Riq Schwartz

Riq Schwartz Feb 2013

ten cent poems
hiding in numbers
a shotgun blast
of ink and paper
hoping that one slug
strikes true.

knick an artery,
crack the bone
call yourself
a marksman wordsmith

im sorry i saw
through the muzzle flash
im sorry i told

but to be fair..

you lied first.
and im not sorry.

This probably isn't about you.

Riq Schwartz Oct 2012

Moment

STOP.

Don't move.

Don't you know?
A moment is too small to exist
in very much space at all.

Haven't you heard that time is like a bird?
It can't fly backwards,
and moreover, it will
NEVER.
Let.
You.
Catch it.

So please. I'm begging you.
Don't move.

You'll scare the moment away.

Because you see, I was thinking

we could just live here,
you and I.
Stay forever trapped
in this time and place,
silent and still
as the grave,
until eventually,
the world would forget about us.

Our moment has no place in the world, you see.

We would be expelled
and left behind.
We would be a satellite,
around and outside of time.
We would be a trail of exhaust
left lingering as time drove past.

We would be a feather
left on the ground
as time flew away.

But I wouldn't mind.
And something tells me
that you wouldn't, either.

Because moments as rich as these
are wealthy enough to support
not just one soul, but several.
These moments are banquets
for life
and love,
fear, pain,
sorrow, passion.
Again I say, life.

And this moment is a feast.

So I propose that we stay.
I propose that if we do blink,
that we are ever so cautious
when we open our eyes,
because the breeze from our lashes
could blow it away.

I propose that if we do eat,
we make like faeries
and feast on time and not space,
so that we'll never need their mortal food again.

I propose that if we need to smile,
that we instead choose to glow.
We could be like a star,
seen from so far off
and with such beautiful intensity
that people forget that,
that light is not the light of that star,
but the light of a star
that was so
very long ago.

I could be that.
And something tells me
that you could, too.

Don't move.
Don't say anything.
Don't tell me you love me --
I already know.
Don't tell me you're happy --
we will never be happier.
Don't ask me to kiss you --
our hearts are so entwined,
like vines of ivy
up an old brick wall,
that if we move,
they might break.

Now remember this.

Moments like these cannot be created;
they are found.

Surround yourself with beauty,
so that when you find one,
you can live forever.

And do not EVER
move so fast
that you would scare it away
before it lands.

Riq Schwartz Oct 2012

forgive

Belief is never sweeter

than to those who can't believe.

Reconciliation is for

those without relief.

Forgiveness comes in times and places
farthest from our expectations.

But ultimately,

we're the ones

who must forgive

ourselves.

Riq Schwartz Sep 2012

Spite

She said to me,
"Just take a breath
so you don't lose your head."

So I stood still
and drew in air,
then exhaled fumes instead.

Had a bad experience at work today.

Riq Schwartz Aug 2012

How to Write a Poem for Yourself (And No One Else)

Step one,
choose your topic.
Likely yourself.
Because what greater
subject could there be?
None
surely.

Step two,
choose an image.
Find something
that can serve
as a metaphor
for you.
Find the rain forest
for instance.
Or perhaps a pond
frozen over in winter.

Yes,
these should serve nicely.

Step three,
place yourself
somewhere in the midst of these things.
Let you be
the trunks of the trees
supporting the lush, green canopy.
You, poor, tired,
supporting the thick boughs
that are the real life
meters
and
meters
and
meters
above you.
Or is your face
the ice of the pond.
All that people ever notice
is how much you can take
before you break.
But there is so much more
just beneath the surface.
So much
teeming with life.
No one knows
how deep you go.
No one will know
until the ice thaws
     (which is unlikely to happen anytime soon.
          but the metaphor was never meant to extend that far.)

Step four,
write yourself in
to the piece
in such a way that no one else
will be able to identify you.
     (Unless they're **** cunning.)
Perhaps disguise your identity
within the purpose of the piece
or the flowing imagery
seeping through the spacious cracks
in your technique.
Riddle the work
with subtle ins and outs
and minute complexities
that vex the reader
away from your intentions.

Nicely done.

Step five,
ruminate.
contemplate
your reflection
as it appears
in your monitor.
Not the image of your face
bouncing off the glass
but the snapshot
of your thoughts
so opaquely back-lit.
Remind yourself
that this is for you
and no one else.
Proofread.
This is just for you
and no one else.
Revise.
This is just for you
and no one else.
Justify
this is just for you.

Step six,
post to a public forum.

*Check back in an hour.

Surprise! The poem is about me!
See? It's satirical.
Sorry it was so long.

Riq Schwartz Aug 2012

Rain

I don't want to sleep tonight
so we can hear the rain,
and watch our memories slowly spin
like whispers in my brain.
You say forever feels like love
and death is but a day.
But little help that offers me
when you're a world away.

So I don't want to hear the rain
if it will wash you out.
But someday soon we'll find the tune
our life can sing about.

Number three of Project Rewrite - taking other users' top words, whatever they may be, and reconstructing them into a coherent piece. Special thanks to Pandora for the inspiration this time around. Your words are always beautiful.

Riq Schwartz Aug 2012

Acquiesce

Don't tell me that you love me
'Till you find a way to hate me
And still like me all the same