robbie-1 - Hello Poetry

Part I – 10039 330th Street West I used to live in a haunted house. Everything about the building felt wrong: Creaking staircase, Crumbling basement walls, Dark side door, Thin white curtain in the bathroom, which housed a clawfoot tub. When I lived in the haunted house I was a little girl, and I didn’t move until I started high school. I hated my room, I hated the dining room, I hated the basement. I never used the bathroom, which housed a clawfoot tub. Bad things happened in the haunted house. It didn’t matter what the time of day was. Growling at night from the dining room, Singing in the morning from the basement, Tapping on the porch window at midday in the playroom. Nobody checked if there was activity in the bathroom, which housed a clawfoot tub. I know that the house was haunted Because someone was always with me when these things happened. My stepbrother who also heard the growling, My stepsister who also heard the singing, And all of us who heard the tapping. I know that these happened Because the house was haunted. Part II – 13947 Gates Avenue I used to live in a haunted house. Everything about the building felt wrong: My bad report cards in the recycling, The constant panic in my stomach, Piles of tissues on my bedroom floor, My bedroom itself, where I constantly hid away. When I lived in the haunted house I was a teenager, and I didn’t move until after starting college. I hated the living room, I hated the kitchen, I hated the hallway. Most of all I hated my bedroom, where I constantly hid away. Bad things happened in the haunted house. It didn’t matter what the time of day was. Whistling by the window at night from the wraparound porch, Screaming outside during the day from the yard, Voices whispering my name constantly from anywhere. I was only safe in my bedroom, where I constantly hid away. I can’t know that the house was haunted Because nobody was with me when these things happened. I was alone with the whistling, I was alone with the screaming, I was alone with the whispering. I can’t know these happened Because it’s my head that’s haunted.

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Sep 28, 2018

Sep 28, 2018 at 11:52 PM UTC

Haunted Houses

Part I – 10039 330th Street West I used to live in a haunted house. Everything about the building felt wrong: Creaking staircase, Crumbling basement walls, Dark side door, Thin white curtain in the bathroom, which housed a clawfoot tub. When I lived in the haunted house I was a little girl, and I didn’t move until I started high school. I hated my room, I hated the dining room, I hated the basement. I never used the bathroom, which housed a clawfoot tub. Bad things happened in the haunted house. It didn’t matter what the time of day was. Growling at night from the dining room, Singing in the morning from the basement, Tapping on the porch window at midday in the playroom. Nobody checked if there was activity in the bathroom, which housed a clawfoot tub. I know that the house was haunted Because someone was always with me when these things happened. My stepbrother who also heard the growling, My stepsister who also heard the singing, And all of us who heard the tapping. I know that these happened Because the house was haunted. Part II – 13947 Gates Avenue I used to live in a haunted house. Everything about the building felt wrong: My bad report cards in the recycling, The constant panic in my stomach, Piles of tissues on my bedroom floor, My bedroom itself, where I constantly hid away. When I lived in the haunted house I was a teenager, and I didn’t move until after starting college. I hated the living room, I hated the kitchen, I hated the hallway. Most of all I hated my bedroom, where I constantly hid away. Bad things happened in the haunted house. It didn’t matter what the time of day was. Whistling by the window at night from the wraparound porch, Screaming outside during the day from the yard, Voices whispering my name constantly from anywhere. I was only safe in my bedroom, where I constantly hid away. I can’t know that the house was haunted Because nobody was with me when these things happened. I was alone with the whistling, I was alone with the screaming, I was alone with the whispering. I can’t know these happened Because it’s my head that’s haunted.

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They say it is better to have loved and lost Than to have never loved at all. Sometimes I think that they are right. Sometimes, too, I wonder about my own masochistic tendencies- Wonder why I revel in the thrill of a broken heart. I go back to those same old stories: When the lover dies, When the war is lost, When the hero is vanquished. The pages of those old novels are scattered with faded teardrops And yet I return to them again and again To feel that same wrenching in my chest Somewhere behind my ribcage. I look at myself in the mirror And wonder if I’m a pretty crier. And I look at the vague scars on my skin And wonder which kind of pain is better The physical or the mental. I don’t feel that heartache anymore That beautiful, haunting, throbbing pain That let me know that, at least, I am alive. They say that absence makes the heart Grow fonder. Mostly I think they are wrong. Mostly, too, I wonder about what it would feel like- Wonder what it would be to feel that lovely stinging pain again.

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Apr 20, 2017

Apr 20, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC

Ode to Heartache

They say it is better to have loved and lost Than to have never loved at all. Sometimes I think that they are right. Sometimes, too, I wonder about my own masochistic tendencies- Wonder why I revel in the thrill of a broken heart. I go back to those same old stories: When the lover dies, When the war is lost, When the hero is vanquished. The pages of those old novels are scattered with faded teardrops And yet I return to them again and again To feel that same wrenching in my chest Somewhere behind my ribcage. I look at myself in the mirror And wonder if I’m a pretty crier. And I look at the vague scars on my skin And wonder which kind of pain is better The physical or the mental. I don’t feel that heartache anymore That beautiful, haunting, throbbing pain That let me know that, at least, I am alive. They say that absence makes the heart Grow fonder. Mostly I think they are wrong. Mostly, too, I wonder about what it would feel like- Wonder what it would be to feel that lovely stinging pain again.

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Dark birds take flight and swoop through the chill air. Shadows hover over a sleeping form. Silence hangs inside a skull’s socket stare. Spirits convene in a soft huddled swarm. Storm clouds linger low in the near distance. Buzzards peck at a carcass left to rot. A last breath does not put up resistance. A soul bends to the forces it once fought. Quiet whispers of your name in the night. An evil figure follows close behind. The dripping teeth of a dog’s fatal bite. An unspoken word is terror defined. The darkness in life is all that I fear, And yet holds everything that draws me near.

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Apr 19, 2017

Apr 19, 2017 at 12:38 AM UTC

A Sonnet For The Dark

Dark birds take flight and swoop through the chill air. Shadows hover over a sleeping form. Silence hangs inside a skull’s socket stare. Spirits convene in a soft huddled swarm. Storm clouds linger low in the near distance. Buzzards peck at a carcass left to rot. A last breath does not put up resistance. A soul bends to the forces it once fought. Quiet whispers of your name in the night. An evil figure follows close behind. The dripping teeth of a dog’s fatal bite. An unspoken word is terror defined. The darkness in life is all that I fear, And yet holds everything that draws me near.

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Last night I hit a cat. I've never hit an animal with my car before. I've been in a car that has hit an animal, but it's different when you're the one driving. It was late. It was drizzling. I was coming home from work. My right eye was blurry. I live in the country off of a gravel road. I was two minutes from home, at the top of the big hill. It shot out from the dark brush on the right. They teach you in driver's ed not to swerve if an animal comes at your car. I didn't swerve. I wish I had. It's different when you're the one driving. I felt it, in my bones. In my heart. I heard it, too, over the roar of violins from my radio. I coasted twenty feet; threw the car in park. I put on my flashers, since that's what you should do. I haven't cried that hard since we put my own cat down. I didn't know I had it in me to sob that viscerally. I think I'll feel that cat in my bones until I'm dead.

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Apr 11, 2017

Apr 11, 2017 at 3:31 PM UTC

Last Night I Hit A Cat.

Last night I hit a cat. I've never hit an animal with my car before. I've been in a car that has hit an animal, but it's different when you're the one driving. It was late. It was drizzling. I was coming home from work. My right eye was blurry. I live in the country off of a gravel road. I was two minutes from home, at the top of the big hill. It shot out from the dark brush on the right. They teach you in driver's ed not to swerve if an animal comes at your car. I didn't swerve. I wish I had. It's different when you're the one driving. I felt it, in my bones. In my heart. I heard it, too, over the roar of violins from my radio. I coasted twenty feet; threw the car in park. I put on my flashers, since that's what you should do. I haven't cried that hard since we put my own cat down. I didn't know I had it in me to sob that viscerally. I think I'll feel that cat in my bones until I'm dead.

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The willow's slender, gentle boughs Extending like so many depressed but welcoming arms Towards the maiden deep below in dark waters. This is the willow that grows aslant a brook. This is the tree who witnessed the mad ravings of a girl, Who watched as she did pick those flowers And draped them as a noose about her form. The tree, the only witness to the young woman's fall Or perhaps a leap, a jump, into the abyss. It is for her that the willow weeps.

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Mar 30, 2017

Mar 30, 2017 at 7:51 PM UTC

The Tree Above Ophelia

The willow's slender, gentle boughs Extending like so many depressed but welcoming arms Towards the maiden deep below in dark waters. This is the willow that grows aslant a brook. This is the tree who witnessed the mad ravings of a girl, Who watched as she did pick those flowers And draped them as a noose about her form. The tree, the only witness to the young woman's fall Or perhaps a leap, a jump, into the abyss. It is for her that the willow weeps.

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One, with a layer of dust on it, behind the toothbrush holder below the hand towel. Vitamin D – to curb panic, to promote happiness. Useless and old and forgotten. Two, to replace the vitamins, sitting front and center among the more useful bottles. Prozac – half-finished, sometimes forgotten. Huge capsules hard to choke down every morning with a glass of water, and the anxiety they are meant to stop making it difficult to swallow. Three, four, and five, nearly empty canisters of antibiotics – not much else to be said about them. Six, for times of emergency, awake in the early hours when sleep is necessary. Melatonin – for forcing the heavy blanket of slumber. Strong, but not prescription. All-natural, from the health store in town. Seven, the newest bottle to replace the many emptied ones. Painkillers – over-the-counter, perhaps, but abused nevertheless. Eight, completely emptied, tipped on its side by the empty glass of water, standing in its own plastic wrapping. Tylenol –.

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Mar 28, 2017

Mar 28, 2017 at 10:15 PM UTC

A List of Bottles

One, with a layer of dust on it, behind the toothbrush holder below the hand towel. Vitamin D – to curb panic, to promote happiness. Useless and old and forgotten. Two, to replace the vitamins, sitting front and center among the more useful bottles. Prozac – half-finished, sometimes forgotten. Huge capsules hard to choke down every morning with a glass of water, and the anxiety they are meant to stop making it difficult to swallow. Three, four, and five, nearly empty canisters of antibiotics – not much else to be said about them. Six, for times of emergency, awake in the early hours when sleep is necessary. Melatonin – for forcing the heavy blanket of slumber. Strong, but not prescription. All-natural, from the health store in town. Seven, the newest bottle to replace the many emptied ones. Painkillers – over-the-counter, perhaps, but abused nevertheless. Eight, completely emptied, tipped on its side by the empty glass of water, standing in its own plastic wrapping. Tylenol –.

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The day may be calm But it can begin within an instant Storms are like panthers Quick on their feet and always alert Black as night Deadly when not taken seriously Often striking when least expected The clear sky Once as blue as a hidden creek Becomes a mirage behind the clouds that blanket it Time seems to stop You and I notice nothing Flowers hide within their petals Closing off from the outside world Birds silence themselves Taking cover in the tree branches And the cloying scent of rain fills the air Together, we all wait Humans and nature alike With bated breath As the first heavy drops begin to fall The storm picks up quickly Clouds so full of water that they seem about to burst Cry tears down on the grass The wind screams out an eerie warning: This is only the beginning The worst has yet to come Clouds darken and close in The first flash of lightning licks the sky Leaving the air full of electricity And tasting like fire A heartbeat later The ground trembles as thunder growls Trees shake, all the way from their delicate leaves Down to the very ends of their roots For the wind sings louder And the trees know what is to come The clouds still their tears Lightning and thunder pause in their game Of cat-and-mouse Skies turn an ominous green As the rumble of trains are heard from a distance Chaos is let loose As if Pandora’s Box has been unlocked A siren’s shriek rips through the air The black funnel pours out of a cloud Stretches its neck toward the ground Picks up anything it can grasp in its hole of a mouth Chews it Swallows it Spits it out again Everything in its path is left broken The funnel retreats back into the angry clouds Leaving with a final streak of lightning And a restrained purr of thunder Pale light shines through the cloud in patches as they disperse Illuminating the destruction The only proof of a monstrous storm We come out of hiding, you and I Begin rebuilding the damage Under the colors of the rainbow And a shining sun

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Mar 23, 2016

Mar 23, 2016 at 11:39 AM UTC

Wrath of the Storm

The day may be calm But it can begin within an instant Storms are like panthers Quick on their feet and always alert Black as night Deadly when not taken seriously Often striking when least expected The clear sky Once as blue as a hidden creek Becomes a mirage behind the clouds that blanket it Time seems to stop You and I notice nothing Flowers hide within their petals Closing off from the outside world Birds silence themselves Taking cover in the tree branches And the cloying scent of rain fills the air Together, we all wait Humans and nature alike With bated breath As the first heavy drops begin to fall The storm picks up quickly Clouds so full of water that they seem about to burst Cry tears down on the grass The wind screams out an eerie warning: This is only the beginning The worst has yet to come Clouds darken and close in The first flash of lightning licks the sky Leaving the air full of electricity And tasting like fire A heartbeat later The ground trembles as thunder growls Trees shake, all the way from their delicate leaves Down to the very ends of their roots For the wind sings louder And the trees know what is to come The clouds still their tears Lightning and thunder pause in their game Of cat-and-mouse Skies turn an ominous green As the rumble of trains are heard from a distance Chaos is let loose As if Pandora’s Box has been unlocked A siren’s shriek rips through the air The black funnel pours out of a cloud Stretches its neck toward the ground Picks up anything it can grasp in its hole of a mouth Chews it Swallows it Spits it out again Everything in its path is left broken The funnel retreats back into the angry clouds Leaving with a final streak of lightning And a restrained purr of thunder Pale light shines through the cloud in patches as they disperse Illuminating the destruction The only proof of a monstrous storm We come out of hiding, you and I Begin rebuilding the damage Under the colors of the rainbow And a shining sun

62

My love, he's always there, even when he's not. I feel his presence in every snowflake. I taste his lips in every tear. I hear his heartbeat with every crack of frost upon my windowsill. He tastes like strawberries and sadness. The Spring broke his heart and now he's broken mine. Encased it in ice to claim as his own never knowing what would come later. I've always fancied doomed love but never Fire and Ice. Never something so masochistic. He thinks his chilled words can soothe the painful flames engulfing my innards. What does Winter know of Summer? There is always a season to keep them apart. He cannot know he is breaking my heart, threading lines of ice through a cracked and aching vessel. The rains of Spring are only the tears of Summer, weeping as I watch the last of my love melt away.

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Feb 9, 2015

Feb 9, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC

snowflake Eyes.

My love, he's always there, even when he's not. I feel his presence in every snowflake. I taste his lips in every tear. I hear his heartbeat with every crack of frost upon my windowsill. He tastes like strawberries and sadness. The Spring broke his heart and now he's broken mine. Encased it in ice to claim as his own never knowing what would come later. I've always fancied doomed love but never Fire and Ice. Never something so masochistic. He thinks his chilled words can soothe the painful flames engulfing my innards. What does Winter know of Summer? There is always a season to keep them apart. He cannot know he is breaking my heart, threading lines of ice through a cracked and aching vessel. The rains of Spring are only the tears of Summer, weeping as I watch the last of my love melt away.

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In the grand scheme of things, one person doesn't really stand for much. Perhaps in their own time, in their own town, in their own generation, but on the map of human history? Just another blip among billions of other twinkling lights. Have you ever stood outside in the winter on a crisp, clear night, when it's so cold your breath forms in clouds before your eyes? Have you looked upwards and seen the stars? Really seen them? Think of how many years its taken that faint light to reach your eyes. Before the earth was born, that light was leaving its star. Look at them all. Those stars are all dead. What you are seeing is the faint, dying whisper of a once magnificent, powerful beast which now floats cold and lifeless in the dark matter. Stars. The stars make me feel suddenly very very small. What am I in comparison to a star? I'm no Cassiopeia. I won't die in an explosive supernova. I'll merely whisper my last words from feeble lips and soar past the light that's been on me my entire life the light of the humbling stars.

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Feb 9, 2015

Feb 9, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC

humbled.

In the grand scheme of things, one person doesn't really stand for much. Perhaps in their own time, in their own town, in their own generation, but on the map of human history? Just another blip among billions of other twinkling lights. Have you ever stood outside in the winter on a crisp, clear night, when it's so cold your breath forms in clouds before your eyes? Have you looked upwards and seen the stars? Really seen them? Think of how many years its taken that faint light to reach your eyes. Before the earth was born, that light was leaving its star. Look at them all. Those stars are all dead. What you are seeing is the faint, dying whisper of a once magnificent, powerful beast which now floats cold and lifeless in the dark matter. Stars. The stars make me feel suddenly very very small. What am I in comparison to a star? I'm no Cassiopeia. I won't die in an explosive supernova. I'll merely whisper my last words from feeble lips and soar past the light that's been on me my entire life the light of the humbling stars.

35

Soft whispers of sweet promises Lights out Night on Day gone Kissing tender words onto milky sweet skin No hold backs No take backs Just you and I. We both know where to go You paint gentle symphonies on your canvas My skin. Tasting tears Hiding fears A lapse in time for you and I. Little sighs Gentle cries Tossing and turning like sodapop waves. Kissing and caressing Holding close with syrup blessings. You are me I am you We are us. Just you and I. Saccharine stars in a midnight, sugar-coated, cotton candy sky. Two candy hearts in the beautiful dark. For C.C. My candy heart.

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Feb 6, 2015

Feb 6, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC

Candy Hearts in the Dark

Soft whispers of sweet promises Lights out Night on Day gone Kissing tender words onto milky sweet skin No hold backs No take backs Just you and I. We both know where to go You paint gentle symphonies on your canvas My skin. Tasting tears Hiding fears A lapse in time for you and I. Little sighs Gentle cries Tossing and turning like sodapop waves. Kissing and caressing Holding close with syrup blessings. You are me I am you We are us. Just you and I. Saccharine stars in a midnight, sugar-coated, cotton candy sky. Two candy hearts in the beautiful dark. For C.C. My candy heart.

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