shay-ruth - Hello Poetry

You come from a line of pleading heavy enough to slam the door, dampen the folds of flannel sheets or a furrowed brow. 'More' I hear your glossy eyes breathe. They've been softened by endless searching Scan after scan. We've made a game of it. We readily laugh at our preposterousness believing love could grasp and stay, the last shriveled grape on a branch smaller than the others. Sweeter, too. What we have precedes us, I say Grimacing since I don't know exactly what I mean by that. Once, in a dream, I walked down a corridor adorned with empty picture frames. It ended at a desert clearing, laced beneath a silver sky. My ears alerted me first: before me lay a jumping cactus before me, embracing a teary coyote softly whimpering a prayer as thousands of needles sunk more securely into its fur. I laughed and still couldn't tell you why. I held my hand more closely to the shadowy breath, every release a firm match to my own. Either to help it or endure its hateful bicuspid sink into my rigid flesh I waved my hand faithfully before the dog. Diverted, the stab of the plant wounded me instead. I awoke, floating down a gushing claret river The blood shimmering beneath me was my own. My jaw split slightly enough to taste the salty tang of my demise. Looking down, the once-pale tunic I wore was stained, candied. I open my eyes to see your patient breath escape, confirming the truthful slumber I pray for you. I expect you are told to say the most, so I tell myself through your waiting ear: Love is irrevocably illusory.

0

May 11, 2016

May 11, 2016 at 2:54 PM UTC

River Dream

You come from a line of pleading heavy enough to slam the door, dampen the folds of flannel sheets or a furrowed brow. 'More' I hear your glossy eyes breathe. They've been softened by endless searching Scan after scan. We've made a game of it. We readily laugh at our preposterousness believing love could grasp and stay, the last shriveled grape on a branch smaller than the others. Sweeter, too. What we have precedes us, I say Grimacing since I don't know exactly what I mean by that. Once, in a dream, I walked down a corridor adorned with empty picture frames. It ended at a desert clearing, laced beneath a silver sky. My ears alerted me first: before me lay a jumping cactus before me, embracing a teary coyote softly whimpering a prayer as thousands of needles sunk more securely into its fur. I laughed and still couldn't tell you why. I held my hand more closely to the shadowy breath, every release a firm match to my own. Either to help it or endure its hateful bicuspid sink into my rigid flesh I waved my hand faithfully before the dog. Diverted, the stab of the plant wounded me instead. I awoke, floating down a gushing claret river The blood shimmering beneath me was my own. My jaw split slightly enough to taste the salty tang of my demise. Looking down, the once-pale tunic I wore was stained, candied. I open my eyes to see your patient breath escape, confirming the truthful slumber I pray for you. I expect you are told to say the most, so I tell myself through your waiting ear: Love is irrevocably illusory.

27

I knocked on your door Again and again I counted the seconds between each Listening for a dewey breath between the door's crack Onto the window bseide my furrowed brow The dew would last until the second arrived. I had to tell you, just for emphasis, that I'd never forget Your charming expression when you learned how to dance

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Mar 14, 2015

Mar 14, 2015 at 1:31 PM UTC

Let Me In

I knocked on your door Again and again I counted the seconds between each Listening for a dewey breath between the door's crack Onto the window bseide my furrowed brow The dew would last until the second arrived. I had to tell you, just for emphasis, that I'd never forget Your charming expression when you learned how to dance

8

I fell in. Just as ignorantly curious as the blonde ***** before me. I saw construction paper ripped up in pieces on the floor. The crimson, jagged confetti, ****** like the day you ran out. I saw floating bristles of toothbrushes, someone must have pulled them out one by one. I whispered for rain and some forgiveness. They came two years too late. I want a re-do.

0

Mar 14, 2015

Mar 14, 2015 at 1:28 PM UTC

Alice

I fell in. Just as ignorantly curious as the blonde ***** before me. I saw construction paper ripped up in pieces on the floor. The crimson, jagged confetti, ****** like the day you ran out. I saw floating bristles of toothbrushes, someone must have pulled them out one by one. I whispered for rain and some forgiveness. They came two years too late. I want a re-do.

1

In the blackness of the darkest hour I felt his arms tight around my waist Loosening as they drew nearer towards by stretched Naked, fevered neck His stars all bolted my nerves to the bottom of my feet Stuck like pink bubble gum, melty and stringy Like 97 degrees His sweet breath grazed by cooled, burning cheeks His touch reminded be of swimming under the moon of The darkest hour Freely Wildly I drink in his laughter It trembles the pads of my fingers Shattering my vision all over again I wait for him on the loneliest nights, when Rusted wheels of cargo trains roll in, tight and full of history The neighborhoods won't quit, even when the day does He's always there Nonchalantly kicked up against some shiny car, titled to another He's wearing his darkest jeans and his James Dean smirk today I slurp it up Soak it in like he belongs to me Like I belong to him

0

Mar 10, 2015

Mar 10, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC

Tender Night

In the blackness of the darkest hour I felt his arms tight around my waist Loosening as they drew nearer towards by stretched Naked, fevered neck His stars all bolted my nerves to the bottom of my feet Stuck like pink bubble gum, melty and stringy Like 97 degrees His sweet breath grazed by cooled, burning cheeks His touch reminded be of swimming under the moon of The darkest hour Freely Wildly I drink in his laughter It trembles the pads of my fingers Shattering my vision all over again I wait for him on the loneliest nights, when Rusted wheels of cargo trains roll in, tight and full of history The neighborhoods won't quit, even when the day does He's always there Nonchalantly kicked up against some shiny car, titled to another He's wearing his darkest jeans and his James Dean smirk today I slurp it up Soak it in like he belongs to me Like I belong to him

24

Released from salty skies or trees, Crashed into darkened plains, A treat indeed to hear the speech Of finches freed from chains They fluttered sweetly through the Months that sometimes end with 'ember'. As they fly straight through sunrays Sparks cling if they're remembered. And as the moon howls lullabies And tunes her fiddle neatly, Feathers flap and fold up high For evidence fights so sneakily. How will they climb the Redwoods While they're cherished down below? And, pray, partake in meals and feasts With seedlings in a row. Wishful wonders stem from songs Of solar sons and sorrows, They dart the pending prayers And warmed baths of tomorrow.

0

Feb 15, 2015

Feb 15, 2015 at 2:09 PM UTC

Ode to the Gold Finch Who Sang Twice

Released from salty skies or trees, Crashed into darkened plains, A treat indeed to hear the speech Of finches freed from chains They fluttered sweetly through the Months that sometimes end with 'ember'. As they fly straight through sunrays Sparks cling if they're remembered. And as the moon howls lullabies And tunes her fiddle neatly, Feathers flap and fold up high For evidence fights so sneakily. How will they climb the Redwoods While they're cherished down below? And, pray, partake in meals and feasts With seedlings in a row. Wishful wonders stem from songs Of solar sons and sorrows, They dart the pending prayers And warmed baths of tomorrow.

20

Today I took a chance and sang a song of renaissance for nature My nature A secret passed among the trees as they hush one another in succession. Like the toothy kindergartners battling in a shushing war before another activity. I wonder why it took me so long to come back to this place, and why I even left in the first place. I can remember, just months ago, crying and begging to myself to find peace within a now seemingly simple storm. How I prayed to the god that I still question When I pray, I pray to the temples of my mind. Nature first because she's my passionate, angry sister. She moves with the color of life and her breath tastes like rose hips and baby grass. Once she entered a hula-hoop contest and twirled for years. Her tilting and swinging engendered a trance not even she could break. We waited for her to abstain, but the crowd diminished with dissemblance, searching for entertainment elsewhere. I stayed, loyally, as the others heard stories of miracles and wonders in long-away lands Without stopping, I poured you in I knew it was wrong of me all along I knew you'd hurt me in the end I'll always give too much My heart feels little I tell it to express, but it knows better than I, of when it should shut down and forget. Where does the summer hold love? In budding leaves that open so suddenly? Beneath shadows of swinging backdoors of burger joints? Somewhere near rusty trash bins? Maybe love swims in the air, waiting to be drunk and welcomed, relieving the truly thirsty.

0

Feb 15, 2015

Feb 15, 2015 at 2:09 PM UTC

Ritual

Today I took a chance and sang a song of renaissance for nature My nature A secret passed among the trees as they hush one another in succession. Like the toothy kindergartners battling in a shushing war before another activity. I wonder why it took me so long to come back to this place, and why I even left in the first place. I can remember, just months ago, crying and begging to myself to find peace within a now seemingly simple storm. How I prayed to the god that I still question When I pray, I pray to the temples of my mind. Nature first because she's my passionate, angry sister. She moves with the color of life and her breath tastes like rose hips and baby grass. Once she entered a hula-hoop contest and twirled for years. Her tilting and swinging engendered a trance not even she could break. We waited for her to abstain, but the crowd diminished with dissemblance, searching for entertainment elsewhere. I stayed, loyally, as the others heard stories of miracles and wonders in long-away lands Without stopping, I poured you in I knew it was wrong of me all along I knew you'd hurt me in the end I'll always give too much My heart feels little I tell it to express, but it knows better than I, of when it should shut down and forget. Where does the summer hold love? In budding leaves that open so suddenly? Beneath shadows of swinging backdoors of burger joints? Somewhere near rusty trash bins? Maybe love swims in the air, waiting to be drunk and welcomed, relieving the truly thirsty.

23

Sometimes I imagine the cancer spreading within me. My loosened skin as its boundaries. I stole the same image from a storm I watched last May. Darkness overtaking the bluest of skies. For a while they seemed harmonious. Like the conjunction of lovers, long apart, retracing their paths to the open arms of the other. The billowy edges of the first and largest black cloud curled over the sun, a thick fleeced blanket devising the world from the universe. I remember its anger and thought myself ridiculous to believe in some sort of partnership with such opposite things when tears so quickly fell from the sky. Now I sit in this piss-stained seat within an oxymoronic room of sterilized air and droning walls. I pretend that I can feel the edges of the malignant monster inside of me, consuming my material under its trembling lip, angry and cold. Sitting, the cancer was waiting to lower me into the earth in triumph for its return. I used to be afraid. Like the first time I knew I was alive, for sure.

0

Feb 15, 2015

Feb 15, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC

February 3, 2015

Sometimes I imagine the cancer spreading within me. My loosened skin as its boundaries. I stole the same image from a storm I watched last May. Darkness overtaking the bluest of skies. For a while they seemed harmonious. Like the conjunction of lovers, long apart, retracing their paths to the open arms of the other. The billowy edges of the first and largest black cloud curled over the sun, a thick fleeced blanket devising the world from the universe. I remember its anger and thought myself ridiculous to believe in some sort of partnership with such opposite things when tears so quickly fell from the sky. Now I sit in this piss-stained seat within an oxymoronic room of sterilized air and droning walls. I pretend that I can feel the edges of the malignant monster inside of me, consuming my material under its trembling lip, angry and cold. Sitting, the cancer was waiting to lower me into the earth in triumph for its return. I used to be afraid. Like the first time I knew I was alive, for sure.

3

Walls were pressed and hammered Therapy for workers, curing pangs of comforts They sat between fleshy webs of knuckles On lunch break they would pluck pouts of moldy fruit If only she could hear summer of 98’ Glimmering puddles and sinkable reasons She could test her strength with Goldfish and a drippy, chocolate cupcake Matching deserts of skin covering joints young enough to bend They spat against another, sweating. Tapping Smoother than honeymooners in a convention center Frigid or uncontrollable, no one could tell The breezeway connected teeth, the left chipped in the corner from A muddy softball game. Their team won 7-2. Wide enough to squeeze uncooked macaroni shells between Became the dusky neighborhood game. Transitioning humans, males most likely, whispered fears between that gap. He was different. He waited in outside the doors, near the trash bins With grumpy janitors, muttering, “fuggin’ kids” and things like that. She loved how ugly they were then. Her thoughts trailed him, what was left of him, as he paced Searching for the mug he left there, no There, holding wet tissue, no Soggy cupcake liner Cupcake, shortcake, cake, cake liner Rainbow or musty brown from 346 degrees Fahrenheit Baking Therapy Class held in her kitchen Maybe because she could pound at the dough and it would never fight back She neglects the finale of rumbling coffee exhale since she knows He’d never come back. Not here or any party she threw. But on another hard drive she saved photos of September 20th. She’ll flip mindlessly through a Cosmopolitan, until she can forget his name

0

Feb 15, 2015

Feb 15, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC

What’s-His-Name

Walls were pressed and hammered Therapy for workers, curing pangs of comforts They sat between fleshy webs of knuckles On lunch break they would pluck pouts of moldy fruit If only she could hear summer of 98’ Glimmering puddles and sinkable reasons She could test her strength with Goldfish and a drippy, chocolate cupcake Matching deserts of skin covering joints young enough to bend They spat against another, sweating. Tapping Smoother than honeymooners in a convention center Frigid or uncontrollable, no one could tell The breezeway connected teeth, the left chipped in the corner from A muddy softball game. Their team won 7-2. Wide enough to squeeze uncooked macaroni shells between Became the dusky neighborhood game. Transitioning humans, males most likely, whispered fears between that gap. He was different. He waited in outside the doors, near the trash bins With grumpy janitors, muttering, “fuggin’ kids” and things like that. She loved how ugly they were then. Her thoughts trailed him, what was left of him, as he paced Searching for the mug he left there, no There, holding wet tissue, no Soggy cupcake liner Cupcake, shortcake, cake, cake liner Rainbow or musty brown from 346 degrees Fahrenheit Baking Therapy Class held in her kitchen Maybe because she could pound at the dough and it would never fight back She neglects the finale of rumbling coffee exhale since she knows He’d never come back. Not here or any party she threw. But on another hard drive she saved photos of September 20th. She’ll flip mindlessly through a Cosmopolitan, until she can forget his name

31

I want to go back. Forward rather, under Vapor, sweet as symphonies Rising, falling coincidentally with each breath mother took The lifting of her cushioned chest, cradling my achy, heavy head After she tucked me in (feet covered, as if the air kissing my Toes might become a switch to conscientiousness) I lied to her, I made her believe That I, too, rotated under transparent sheets, dreams Twirled into freedom from earth. But I laid behind locked bars Crying and continued to plead guilty. A blanket, sturdy, protective It sits, at least I think it does. Three-sided and pushed up against a wall I wonder if I put it there. Holding the key to dreams, she cradles me in the darkness A blend of color and mystery from the lamppost glowing through the windowpane Morphing around the streaks, marks left by some knock-of brand of windex Through this glass, mother caught my sleepless lie Remorseful and gentle she cradled me in streams of flashes Familiar and warm lights of the street cars A driver seat of drunks, or late-shift hospital workers Flying somewhere else, anywhere else Later nights I would distinguish between the two. Not very far off, without breath, she spoke of thick dreams and sweet souls she wondered and gleamed At that blankets with holes

0

Feb 15, 2015

Feb 15, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC

Covered Feet

I want to go back. Forward rather, under Vapor, sweet as symphonies Rising, falling coincidentally with each breath mother took The lifting of her cushioned chest, cradling my achy, heavy head After she tucked me in (feet covered, as if the air kissing my Toes might become a switch to conscientiousness) I lied to her, I made her believe That I, too, rotated under transparent sheets, dreams Twirled into freedom from earth. But I laid behind locked bars Crying and continued to plead guilty. A blanket, sturdy, protective It sits, at least I think it does. Three-sided and pushed up against a wall I wonder if I put it there. Holding the key to dreams, she cradles me in the darkness A blend of color and mystery from the lamppost glowing through the windowpane Morphing around the streaks, marks left by some knock-of brand of windex Through this glass, mother caught my sleepless lie Remorseful and gentle she cradled me in streams of flashes Familiar and warm lights of the street cars A driver seat of drunks, or late-shift hospital workers Flying somewhere else, anywhere else Later nights I would distinguish between the two. Not very far off, without breath, she spoke of thick dreams and sweet souls she wondered and gleamed At that blankets with holes

28

Released from salty skies or trees, Crashed into darkened plains, A treat indeed to hear the speech Of finches freed from chains They fluttered sweetly through the Months that sometimes end with 'ember'. As they fly straight through sunrays Sparks cling if they're remembered. And as the moon howls lullabies And tunes her fiddle neatly, Feathers flap and fold up high For evidence fights so sneakily. How will they climb the Redwoods While they're cherished down below? And, pray, partake in meals and feasts With seedlings in a row. Wishful wonders stem from songs Of solar sons and sorrows, They dart the pending prayers And warmed baths of tomorrow.

0

Feb 15, 2015

Feb 15, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC

Ode to the Gold Finch Who Sang Twice

Released from salty skies or trees, Crashed into darkened plains, A treat indeed to hear the speech Of finches freed from chains They fluttered sweetly through the Months that sometimes end with 'ember'. As they fly straight through sunrays Sparks cling if they're remembered. And as the moon howls lullabies And tunes her fiddle neatly, Feathers flap and fold up high For evidence fights so sneakily. How will they climb the Redwoods While they're cherished down below? And, pray, partake in meals and feasts With seedlings in a row. Wishful wonders stem from songs Of solar sons and sorrows, They dart the pending prayers And warmed baths of tomorrow.

20