acid tit
& go look for more
still hungry
you grind
that glass core
further into flour
your daily bitter bread
that cuts
when you swallow
unmaking yourself
while trying to shake
the world
into something
as damaged as you
the doors you kick down
will never
open to anywhere
you want to be
so stop trying
***here you go, Jeremy. Inspired (sort of) by Jeremy’s poem on violence, here.
Susan Daniels Poetry 