I am not yet ready to live
and yield my love to another
I have not yet explored
the wonders of choice
having none to choose from
other than my unanswered desire.
My waning heart cannot see
beyond the beauty by the pond
who will not see me
as I diminish with daylight
you won’t see even less
I will not waste time
embracing another
You are kind and fair
but reflection can never compare
So much the better;
had I caught your eye
Your gaze reflected
upon my echo
repeated back
into your flawless eyes
reflecting into the echo
chambered within my
unrequited heart
would echo my loss
onto your being
reflecting an infinite wound
and I adore you too much
to even risk destroying a world
where you can only find love
at the surface of you
I’d sooner die than crush
even the façade of you and
I’d sooner die than live
without my beloved
I’d sooner die and wither
like crystalized narcissus
in a December evening frost
I’d sooner die in a winter whisper
heard only by the lonely
and I’d sooner die
sooner still
Inspired by dVerse’s Jazz poetry with Amaya, hosted by guest poet, Amaya Engleking. We were encouraged to write some jazz poetry, or jazz-inspired poetry. Go here to read other dVerse poets’ contributions to this prompt.
I guess my whole vibe is that I kind of accidentally already live in this jazzy poetic realm. Still, this challenge reminded me of a recent jazz session.
I had the privilege of taking Wifey out to Jazz Alley for her birthday earlier this month and catching Hiromi Duet featuring Edmar Castaneda. They were amazing together, and Hiromi was especially mesmerizing in her solo piano work. I found a clip of her performing a song that just knocked the stuffing out of me live. It’s called Sicilian Blue. Anyway, my poem isn’t exactly about her, but it is most certainly inspired by her music.
(Also, sorry I’ve been away for so long. I’ve been struggling with depression and some unexpected life-altering changes. No one is in danger or poor health, but there were changes that I’m still struggling to adapt to. I ask for your continued patience and kindness. We’ll survive this. If I don’t see you again by year’s end, I’ll see you on the other side of 2018.)
Once upon an evening dreamy, reclined beyond conscience unseemly
Clean-laundry piled shotgun beside me burst forth with Terri Ann’s allure.
Her voice apparent, yet quite untimely, bubbled with laughter, light and finely-
Tuned for my perception, winding her time, which ended years before
A decade before, less or more. Is my mom’s soul now laundry lore?
I’m just baked. I must ignore.
We watched cartoons and tripped fantastic, Kush-soaked reflections, quite elastic.
Asked laundry-mother what traumatic lesson her spirit had in store?
Her laughter warmed peripherals, soft linen, looming lavender smells
Her soothing hearth of laughter tells me, unseen, with heart a-pure
Soothing song sang as she gathered with mother’s heart, rang, not demure
Laundry said, “You must endure.”
I laughed at her linen reprisal as if she sensed my suicidal,
Un-suspenseful thought-revivals. I asked clean laundry, “Is there more?”
For to suffer life in silence, its smearing rife with leering violence,
Abysmal veering into blindness; is that our fate, and nothing more?
Subliminal closed-mindedness? Should I get baked and just ignore?
Spit at fate, and what’s in-store?
My laundry-mother laughed disarming laughs, belying life’s alarming
Nature, nurturing and charming me, unanswered, insecure.
Her non-answers thrust upon me like a thirst quenched by tsunami
Voicing visions far beyond me, unseen, she sings with heart a-pure
She stings my heart, weary, unsure, with momma’s voice ringing a cure
Laundry sang, “You must endure.”
** *
Written for dVerse Poetics’ The voice of the monster, hosted by Björn. I know I’m a day late, but I thought I’d share an actual ghost story that happened to me about a week before Halloween, when my mom visited me during a low point. I’m agnostic, but I believe my mom dropped by to kick my ass, get me to stop feeling for myself and keep grinding for the fam. Perhaps in my case, the monster was my depression? (Who am I kidding? It’s almost always my monster.)
As we’re close to Halloween – widely regarded as the point where the threshold between the living and the dead is at its weakest – I found myself thinking less of home building, and more of ghosts, including my own, leaving their bodies (their homes for the duration of their lives) for the first time.
Written for dVerse’s Quadrille #43, hosted by Grace. I figured I’d give a shout-out to one of my first loves. Also, here’s another cool video on the evolution of hip-hop verses:
Go here to read other poet’s contributions to this prompt.
Written for dVerse’s Quadrille #42, a poem of hope, hosted by De Jackson (Whimsy Gizmo). Other’s have contributed more hopeful poems here. Sadly, I’m pretty depressed, so it’s difficult to keep hope alive these days.
Hephaestus’ Waste & Cosmic Rubble 
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