She spoke in the lyrics of poetry
wearing multiple silicone bracelets
in a rainbow of causes she bought
Her magenta locks growing back
from a meltdown done with hilarity
and Lorraine who strong has her back
Category Archives: Poetry
A Royal Visit
The blistering wind whistled ice upon my cheeks
the dreary, newsprint colored mountains of labored snow
tower dominion over belching, exhausted cars and trucks
I trudge in divots of icy footprints, slick with travel
As I step from the shade of the building into the lemon sun
Persephone, Queen of the Underworld, Daughter of Spring
illuminates the air in floral scented bursts of joy
She paused, face down-turned as she adjusted her boots.
Her pink-champagne hair refracting the prismatic light
She lifted her face reverently, flowers flowing from her fingers
falling from her shoulders in graceful cascades as
She stripped off winter to tie it around her waist.
She caught me staring, I hadn’t realized I’d stopped.
She grinned unabashedly as I bowed my head to her.
She strolled past me with the confidence of royalty
i bowed as lilacs trailed behind her.
Pass it onward!
An unloved story
Once upon a time, I believed in the stories
but life progressed past the reformatories
the dismembered limbs of the family tree
disheveled skirts, scarred and bloodied knees
No redemption offered for the abused debris
That decades later, stands here as me.
Pass it onward!
Lady Diane
The icy wail bit deep into the bones
reassuring, in a way, eternally
that there was no one else as alone
standing glacial; uncertainly
the clump of frigid earth thrown
on consecrated soul made saintly
Final words to me are known,
“I love you! I love you, Mary!” stated plainly
For you the martyr’s flag will be flown
Ever loving, in slumber’s peace ever held gently.
Pass it onward!
Winter Mile
There are roads to travel that go on for quite a while
but there are none that go on for quite as long as that
of a Winter Mile
When the light has wrung the last drop from dark beguiled,
there are none quite as somber bespoke as that
of a Winter Mile
Warmest sleep of children deep in coverlet dreaming wild
no safer haven of a lover’s wish be true than that
of a Winter Mile
Pass it onward!
The Winter Baby
These Are My People: Lydia Khandro
Dried brown leaves and gray branches of solemn cycle
ignite to become golden lakes of wild hip-deep depths
The Blue Ridge Mother bears twice the ritual witness
standing cool, wrapped in the garment of her ancestor,
cradling her Divinity with skirts raising winds of power.
Her hair halos with the light of life, love, and nurturing.
She is the Great Mother bearing her Winter-born in holiness
Pass it onward!
Fifteen minutes of Flame
HONK! The beeping squall announces sacrament.
Ruffle of coat as the door becomes locked against the world
With a practiced swirl the coat is laid down over his bag
Puppy howls and purring clucks sing greeting.
Fluffed heads and ruffled butts, affection gifted.
Maybe fifteen minutes then the worship service is over,
He vanishes like an unanswered prayer.
I am blinded by my faith, accept it as my truth
even as I’m told I’m a sinner:
“You do this.”
“This is your fault.”
“You don’t have courtesy.”
“(s i l e n c e f o r w e e k s)”
“FUCK YOU!“
As I kneel at my altar after giving all I’m able,
it isn’t enough because I’m not whole-y holy.
I am “The Chosen One.” I am “loved dearly, but,”
This church is beginning to feeling like a silent prison.
I meditate in deep communion to ponder pontificated parole.
Pass it onward!
Sometimes Maybe
Sometimes I want to be a kite
Ripped and tugged by wind’s whim
Rising above spectators
Admired for my brightly colored dips
That write nonsensical whispers
Of promises made to a forever not witnessed
Sometimes I wish I were a bear
Raw with raking power paws
With heavy duty claws that help me eat
People I don’t like or those who disturb me.
Sometimes I wish I were a siren
One that rests on rocks singing sweetly
Lulling sailors to their doom upon my rocks
Jutting breasts and flirty hair calling to boys
“Beware! Beware!”
Sometimes I’m glad to be me
A chubby tubby funny woman with dimple cheeks
Cracking open frozen hearts, not of ice
But stuck in places not so nice
Places that don’t remember their worth
Burying their beings without much mirth.
Pass it onward!
Revision
Rolling down the road before
Been there, done that, know the score
Crossed that bridge, then burned it down
Trapped myself in my hometown
Ghosts of me walk laughing by
Anger driven, cocaine high
I barely know the face of then
But I wear them as my diadem
Broken heart lay broken wide
Spilling love from what’s inside
Trains of childhood sing forlorn
Don’t chase those tracks. Don’t heed those horns.
Pass it onward!
Meat Loaf
Did you know meat suits come with fragile halos and fierce wings?
You know, the ones hung on ideals, beliefs, but rarely on faith?
The halos may as well be bent together like pipe cleaners
fuzzy and limp if not woven together to be fuzzy or less limp
You probaby don’t even realize you have anything divine
in your very being
You lay around on the couch after an average dinner
watching programming so you become programmed
You walk the dog, feed the cat, check the kids, go to bed.
Alarm goes off, take a shower, wash around the halo
which mostly is a pain in the ass, but it remains.
Then, around half past ten, while heading to get coffee,
a young man steps from the curb while deeply involved
in a conversation on his phone that holds his attention fast.
The fierce wings spring from your average back, halo blinding.
Without thought or personal consideration, you grab the man.
The bus barely misses him. He grimaces at you for contact.
You apologize for saving his life un-sarcastically. Wings and halo gone.
Later, you lay around on the couch after an average dinner
watching programming so you become programmed
Mare Martell 