she is cleanly pressed
this woman scented of mother and scrubbed wife
her fingers no-nonsense
nothing like birds
or soaring clouds
that now watch her open a door smelling
of 10th grade art rooms
of handsome boys that should have
noticed her
and days when grass still
believed
in the greenness
of her young legs
ready to hop on the first thing
smokin’
away
an older noon
sees those same limbs
tired from chasing
children
husbands
and michigan weather
cross as she sits on the floor
yellow boxes telling her
how the world
has only known her highchairs
her bed-making
her bread and milk dinners
and laundry tucked like drowsy soldiers
in broken drawers
but she answers:
you don’t really know me
never will
you only view from the wrong end of the telescope
i am letters on a license plate
heading off to cities
trembling for my voice
my ocean blood lapping at india’s great breast
of sundays and how she held me
like emeralds
cut brilliant as a promise
you have only seen me
sleeping
never inside my head
where i am living
in conquered realms
and crowns gleaming
or the games i played
with my sisters three
where i am not the baby
and receiving
mother’s largest
slice of cake
and look closer
i am still skating
right at the edge
waiting for the ice to break
to plunge me awake
from this dirt floor
yellow boxes
and 600 books with their pages
gently reminding
how i could have set
this world on fire with
applause
so
you don’t know me
she repeats softly
never will
her no-nonsense fingers
sliding down spines
that would never dare
crack
or
break
unlike her mother eyes
her marriage throat
coated with motes
and one dollar bills
that will come in the morning
when eager hands will carry away
sunday’s favorite child
in yard sale bags
saturated with used candy wrappers
and rusted pennies
yet
tomorrow will bring
other stories
other bookstores
and she stands
on legs
no longer young
but sturdy as
her bed-making
her laundry folding
the clapping of home and birth
but she touches
the pages once more
and tilts her head like a fading sun
her footsteps quietly retreating
and leaves them one last night
to sleep
to dream
for her
Author notes
For nik, who knows way...
...and can't do anything about it! HA!
NOTE: some parts inspired by emilie autumn's 'what if'.
A contest entry
- died by Melissa Gayle.
700 points, ended August 8, 2008, 17 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 26 of 26
-
What what...I missed this?! If this isn't word play, I don't know what is. I was thinking that I couldn't open my eyes any larger while I was reading and then...I found them getting wider and wider...Taking it all in one word at a time. I know I have missed a lot of your poetry in the past, seeing that I was away for so long, but I want you to know that I still consider you one of the most experimental writers on here. I want you to take that in for a moment: On the whole site, I consider you one of those voices that draws me back, love it or hate it, I can never deny that your voice, your work and your art is always your own. Do want me to pick my favorite lines? Alright I will:
she is cleanly pressed
this woman scented of mother and scrubbed wife
her fingers no-nonsense
nothing like birds
or soaring clouds
that now watch her open a door smelling
of 10th grade art rooms
of handsome boys that should have
noticed her
and days when grass still
believed
in the greenness
of her young legs
ready to hop on the first thing
smokin’
away
an older noon
sees those same limbs
tired from chasing
children
husbands
and michigan weather
cross as she sits on the floor
yellow boxes telling her
how the world
has only known her highchairs
her bed-making
her bread and milk dinners
and laundry tucked like drowsy soldiers
in broken drawers
but she answers:
you don’t really know me
never will
you only view from the wrong end of the telescope
i am letters on a license plate
heading off to cities
trembling for my voice
my ocean blood lapping at india’s great breast
of sundays and how she held me
like emeralds
cut brilliant as a promise
you have only seen me
sleeping
never inside my head
where i am living
in conquered realms
and crowns gleaming
or the games i played
with my sisters three
where i am not the baby
and receiving
mother’s largest
slice of cake
and look closer
i am still skating
right at the edge
waiting for the ice to break
to plunge me awake
from this dirt floor
yellow boxes
and 600 books with their pages
gently reminding
how i could have set
this world on fire with
applause
so
you don’t know me
she repeats softly
never will
her no-nonsense fingers
sliding down spines
that would never dare
crack
or
break
unlike her mother eyes
her marriage throat
coated with motes
and one dollar bills
that will come in the morning
when eager hands will carry away
sunday’s favorite child
in yard sale bags
saturated with used candy wrappers
and rusted pennies
yet
tomorrow will bring
other stories
other bookstores
and she stands
on legs
no longer young
but sturdy as
her bed-making
her laundry folding
the clapping of home and birth
but she touches
the pages once more
and tilts her head like a fading sun
her footsteps quietly retreating
and leaves them one last night
to sleep
to dream
for her
.....
Those were my favorite lines. I love you Darcy.
You are the chicken to my feather and the egg
to my omelet.
-
-
You are beyond kind, my darling James. Like I've said before, you are precious to me because you keep me honest and when others would overwhelm me with their praise or just plain ass-kissin', lol, you have always shown that you have the faith and think I can do better...and I appreciate it to the ends of the world. I am so flattered and genuinely honored that you consider me both as a friend and fellow poet. I am so happy to have you as my friend and will always keep you tucked in the tenderest corner of my heart of hearts. Never forget that, you brilliant man you.
-
-
I think there must be a bit of ass-kissin' and praise and some critiques in everyone's life to keep them honest to themselves...But it is also nice to just lean back and let a poem come to us like a bit of rain water or a friendly kiss. You will always have a special place in my heart as I have known you for so very long, like since 2003 and I genuinely think poets should stick together, even if they are so different. Yes, I consider you both of those things and if I had my way, I'd hug you right now through the monitor...Maybe someday computers like that will exist. We can always hope, huh? Thank you Darcy for being my friend and yes, the wordsmith who will live on in my eyes, even after they have closed.
;
-
-
-
thank you.
-
-
Oh no, babe...thank YOU...
-
-
this is the essence
nude greed and manipulation unbarred
orgasmic, fascinating
so the hierarchies change
at the top howls and drips the cunt
hurling down low the penis limp
its balls hanging saggy
like a meek dreaming potency
ps don't know who I hate more
women or men
but I know who I don't love at all: politicians and/or shrinks
-
-
I hate shrinks too...although I have a degree in it.
But if you're ever in the neighborhood, come lie on my couch and you can tell me all about your muther...muawhahahaaa... -
-
so you're one of the proud of knowing nothing
...well I love people who experiment on themselves
not people who experiment on people -
-
Oh I love doing both.
And yep...guilty. Proud to know nothing...makes life so much easier to deal with, eh?
-
-
only if you're aware of it...
-
-
So true, Wise Blizzard Man. So very true. lol
-
-
wisdom cums in paradoxes
stains ethic people infatuate in being ethical
raises from time to time as flags
their pants, sore, mellow the moral ground
-
-
Why oh why must you beat me with your witty little comments?? They could be poems in and of themselves.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
unlike her mother eyes
her marriage throat
coated with motes
and one dollar bills
that will come in the morning
when eager hands will carry away
sunday’s favorite child
in yard sale bags
saturated with used candy wrappers
and rusted pennies
hmmmmmmm smells like ani difranco. this si so good. like i can never explain and you know it. it just touches me, reminds me of things that are in my life or were or whatever, anyways, i get this, and thats what matters. thanks for being so simple in what you write. thats why people suck in poetry most times, they dont keep it simple. its like they feel they have some kind of bar to attain, something really high they cant reach so they stuff the page with nonsense and words like frore and still use shakespear language. i mean what the fuck. i had to get that off my chest. lovely lovely lovely poem. makes my arm hair stand up straight from the fuckin frore this sends off. gahh
-
-
-
You're so lovely...even when you're quiet and just smiling.
-
-
never inside my head
where i am living
in conquered realms
and crowns gleaming
or the games i played
with my sisters three
awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, baby. this was amazing, in all aspects. rich in metaphor and imagery...and i don't know what else to say other than the usual...I LOVE IT.
i found i few things i could be critical about, and if you truly want to talk them over you know i'd be more than happy. but this piece is lovely just with it's personal aspect and THAT is why i didn't want to leave my dribble all over the place
-
...Something unknown which should be known. And duly groped - from foot to thought - by someone. I keep saying this to myself. I'm an "aventurine thought poet for 50 comments", been here for a while, but I'm brought to comment. "God of Loss. God of Small Things." You have an acumen for the undue.
"waiting for the ice to break
to plunge me awake
from this dirt floor
yellow boxes
and 600 books and their pages",
among other things.
I very much appreciate the cadence and song. -
You have the biggest heart
Nothing less than perfect, and she obviously loved it The ending was so pretty. Good luck in the contest
Jeanette*~
-
I wish I could think of something more profound than, wow. But I can't, so there. lol.
I do so admire your muse at work.
-
-
LMAO!
I'll take a 'wow' any day rather than a 'grat wk...kep it up, homie.'
And I lubs jooo...for always knowing exactly what to say.
-
-
You bastard.
Make me cry and get all... emotional and shit.
I hate you sometimes. lol
But I loved this.
-
-
You.......cried....???
WHOOT!
Then I don't care if I win, my work here is done!!!
-
-
Seldom does anyone recognize the value of a mother, wife, cleaner, washer, carer etc lol they take for granted that all will be done and neatly stacked. The true measure I guess is in the belief, a woman no matter how harangued she becomes is still the essence of femininity and maybe that is all the grace she needs to get her through. C
-
-
I would rate your comment a thousand times over if I could. It means almost as much to me as this poem.
-
-
-
Adding your comment:
1 - 26 of 26
