Tag Archives: love

A Death in the Family

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i was on the bus and it hit me like a bullet that he could never love me back
in the way i loved him
and i cried like i was mourning;
not  in the bittersweet way or in the melancholy way that
yearns and lusts after and has room for hope.
it was the kind of crying that realized all hope was lost, and there was no coming back.
a death.
a hole inside me that would never be filled again.
for once in a blue moon i did not enjoy crying.
Copyright 2017 Golden Star Poetry
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Look-Alike

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1.
he showed me his
ashtray in the sink
a prize from the last county fair
but i didn’t know why they couldn’t have
invested in something better–
a chandelier made of glass
or a cold metal flask.

he said “they know i like to smoke,”
and pointed to his throat,
“this is where my sorrow goes.”
i understood.  i took his hand and said
“this is only the first of
many lifetimes where
a person i’ve loved
was in two places
at once”. he asked me how i knew and i said
“i know a guy who looks like you”

he stood in shock for a moment,
then laughed.
of course,
he was only a boy who seemed like you,
you whose delicate eyes i’d go searching through,
waiting hours by the roadside, vain in my hopes.
i smiled and watched him smile an identical smile
to yours.

2.
he brought out several broken bottles,
shards all jagged and bent.
he said “i’m not afraid of pain”,
and cut his mouth open before he could
explain what he meant.

the blood was dripping like a broken sink,
he laughed again and said
“i know what it’s like when your heart
is in the wrong place, i think”.

when i told him the resemblance was
making things hard,
he said,
“you need to hold on to what you’ve got.”
he nodded his head to enforce the thought,
neck moving slowly like a cable car up and down;
“you’ll find someone” he said decidedly
and lit up without looking back at me.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

Town Crier

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With inspiration from Maya Angelou’s “Still I Rise” and John Cooper Clarke’s “Twat”

Like some sick infected creature
Seeking shelter in the night
I’m a sore excuse for patience,
When you’ve sucked it all from sight.

Like a sagging little snot rag,
You’ve been filled with lots of goo
And the green unwanted dust
Of other peoples’ misfortunes.

Does my cheery face confuse you?
Does it make you feel upset?
Would you rather I applaud my fears,
Or cheer them better yet?

Is it pleasurable, my dear,
To pour your heart out to the mist?
Something fading, something passive,
That could not care more to piss?

It’s so pitiful to watch you
Waste away with grief and shame
But I think it’s kind of funny
That you think I caused you pain!

For those fools who think your moping
Is a reason I should care
Don’t know that your trembling fingers
On my head have trapped my hair.

You’re a lecherous town crier,
Crying verses made of air
First a snivel, then a current,
Then a typhoon of despair!

Oh dear brother with your moaning,
Find some well to drown your cries
We won’t hear you on the bedrocks
And you’ll still be none the wise.

Are you quite sure you’re unneeded?
Are you quite sure you’re a pain?
Well I think you’ve struck sound reason, love,
Cause I feel just the same!

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

Nonexistent Party

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poor man’s wake
she’s forced to eat dirty crumbs off a
table where people have mourned
and she’ll suddenly remember what her first conversations with him were like,
and how he made a great impression,
showing off his words like toys,
smiles like remember-later momentos, the hidden interest like a skiddish moth
and how the progression of events was not
what she had hoped or thought.

the people have all already gone
their clothes strewn about like some strange
orgiastic afterthought;
only their memoried loss
nothing on the interior
the people are still dead to the grounds they are in only.

the house is empty
at this nonexistant party
your own kin
sings like him,
and looks a bit
like him.
it was long over
by the time
someone was dead.
it was long over when
you longed for somebody
that looked like him.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry 

Falling for Voices

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impassioned responses are…highly discouraged.

x x x x

1.
perhaps i miss
your voice;
so soothing,
almost feathery;
dark feathers and
the blue edge of a
quiet twilit night,
but your voice is all sadness
nothing living
your voice is the voice of the dying,
so loosly bound.

2.
i was so happy to love myself again
when you were gone
in every sense of the word (!)
and now i have the unbridled
freedom of an unbridled
horse,
coat smooth and shiny sheen
and they all ask me where you’ve been
and i just smile and preen:
these things happen.

3.
twilight, how could i see thee
how could i find the way back to my home
when you never lit your own lamp for me?

4.
(this is my dream:)
i am with myself and new father
and the fog makes me awake
and i am so warm and safe
and i say
i did wait

5.
i don’t know much about
the voice that sits like an even tempered rod
off-white yellow, tightly wound.
(he gave me a good shake up)
and i’m pretty sure
this voice
won’t be the right choice
and we will simply
split our differences;
two terribly frank kisses
and call it a week.
i pass the people in the parlour
thinking is it
too futile to even speak?

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

Ovarian Sweetness

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i see you
on the street
or with your head bowed low
and i think you made a joke.

i want you to be
perpetually smiling,
lost in laughter and
your bright shimmering teeth,
the sweetness of your mouth,
so familial,
so tender-warm-mine
(or was)

you cower
in the street
with your head bowed low
and i think to how
i owned
your sweetness
for a little while.

i am still stunned
when i think
how lucky could i be?
it was him
who wanted me;
him and his
ovarian sweetness.

(i am in love with love
my dear.
i just wasn’t in love with you.)

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry