"sisterly" poems
*Lydia, Lydia,
There are broken angels
beneath your skin.
Your face is stone,
and white as snow,
where the color should have been.
Your husband is by your side,
middle school passion left undead.
Your sister over your right shoulder,
smiling like the day you wed.
You don't hear Zach's talk of cereals,
but a tight smile shows on your face.
The greif streaked grime of tears and salt
rims your neck like wedding lace.
Tomorrow you will rise
and pour milk into your bowl.
Look across the table,
just to feel your crushing soul.
To not see the eyes
that were there for twenty years.
To share no more secrets,
or confide her sisterly fears.
You both spent your life devoted
to three hundred sixty-five words
of repiticious hope.
Only to wake up with the flipping of a page,
to find a car bent in ash and smoke.
This hollow eyed shell I saw in the store
clenched her teeth up tight,
to suffer along like the people of The Book,
and hold Faith to Father of Light.
You made me shed tears for you,
Madison,
because you made me come to see
I would never leave my little sister
By any of my own means.
I felt cheated for you,
so joyous in your Word.
To spread the light of God
to every part of Earth.
But now you are away,
taking flight,
still this young.
I go home with knotted throat,
and my eyes felling as if theyd been stung.
I've been thinking of you both,
Sisters,
by blood and faith.
I'm so sorry for your loss,
the unknowing,
all the rage.
I weep for you, dear Madison.
You lived only in a blink.
But I weep for you still more, Lydia.
And I pray that you won't sink.*
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
I. Herself
To be a sweetness more desired than Spring;
A ****** beauty more acceptable
Than the wild rose-tree’s arch that crowns the fell;
To be an essence more environing
Than wine’s drained juice; a music ravishing
More than the passionate pulse of Philomel; -
To be all this ’neath one soft bosom’s swell
That is the flower of life:—how strange a thing!
How strange a thing to be what Man can know
But as a sacred secret! Heaven’s own screen
Hides her soul’s purest depth and loveliest glow;
Closely withheld, as all things most unseen,—
The wave-bowered pearl, the heart-shaped seal of green
That flecks the snowdrop underneath the snow.
II. Her Love
She loves him; for her infinite soul is Love,
And he her lodestar. Passion in her is
A glass facing his fire, where the bright bliss
Is mirrored, and the heat returned. Yet move
That glass, a stranger’s amorous flame to prove,
And it shall turn, by instant contraries,
Ice to the moon; while her pure fire to his
For whom it burns, clings close i’ the heart’s alcove.
Lo! they are one. With wifely breast to breast
And circling arms, she welcomes all command
Of love,—her soul to answering ardours fann’d:
Yet as morn springs or twilight sinks to rest,
Ah! who shall say she deems not loveliest
The hour of sisterly sweet hand-in-hand?
III. Her Heaven
If to grow old in Heaven is to grow young,
(As the Seer saw and said,) then blest were he
With youth forevermore, whose heaven should be
True Woman, she whom these weak notes have sung.
Here and hereafter,—choir-strains of her tongue,—
Sky-spaces of her eyes,—sweet signs that flee
About her soul’s immediate sanctuary,—
Were Paradise all uttermost worlds among.
The sunrise blooms and withers on the hill
Like any hillflower; and the noblest troth
Dies here to dust. Yet shall Heaven’s promise clothe
Even yet those lovers who have cherished still
This test for love:—in every kiss sealed fast
To feel the first kiss and forebode the last.
5.7k
There is a sequence of small events, signs; that as they occur point us in the direction of the mid-winter festival. This morning: the first snow; iced rain, not the soft down-like floaty stuff, but hard crystal-shaped foot-crunching shards. Yesterday, it was on with the wooly hat, the padded waistcoat and a more than just sprightly walk in a park of leafless trees. Everywhere, a damp coldness.
Sitting companionably after the meal, a fire spitting in the hearth had brought a glow to her cheeks. She was replete with glowness, her speech dancing too and fro after the family phone calls of a Sunday night. Outside, the sound of wind against the house.
Settling herself against him, feet tucked under his reclining body, she tells him about her niece, a birthday girl just two last week. This little one was touchingly innocent of what happens on a birthday. She knew it was coming, next week, soon, then tomorrow. Imagine her the night before: just think you'll wake up and be two! And that's what this birthday business is? She wakes and there is something special in the air, her sister smile-full, bouncy with expectation. Her parents’ voices are louder than usual, there are bigger hugs and longer kisses. Birthday, birthday, birthday. Her grandparents arrive. More hugs. THEN her father appears with a cake! It's only just after breakfast, but the large people are having coffee and there's her juice cup and a cake! Birthday, birthday, birthday shouts her sister. For me, a cake for me? My cake? Daddy lights the candles! Oh, oh, oh. This is . . . and something wrapped in pretty paper is being handed to me. Her sister, being wonderfully sisterly shows her how to remove the wrapping. A book! Read it to me now, now, please. It's my birthday, now.
This is a sign he thinks later when in bed she folds herself to him, arranges his arms and hands to hold her into sleep, still glowing a little. This is surely a sign. A child's discovery of the birth day. The joy it brings, the way it lights up our lives. And never again will her father see quite that measure of surprise and delight in his daughter's face. Next year she'll be full of expectation, know all about birthdays . . and be three.
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 1:56 AM UTC
I love you.
Not that way
Not the way the media says love is.
But love.
Sisterly love.
I love you
After all this time
When my family became distant
And my classmates turning away
You stayed
I love you
And you may look around for love
I understand that it'll never fade.
And I wish
You would too
I love you
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 2:09 PM UTC
My eyes smell sleepy, he, refusing to depart,
But there is coffee on the nightstand,
The odor, infiltrating the dozy brain's heart.
Annoyed with each other,
They shout and fight
Like teenage siblings Commissioners at the SEC,
Arguing over bathroom monopolization,
The tongue stays sidelined, feigning net neutrality.
The bed smells empty,
For the **** has crowed,
Yogi David commands your presence
At Saturday morning Eight O'clock yoga services.
To get to his Sinai on time,
Early departure, an FAA requirement,
Car, ferry and foot you will deploy,
In the winter, special skis and snowshoes,
That blessed by his mantra,
Enable you to walk on water.
In the kitchen there is sisterly conversation,
Yes, puttering and muttering and discussing,
Sister's grown child texting, he's making the pilgrimage
To see Mama, alone, unexpectedly,
Six hours driving.
Friends and countryman,
That is how you spell t-r-o-u-b-l-e
Sleepy master dwarf refuses to concede,
Says when kitchen noises retreat,
Back to him you will supplicate,
They (the other dwarfs and body parts),
Have a big convention to better communicate..
Departure comes without a kiss,
But not without complaint,
She always says I love you first,
Which is natural,
She being a girl.
Now the bladder starts to whiny~chatter,
What about me, what about me,
Don't you love me, and me rhymes with P!
While the stomach quietly snores
Have been well-fed
but a few hours before,
He dreams of some more....macadamia crusted s'mores...
I could verse you more,
No problem that's for sure,
But you got the point:
The morning smells.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 7:18 AM UTC
Take my life,
Take my everything.
Strip me of my rights.
But give me one thing.
Give me a paradise!
A paradise of brotherhood,
and sisterhood.
A paradise where violence does not exist,
a paradise where nobody commits a crime,
a paradise where people are not afraid to openly confess their sins.
Give me a hope.
A hope that at the end of all these troubles,
there will be peace, love, and humbleness.
Where Greed is no more.
Where men do not need guns.
Give me a city.
Give me a city,
where doors and locks are no more.
Open seats at dinner tables for brothers to join.
A quiet city,
where children run in happiness,
where a new generation lives happily,
where the old generation smiles.
A beautiful city,
where evil is no more,
Give Me Paradise.
Land of abundance.
Land of peace.
Land of brotherly and sisterly love.
Give me a land,
a land where people different by culture,
different by background,
different by skin,
different by family,
can unite as one.
Give me a land where there is no sin.
Give Me Paradise!
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 6, 2012 at 9:31 PM UTC
One hundred and something beats per minute,
A happy tune to keep me
with it
As I stare out of the bus window
In-ear phones cancelling out,
The ambient sounds
Of busy Cambridge City
Always enjoying the diversity
Finally seeing the love
On Victoria avenue,
I saw two little girls
Sat on a tree branch together
Dangling as it flexed,
Over Jesus green
Probably siblings
Maybe even friends
I felt their feelings
Even on this crowded journey
I long for forms of childhood
Carelessness and joy
I long for companionship
Brotherly and sisterly love
I long for happiness
Smiles and sunshine forever
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 12:03 PM UTC
clay-baked women beat their clothes
clean on river rocks at dawn
cook rice and dal on an open
communal hearth
beneath a natural lantern
of Indian stars
for 20 rupees a day, roughly
half a buck
I have seen men and women tie
rags to cushion their heads
towing heavy mortar
for new construction
yet there is always a
brotherly smile gleaming
and sisterly hands eager to share
what meager provisions earned
these are no feeble folk
no fashion slaves or mere mortals
melodious bhajans mingle with
the sweat from their brows
and mantras, leelas of God
echo through the
Taj Mahal temples of their hearts
I raise my bhakti glass to the
backbone of India
Her kundalini rising
innocent, humble
village peasantry
true priests
gopikas and gopalas
who actually live
the Vedic life
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
I am left in the forrest to die, a battered runaway slave, until a swamp mambo saves my life with some herbs and love over time, but I cannot let go of the fact she brought me back from the precipice of death, so for the rest of her breath I serve and protect her with honor and respect.
I am an ancient Chinese nobleman betrothed to a bride for more money and land, except I'd rather spend the time with a common woman because she makes me feel and opens me up, but in the end I choose the power, and to my horror the bride has the woman's family removed from life.
I am a suave satyr, a boisterous and joyous half-goat who prefers the light of night, a rapscallion nymph chaser whose frenzied bacchanalia rife with wild ****** an ecstatic ******* even though a had a penchant for this shapeshifter whose eyes lifted me beyond an echo in time.
As an oracle, I am only beholden to the gods though I don't think the Kings and Queens understand my sister and me. Our feminine bodies flicker and dance in shadows, embers aglow as we flow between each other's souls and worlds to bring words of wisdom through smoke visions and hieroglyphic poems.
I am a Viking, tired and hurt, our ship burns as my ****** body is momentarily buoyed in the frigid watery deep, proud yet ready to sleep until I realize this is my final battle yet won't reach Valhalla as I drown, the freezing drink slowly chokes my veins, the sound fades.
I feel free, a wild dakini gypsy between dimensions and time, with my sisterly crew of hypnotizing pirates making no bones what we want from the clients as our razor sharp bodies and piercing eyes cut through souls so we may outshine each other in stories and diamonds.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
To the girl with curls much longer than my own,
When approached by a boy, flip him off and spit in his face
Tell him you're a rebel,
a punk,
a lover.
Tell him that love is for suckers and
guys are only good for *******
And even then it's a hit or miss.
Explain to him how you have violent urges to break things
Go into detail about why your parents didn't stay together
Get drunk and make out with his best friend
Respond to his texts with one syllable
Talk about how you're ready for commitment
(in the long term sense)
Insult his music,
his books,
his friends
and most importantly his morals.
If he doesn't fall in love with you, there must be something wrong...
After all, it worked on me
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 3:36 AM UTC
I would rather struggle with you than be fine when you're not.
You'll never be alone in this, I'll be right here, keeping you alive.
I love you, sister dearest. You are precious.
My heart is broken without your half.
We'll get through this. Siblings unite.
My sister, my reason for trying,
Trying to keep myself coping.
We grew up together,
And we can get better...
Together.
Sisters have a bond life cannot break.
Nothing can break what we have.
We shared happy moments together.
So if we need to, we'll also suffer.
Your pain is mine.
My pain is yours.
Sisters keep each other sane.
Our personal demons,
They will not break,
Our sisterly bond.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 11:55 AM UTC
The ‘why’, the ‘what for’ and the ‘where’
Are sisterly questions of life.
Whoever them answering dares
Will for eternity strive.
Summer 2012
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 6:17 AM UTC
Sisterly their love is shown
Upon the spot where they have grown.
The willow shows its empathy
With every other living tree,
Its trailing branches sweep the ground
Wherein the source of life is found.
A cycle starting with decay
That fortifies the soil today,
Just as it did in Myrrha’s time
When she was punished for her crime,
Incestuous love, forbidden birth,
Planted in ancestral earth.
And still the myrrh its tears doth cry
Although two-thousand years pass by,
Emotion shown in each small wood
Enforcing loss of mother-hood.
The living left do shed their tears
Throughout their own remaining years.
For all’s in flux and nothing lasts
But each in turn has seeds it casts
And so the living comes to bear
Although the tear-drops in despair
Like precious gems the myrrh as shed
All must cry and mourn their dead,
But out of death new life created
True natures course is understated.
Dec 19, 2009
Dec 19, 2009 at 9:27 AM UTC
O but my quest for love
(or at least some hot ***** ***
has been a hard road, harder than gravel,
but finally I was pretty
sure that Eros' arrow had scored
a ******* bullseye
as I re-read the fifteen page email
of concentrated vile **** and obscenity
from the fabulously gorgeous teenage triplets
who were enamoured of me
and my open crotch photos;
certainly the accompanying attachments
of filth and sisterly depravity boded well
for our meeting, a picnic in the park.
My wildest dreams were exceeded
as I saw them waiting in their half-nude beauty
and, after a few bottles of champagne
and a crate of oysters (their treat),
they carried me off, cackling like sex-mad hens,
to their waiting chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce
to take me to their promised penthouse pad
for a nuit d'amour never to be forgotten;
"Where are we going girls?" I enquired
and how I screamed when they answered Scunthorpe.
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 5:32 AM UTC
The chandeliers
The tapestries
Our golden curls
And deities
Shift dress and ice cream
Yelllow light and silent gatherings among us
And in circles
The sharks swam around us
Our anger became one
And in this dream our souls
Became symbols
And the sisterly flame
Stirred within
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
welcome to Earth on which we live,
why here? no one can say.
one thing is certain 'bout this planet's burdens;
they never will ever go away.
why not on Mercury? Neighbor the sun?
it's too close, the heat is unreal.
its surface is hot, a place we go not,
for we are too fragile to heal.
how about Venus, our sisterly planet?
she's gross and unhealthy too.
her surface corroded and it's duly noted
that this one will just never do.
we could try Mars, our redheaded friend
but alas! that simply won't work.
too much pollution for any solution
we'd most likely just end up hurt.
what say Jupiter that big cloudy mess?
good luck you dreamer and fool.
impossible dagnabbit! don't try to inhabit
for us that place is too cruel.
now you say Saturn, the world of infinity
well infinite is just a bad joke.
the rings may be nice, but take my advice,
there's too great a chance we'd all choke.
then perhaps Neptune, one more chance at home
your hopes once again are kaput.
she's not only distant, but far too resistant
to ever once let us set foot.
now our last chance Pluto, the farthest
but she's been sadly forgotten.
why dream of this? she's clearly not missed
by now she's dead and rotten.
my friends you have realized the greatest of truths
that anywhere else we'd be dead.
our life here on Earth is more than it's worth
as we dwell on our cosmic homestead.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
Sisters can be difficult creatures,
The towels left transforms me into a preacher.
They combine and plead that it wasn't either- of them,
Defending that they are benign and not leavers.
But I do not accept their lines, I rebut them and decline
What they are feeding me and a desire to confine them- overwhelms.
But instead of convulsing into a seizure or giving in to something malign and of a devious nature,
My words become fiercer as I deliver my "bottom-line"
To those rascally creatures that I wish to refine.
Yet I can hear features of mine, in their voices, before I was their keeper and only nine,
And it made me realize that I, too, once was a creature and not fully defined.
Calming down I enshrine myself and become a wistful dreamer.
To have things I've made stay made would be sublime, and so much cleaner.
And so- in my confines dreaming of refined sisterly creatures, I recline.
Alas, being a teacher makes me want to lie supine.
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 10:22 PM UTC
I felt your presence today.
Beaming rays of your smile surrounded me
I knew it was only you
Thieving the sun of its glory
Bowing,
Allowing your smile to illuminate the world instead.
I felt the warmth of your sisterly embrace
Your silken hair caressed my cheek
As the March breeze wrapped around me
Your golden rays disheveling my skin.
I hear my name, whispered
Sifting through the branches of the dogwood tree
A thick accent enveloping me in the disappearing leaves
You are here.
You're surrounding me
Drying my tears with a short wafting of spring breeze
Laughing, the way you always do
You are with me.
I gaze towards the heavens
Meeting the vibrant blue of your eyes
And I feel you
The way the blind cannot see
But must feel.
You are still here.
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 10:41 PM UTC
I say your name.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
All in hopes that the very mention of your name,
will bring you back.
Every sound,
every syllable,
flows from my broken heart,
unto lips chapped from tears.
Four times.
Five.
Repetition after repetition.
I know it wont work.
But your name gives me comfort.
Wraps me in memories.
Protects me.
Do you think of me where you are now?
I know you do.
Taken by the angels that cold october night.
Each star in the sky,
A new member taking flight.
Hit with the impact of incredible force,
I feel you.
I feel every hug,
every sisterly shove,
and it all comes back to me.
Nostalgia rushes in and we are together.
You never left me.
You never will.
Not a sisters on earth,
but sisters in the sky
Forever and always,
You will always be mine.
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 3:54 PM UTC
The ivory light of moon surrounds you,
emanates in tones you send to me
on my staircase perch with a bittersweet view of forever.
I hear the melodic beauty of your love,
your courageously wrapped gift in pink ribbon,
as you concentrate through your pain.
I sadly sense that I'll soon lose you to your journey,
but you know better than I how to celebrate life,
how to play the music of now.
I'll carry every note with me always,
replay them quietly on my heartstrings,
harmoniously tuned to the genuine energy of your soul.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 4:59 PM UTC
a wonderful poetess friend
I did happen upon
she has a welcoming heart
ever to don
twas fated that we became
the very best of sisterly mates
there's such a genuine nature
in her soul's sates
I speak
of a true
confidante
one who
I implicitly
trust
I speak
of a true
treasure
with qualities
that are a
must
dear Winn is an awesome
kind of gal
and I'm so thrilled having her
as my American pal
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC
Although very sisterly..
But too fairly and also truly..
Writing for the only one..
Who stand besides me as we r ONE..
The loving and sugar heart..
Although gets irritated too fast..
Confused you or confused world..
In a mission its doctor her ..
Beautiful she..
and me the reflection..
But my total upbringing..
Is all hers..
The guide..advice.. help
Love and affection are all synonyms
To the beautiful lady..
In a mission its doctor her
Goblin's nose or the nose of pride..
Whatever it is..
She always remains the part of my ride..
Beautiful she..
And me the reflection..
In a mission its doctor her
Although sisterly but true fairly..
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 1:01 PM UTC
the promise of heaven;
a notion I have ignored
until right now--
I'd give my entire life over
to an unknown god
in the hope of a sisterly reunion
eternally in the sky--
Jan 21, 2021
Jan 21, 2021 at 11:49 AM UTC
How can I miss what I don’t love?
You hardly leave my mind
I am left in awe of
You, with the demanding presence, it’s true
I remember a time when jealousy grew.
Always watching you from afar
But never do I hear from you, my morning lark.
A few moments frozen in time
Have given me this false sense of sublime
Sadly, so many would hold them to a shrine.
Observers in the distance
Know nothing of this,
My empty soul and weakening persistence.
Unfitting, this battle grows old
My springs fade to winter
And your heart proves too cold
Too cold, to even harbor a beacon of hope
Baggage carried at an inclined slope.
It goes against the grain
To throw it all away
More damage would only cause more pain.
Why do you jest at old wounds
And play yourself a sad little tune
When it is you that buries us in this solid tomb?
It is now, that the lights are out
We have learned to shield our hearts
But I’m still here, going about
Picking up the pieces
A shame to use these
Folly, weakening adhesives.
My only wish is for you to let me be
You have performed no sisterly duty
I continue to stand in the middle
Yearning to be set free.
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 12:27 PM UTC