Contemplation

the breath from your blue eyes

Was more thrilling than i thought.

you strum a guitar.

i knew you knew this

But want to end our silence-

a strange breathing fawn.

I knew that love

was not a moments glancing

or brief holding dream.

I knew it was not

a grand palace to steal from

where illusions gleam

and this was not a

starry passageway to warmth

with honey burning.

so I felt relieved

for knowing the difference, but

I still wish for truth.

still

it’s nice to return

to memory that’s lasted

three minutes in time

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

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The Sonnet Project: Sonnet # 10

The Sonnet Project: Sonnet # 10

my mother is as bent as olive trees

when on her back she sleeps before the moon

her eyes as muddy as her wobble knees

Send god it well, for leaves she us now soon.

The night is windowless as death’s embrace

Against an endless skyward eye that calls

The maidens, who, like sailors after chase,

this lover who destroys all saddened falls,

can heal the hole that wounds my aching heart

for mother’s lost, my life of freedom’s lost.

From her, oh joy, i cannot be apart

to once again find love, what is the cost?

oh lover, take thy herb and sugar cure

and feed to me of what I can endure.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Update, Real apology, and a Poem

I just got my official Scholastic award diplomas this week!!!! it was amazing 🙂

Apology for not posting…

here is the poem: it is one that I submitted to the awards, which unfortunately was not awarded anything….oh god….I can’t go into all that all over agian….the pain….the searing pain of loss and realization and heavy disappointment all at once!

sorry for the over dramatic touch, I guess I’ve had a silly day.

OH! my story!

today I walked out of school to take the public bus home, when, to my surprise, I saw that the street had been newly paved. “Golly!” I thought excitedly “now It won’t feel like I’m stuck on some unfinished road in Nebraska when we come to school in the morning!”.

In an attempt at sarcasm, I got to the end of the street, rolling my wheeled backpack to and fro over the cement and said, dumbfounded “IT’S A ROAD!” as if to say ” ITS AN ACTUAL ROAD NOW, CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? BEFORE, IT WAS JUST POTHOLES!” . But of course, silly me, I didn’t say that. I soon realized how  loony I sounded. To make it worse  a lady who was passing by gave me the strangest look as she went past me and it was hard not to have  a laugh attack after she left!

and here is the poem, seriously this time:

BAYOU WATCH 

at the television we sit

a bayou watch

towers above heaven like a storm cloud

juxtaposing the atmosphere of earth with the falling rain

the sunrays sighing

and a dripping drain

the bayou watch

sitting, quietly, sucking his thumbs

crying for attention

he hogs up your electricity bill

and you throw him out.

nervously you are sucking your own thumbs

unaware of your deprivation.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Stream of Consciousness #8

Stream of Consciousness #8

the ice eyes is melted

it leaves the scum of the earth at it’s feet.

do you want to skip breakfast or eat meat

I love this weather it is better to stay and keep than to go aloft and die in the winter lights

I stayed at home watching telly

you like eating ham and jelly’it is smelly

who’d evah thought that I was the one with the sore leg and the sore foot and the Achilles heel and the swollen ankle and the cough and the sore thought and post nasal drip

hey babe lets take a trip

to downtown where the air is clear

bird near sun bright capo

lightened in the darkness you will find me

stuck in a lost corridor

finding my way up these walls

you can see me drifting like nobody’s business

like me soaring above every line

and singing away my heart

you ate the brownies and a tart

like an apple without a stem Mrs. Jaffet and Mr. Sem

CHEATING!

lucky they can get together on this sunny afternoon and not feel frightened by their certain doom.

like me, only wiser, and smaller without wit or any mental capacity

x x  x  x  x  x  x  x xx x x x x x  x x

I trudge onward, carrying a stick that I will pick to live a life of strange boredom.

your life is exiting, she said, she says quickly and then leaves.

i love you and this light is the strongest doll, isn’t it, aint it so darling aint that true aint it the truth my dearling dar. I wonder why thought your eyes are not the same as mine I wonder, then realize that that’s not what’s important, I mean, really, what was I thinking? It’s not my fault, I realize, it isn’t my fault at all. the lightening strikes before I talk, so as long as I keep on talking…

x x  x  x  x x x x x x  x   x x x x x  xx x x

right

he answered, the telephone rest was getting sweaty

he had not talked to her for months

and it was nerve-racking

“I’d like to have dinner with you shyanne”

he whispers, and then is silent.

on the end of the line she sniffs, then hangs up.

his mind goes back to the fist day of last summer.

It was nice then, he thought

it was for her good to get the fresh air and the night breeze and the swallow songs

but tonight I have only the humming of the water boiler and the squeak  of the oiled door hinges

it is  nice for to be just  alone.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

UPDATE: APOLOGY

This is a parody of what happens online via incredibly stupid youtube comments…..this is a funny hypothetical example. Enjoy.

DEAR READERS,

I have been noticing that the quality of my poems have been degraded and turned into a pablum-like mush of tasteless thoughts: in short, I hope to recover your senses by offering you more interesting posts.

Now, dear readers, even if you feel the need to contradict me, please keep your rebuttals to yourself, as all unhappy poets are something of a whiplashing tornado and do not stop metaphorically thrashing until they are fully satisfied with their work.

—the profusely apologizing Golden Star Poetry

DEER GOLDEN STAR POETRY

i don know wat u mean. ur posts r awsom and they r soo well rittin!! omg!! y r u so hard on urself?

from,
a reeder

DEAR “REEDER”,

not only have you gone against my wishes and rebutted, but you have also given me the staggering task of deciphering your incredibly bad spelling. Well, I wont hurt you too badly for rebutting, the word was probably not in your vocabulary, which, as we all know, is quite marvelously large. However, I really would appreciate it if you stopped commenting on this post. Thank you.

Golden Star Poetry

DEER GSP,

whaaa? i don know what…..like…r u insulting me?….cuthat’s meeeannn. ;-(

The same reeder

DEAR REEDER,

sigh.

The Gobi Desert Cycle-VOICE

VOICE

a hilly valley of sound,

not quite up or down

but both, I think, one crack following another

that has it’s own sort of  vain charm.

 

hoarse and high pitched at the same sound plateaus

nothing more than laughs and question marks

that edge at the air just for the sake of respect, without real sencerity

“I don’t know” seems to be you’re favorite line (what a pity).

 

I can clearly remember a conversation I heard on the bus

some uneducated minor

talking on the phone  about how he was going to get drunk at the end of the day

and then, sadly, it made me think about how much that sounded like you.

 

“Tear apart all the words!”

The protesters make it clear of the human condition-

now I want to mangle your grammar and contort all your sentences

until they land right side up on my ears, clean and poetic, and then I will smile and say:

“son, NOW you’re making some sense”

but it doesn’t help a bit.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

The Gobi Desert Cycle-SKIN

SKIN

I ran into

an abandoned olive grove

and pressed out their skins

to make yours.

I took nine green olives and

painted them onto you,

each detail

perfectly  softened.

I daubed a dot of black on your

right cheek, near your eye

and created starry symmetry

on the geometry of your face.

I stopped and then glanced at it all

a blended self-satisfied color

rich and full, yet one that seemed

fitting. You climbed over these rocks

and stood

self satisfied and steady.

That’s it, easy and steady,

yes, a bit like your first flying lesson,

when you soared over the burnt umber dunes,

 tart and sweet, like a fist kiss!

I wandered on the ground then

pondering your disappearance:

Then I find you

as I look upwards:

a line of burgundy, and a sliver of your

dark penetrating profile.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

The Gobi Desert Cycle-DISCOBOLUS

DISCOBOLUS

he  rakes leaves with his chest like statues might in a Discobolus.

he would always cast down his eye on everything.

 

he had led a small-ish life so far, but consequentially,

or, because of it actually, he could hold onto a tiger and not bear down at all.

 

he whispered a fervent prayer and was surprised when his voice was engulfed

into a pandemic-like sea of other voices; this one nodding, that one cautiously still.

 

but, musing,

as any

girl would,

I can

only remember,

of course,

the faint

pressing outline

of his

backbone protruding

from his

white collared

cotton shirt

and a

questioning neck,

leaning out

only to

ask a

pointless question.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry 

The Gobi Desert Cycle-HANDS

HANDS

These Hands seem to have matured too fast.

They do not enter: they appear as if by magic-

 always caught up in a lightening strike

dashing away, only come back, softly embracing, as David’s own:

chiseled, fingers tipped, and, essentially, they were perfect.

 

Godly dear, they were all anger, perhaps distrust or worry, 

but someone said that they were lazy, and I had to agree.

They sat slumped, on his collarbone, waiting to be straightened

when will you stop that nitpicking?  i wonder, and it makes me as mad as his hands looked.

On occasion they broke things, and, essentially, they were unshakable.

 

Sometimes, when I lie in bed alone, I silently wish that they would come out and press gently against mine.

just five,

maybe eight good seconds.

It would stop my heart from throbbing, 

It would stop the hoping, the watching, the waiting, 

and maybe the strange , awe-struck wonder.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

 

The Gobi Desert Cycle-EYES

EYES

I long to lunge inside them

pierced with-what? how to say? an unnoticed sort of intensity

as if the reader had known nothing of their raw value

I long to lunge inside them

his lashes are fanned sticks opening up a glass world,

a curtain holding up a stage, looking in.

I want to hide inside them

Every day, the roundness of them pulls me closer, then tosses me back

In the end, he finds me sighing when I least expect it, and then i shiver audibly.

I want to hide inside them

even then, I still feel a sort of emptiness. he does not want me. probably he is thinking,

“I know, barely, I know you are out there somewhere ,I think”

(darling, if we walk by red storms, then maybe you will see me, and we can face them together).

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry