Monthly Archives: July 2013

Linking Arms

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Linking Arms

My dreaming self is a better poet,

but I forget the words. Now,

I’m dreaming about

two people

eye

to

eye,

in love.

Hush,

stay there,

don’t breathe.

We have children’s things to do,

mischief to make,

houses to run in,

places to deface,

always running and running

and running

and finding the ghosts in our dreams

that just edge closer

the more that we tug at the strings.

In a dreamworld

really lovers by nine,

and we we had grown up

transfixed between kissing and playing on tomato vines.

If only we could have had another hour of this paradise

and know if it was really paradise.

now really lovers at twelve

stopping by the ice cream stand

to breathe in the salty air

of a make believe sea.

Finally twenty

you lock arms

with the sun

and the new sun

and the new sun

and the new sun

all over again:

will you be-

and always be-

mine?

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

hands

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Stream of Consciousness #11

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Stream of Consciousness #11

like this was the last straw already

(we leave for home on Thursday)

and those people who have never felt the sand dunes think that the river must be huge

they are so wrong, i have seen the bridges,

I have seen how they break. Your life is not as easy as I thought

and the suitors do not love you, but they conspire.

your father gloats with pride.

envy me!

he says

but doesn’t know his daughter’s plight.

like the stones that are on the beach, the sights would reach the northern hemisphere

imagine the northern lights

Borealis

as the wind rocketed sand onto the mist filled sky.

what would you do about it, girl, my love has entered the house and he is not happy

we can all agree that you do not love me,

so I can go my separate ways.

I love the sound of stone in autumn, or just the sound of anything

like the name you gave me,

Fedora

love wasn’t that easy for me with a name like Fedora

I was splattered with mustard on the first day of school,

they threw old musty hats in my face and I glared at them and shouted

the busy cowards didn’t know what they were missing,

what they had been missing out on, oh those stupid little cowards,

how could they ever understand?

that’s all behind me now.

I sit under the rain post and become naked

and run through ten valleys stripped of corn and stripped of forest

and I bask and bathe and I don’t care.

Fedora, Fedora, sing me a song, they all say

yes, this is the day,

and I know you see me as the queen of the land

the empress of all being:

I’d like to see you try this on a hot summer in July.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Photo Copyright 2013 by Golden Star Poetry

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Memorial

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Memorial 

I am filled up with this town, as

smoldering fires are beating at the brick

black as day, yet

the color of trying to reminisce is

a  startling white.

you see an abandoned lot where the restaurant burned down without notice (because that’s such a mystery)

and the weeds grow from the cracks in quilts

thundering each time  a new inkling moves a nano meter, and

like muck weed,

dirty flowers stare at my knees.

on the other side of town,

some no-do-good-er has just carved the name

Susanah

into the naked fiber board

of a broken basketball hoop

while stowing away in an old truck junker,

forgetting he was never being seen.

(now, take this daisy, and

you try to carve Susanah there.)

It’ll serve you good to know that

I’ve seen  worse luck

than  a broken flower petal

begging a stray knife

to stop cutting at the stem.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

catandgirl

School update!!!!

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As many of you do not know, my Freshman High School days lurk ever closer from the depths of my summer cocoon.

Therefore, I will  be faced with numerous challenges (a.k.a a large workload!) VERY SOON.

THIS MEANS INFREQUENT POSTING! (wait, I’ve already started to do that…hmmm…)

BUT!! fear not, good gentlefolk!!!!

I am planning to change my posting schedule to once a week instead of once a day!

on some occasions I may only post once every two. (*GASP*)

On those occasions I will give you all proper notice in advance, so do not fear!

Alrighty, then-

peace out, friends!

–Golden Star Poetry

Innocente

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The rich students in their infantries

crawling, wading in between trees.

Half of the crowd is digesting light bulbs

and the other half is downing helium,

coughing up lights and stray flashes

and hiccuping at a high G above G flat.

I’m currently at the edge of the forest

with my lover

touching the string of light bulbs

that hangs through the leaves

and unscrewing the sockets

feeling the sting and the burn that breathes.

I realize that

I’m not even a child!

I am the product of a small embryo

that was formerly a fistful of green wadded bills:

what else could i possibly be?

in this forest full of strings and lights and crowds

we found the unexpected windfall

of littered cash on the forest reserve street the next morning.

The rich students line up by the roadside, and

lights bleed from they’re tentatively strewn hands

to catch it.

x x x

in another place:

a lone girl on the hillside starts feeling her eyes

(I just want to soothe her like a mother with a quivering whisper

and shaking hands that reach out to hold

this beautiful pale fragility)

Do not squirm, I say,

the money was left by the roadside

(she knows, and she feels her eyes once more,

checking to see if she can still see)

She knows the greenbacks have been run over by horses

and that might mean a starting over…

well,

it’s just that-

the hill covering her house

is only a flat shape of an unreal childhood

she was soon to forget.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Tuesday Already

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what does mother say?

she lifts her head above ground to the silken sky

making symmetrical arches on the side of the green mountain

it’s bold, 

it spurts like a fountain

god, it’s lovely today,

and the breeze has found itself another way

to curl up into my arms and spread over my hands

as if it had it’s own brain with it’s own plans.

my mother says to look down

the counter -intuitive head spin that makes my head drown

in nausea, from the drop.

heights are never ending and they never stop

and it’s Tuesday already

and mother has climbed out of her burrow once more

closing the door

and her eyes

once more

god, it’s a lovely day.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry