Untitled
Untitled
He was clever at finding people’s weaknesses and exploiting them.
Those who knew of him spoke of him with both respect and scorn.
Some said he was a genius.
She was warned to be afraid.
He swore he wouldn’t play with her
and on top of everything else she had gone through
it was enough to make her cry.
But that wasn’t her style.
He was sure of himself, if nothing else.
She was wary
but his sympathy seemed genuine.
He had a way of pressing her hidden nerves.
They were people of extremes.
They would stay up all night
burning a candle at both ends that threatened to explode.
He thought she was crazy, and maybe she was.
She held back a part of herself
that she never showed to anybody.
He recognized it and understood;
he also had a hidden side.
She constantly swayed, like a dancer
until he held her
and she broke down.
Then her soul passed through him
as they melded.
Untitled
Imagine quickly and forget quicker
We are all puppets in a show without rules
Almost – two neat syllables with which to sharpen one’s regret
She continued to walk toward him
because the thread of pain that bound her to him
was too taut to pull back on
She felt as if she would snap every minute
He sounded so casual and, oh, how that hurt
No one ever felt the same once love died
She felt her eyes grow hot and heavy
but she wanted his love and you couldn’t buy that with tears
Whatever god charges for such a seemly simple thing
the price is surely much higher
Her pitiful hope was so laced with despair
it could have been toxic waste; it was really no hope at all
She could not stand to be with him partially
when she wanted him so totally
The pain in the room was so thick
it was a wonder the walls didn’t weep
She couldn’t relate to the pain
she wished it would just go away
and leave her in peace
yet she was terrified to let it go
She didn’t want to lose hope even though she knew
carrying a broken heart around in her chest
was killing her
She had to stop bleeding like this in public
He strolled away, and it almost shattered her
She cried then
and her tears did not feel wet, but dry
like dust laid undisturbed in a place forgotten by love
"Father"
I looked back at my father
And though I didn’t know if he loved me
His gaze did something to me
I was staring at my own genetic code
But the family mirror was smeared with dust
Fine particles mysteriously settling with each passing moment
Unseen by anyone until it was too late
I couldn’t wipe them away by striking him
The gesture would be as futile as it would improper
It would not reverse the situation
It would only reflect it back
It could not heal anything
And perhaps would serve only to infect wounds more
He moved to touch me
Perhaps wipe a tear from my face
But then seemed to think better of it
Maybe he was afraid I’d bite him
Untitled
Wounded angel
With a halo of melancholy
Her coolness did not affect her vulnerability
She appeared strong but lost – without contradiction
He already liked her
More than logic or lust could explain
Her voice was soft and smooth
It touched him without human feeling
It touched him deeply
He should have died right then
He could have, but the gods were not kind
If the world was any example, the gods were crazy
Love was seldom kind either, he was to think later
Love killed more than it saved – it was a curse
Cruelty in beauty
Nature’s greatest tease
The rose that pricked
The thorn that caresses
Simple lies work well on the young and foolish
Luna
The moon is a mirror
It only shines because of the sun
The moon is a liar
Always changing
Sometimes so big and bright
Others barely visible
Sometimes I hate it
He was clever at finding people’s weaknesses and exploiting them.
Those who knew of him spoke of him with both respect and scorn.
Some said he was a genius.
She was warned to be afraid.
He swore he wouldn’t play with her
and on top of everything else she had gone through
it was enough to make her cry.
But that wasn’t her style.
He was sure of himself, if nothing else.
She was wary
but his sympathy seemed genuine.
He had a way of pressing her hidden nerves.
They were people of extremes.
They would stay up all night
burning a candle at both ends that threatened to explode.
He thought she was crazy, and maybe she was.
She held back a part of herself
that she never showed to anybody.
He recognized it and understood;
he also had a hidden side.
She constantly swayed, like a dancer
until he held her
and she broke down.
Then her soul passed through him
as they melded.
Untitled
Imagine quickly and forget quicker
We are all puppets in a show without rules
Almost – two neat syllables with which to sharpen one’s regret
She continued to walk toward him
because the thread of pain that bound her to him
was too taut to pull back on
She felt as if she would snap every minute
He sounded so casual and, oh, how that hurt
No one ever felt the same once love died
She felt her eyes grow hot and heavy
but she wanted his love and you couldn’t buy that with tears
Whatever god charges for such a seemly simple thing
the price is surely much higher
Her pitiful hope was so laced with despair
it could have been toxic waste; it was really no hope at all
She could not stand to be with him partially
when she wanted him so totally
The pain in the room was so thick
it was a wonder the walls didn’t weep
She couldn’t relate to the pain
she wished it would just go away
and leave her in peace
yet she was terrified to let it go
She didn’t want to lose hope even though she knew
carrying a broken heart around in her chest
was killing her
She had to stop bleeding like this in public
He strolled away, and it almost shattered her
She cried then
and her tears did not feel wet, but dry
like dust laid undisturbed in a place forgotten by love
"Father"
I looked back at my father
And though I didn’t know if he loved me
His gaze did something to me
I was staring at my own genetic code
But the family mirror was smeared with dust
Fine particles mysteriously settling with each passing moment
Unseen by anyone until it was too late
I couldn’t wipe them away by striking him
The gesture would be as futile as it would improper
It would not reverse the situation
It would only reflect it back
It could not heal anything
And perhaps would serve only to infect wounds more
He moved to touch me
Perhaps wipe a tear from my face
But then seemed to think better of it
Maybe he was afraid I’d bite him
Untitled
Wounded angel
With a halo of melancholy
Her coolness did not affect her vulnerability
She appeared strong but lost – without contradiction
He already liked her
More than logic or lust could explain
Her voice was soft and smooth
It touched him without human feeling
It touched him deeply
He should have died right then
He could have, but the gods were not kind
If the world was any example, the gods were crazy
Love was seldom kind either, he was to think later
Love killed more than it saved – it was a curse
Cruelty in beauty
Nature’s greatest tease
The rose that pricked
The thorn that caresses
Simple lies work well on the young and foolish
Luna
The moon is a mirror
It only shines because of the sun
The moon is a liar
Always changing
Sometimes so big and bright
Others barely visible
Sometimes I hate it
posted by Shelly at 9:59 AM
2 Comments:
Shelly-
I have some comments for you-
For me, the 'Untitled' suite of poems work well together- each one focuses differently between two characters who seem to be the same pair throughout. There is a nice development of a history between them that is both tense and tender. In the first one, the couple's physical presence together is more evident ('they would stay up all night'), and then in the second piece there is a sense of the two apart, the consequence of which is described in narrative that reads like the woman's internal dialogue. I especially like the last two lines-very nice.
The third piece is less 'physical' and I see this as more 'transcendent', with more abstract terms like beauty/cruelty/nature/love. I see the rose image representing those ideas, I would like to see a final resonating image for the woman as well, who already has distinct personas in each piece (dancer, puppet, angel) that connect to those 'bigger' ideas in the last poem.
For some reason I thought about circuses while reading the poems and then the mirror image in 'Father' and 'Luna' made me think about those roadside carnivals that have a 'house of mirrors' that can be fun and frightening all at once.
that's odd maurice - i was just rereading your commentary (thank you for doing so, by the way) and was struck by your last comment. fun house mirrors have been consistenly used in my poetry since i was very young - weird, huh? even odder that none of these poems specifically mention them, but you thought of them/were reminded of them nonetheless. hmm.
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