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11 days February 3, 2017

Posted by findingherforte in poetry, Uncategorized, writing.
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Today is the day
I was meant to be born
My mother alone
My father at war

How cruel I was
making my mother wait,
11 days late

Even at my earliest moments
I was hesitant.
Afraid to begin.

How worried she must have been
after four losses
driven to continue, to try
no matter the cost

I was born from determination
from a love so strong
it did not stop

I hope I was worth the wait, Mom.

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Mother of Gods January 31, 2017

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Seven climbed the
green foothills
made a camp
and slept so still

Eight there were
when morning came
without a reason,
without a name

Did you give birth?
They asked of her
“I did not wake,
I did not stir.”

Yet there he was
A life brand new
wrapped in cloth
of gold and blue

 

 

 

Note: Sorry it has been awhile. Poetry is something that kind of happens to me, instead of me conjuring it. You know?

Hush February 19, 2013

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I.

She squeezed her lover’s hand. It seemed an innocent enough gesture to those around. But they knew the secret to keeping it all hush, hush.
Three squeezes meant “I love you”
Four squeezes meant “I love you, too”
One long squeeze meant “Please don’t leave me”
This message was lost to the second lover as they picked up their bag and waved goodbye, feigning happiness to the lover left behind. To the unconvinced Brena.

It was then that she remembered the first time she said those 3 beautiful words.
“I love you”
“Hush!” her lover laughed, “someone may hear you.
“Let them hear!” Brena retorted, firmly but lovingly
“I wish I were as brave as you”

II.

Brena sat on the cliff overlooking the quiet sea, waiting. It had been months since her lover left. She took a pebble in her hand and squeezed it thrice.

She feared for her beloved, out to sea. She shook as the wind blew but not from the cold. Rather, she shook from the quick air penetrating the growing hole in her chest. The waves swelled and hit the rocks below as her heart, too, swelled, sure that her lover was already on her way back.

She had to be.

III.

Brena wasn’t sleeping well. Nightmares of hungry men having their way with her love, holding her down and muffling her screams kept her awake.

The images had her tossing and turning in the bed she used to share.
She told herself that no matter what she would put her back together again. She would brush the sea air out of her hair and rebuild her from the ground up.

IV.

The ship came back but her lover did not. The men ignored her worried, persistent questions. She went to the cliff again and told herself she would jump.

But the sea told her “No.”

V.

Brena was visited by officials a couple of days after the ship came back, without her lover. With no other family, her beloved’s belongings were returned to her.  A scarf, a leather bag, and a pair of work boots.

“What of her emerald? She never took it off.” Brena inquired.

“Hush, do not speak out of turn woman,” the man of God raised a hand, “We are truly sorry for your loss. Your sister was a magnificent sailor.”

Brena did not correct him and he said nothing of the emerald.

VI.

In the dirty hands of the sailors, drinking in the local tavern, was the emerald in question. A raven landed on the window sill, and eyed the jewel with curiosity.
“Didn’t take much to obtain it, stupid girl didn’t put up much of a fight,” said a drunken sailor.
“Hush! Drink makes you loud and foolish,” his friends warned.
The raven flew toward the sea.

They stumbled back to their wives, no worry of the morning’s repercussions in their mind, only the present merriment.
They were spared the harsh, judging light of day for none would wake with the sun.
Their blood drained from their throats,
Their tongues cut from their mouths,
Their bodies covered in black feathers.
The last sound they heard before death took them hung in the air, more than a promise. More than a threat.

“Hush”

Day Dreams March 27, 2011

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A fate so cruel
for dreamer to wake
to find that it’s
Monday
and the heart needs
to wait

And in the crazy every
day
stop and go
for reasons unknown,
I forget.

A touch of electricity
to power up this heart
to charge up these parts
that depart
when your sad eyes
round corners, smoothing
the edges
of vision that’s blurred
I can’t find the word

So I’m left feeling hollow
like a lead with no follow
or a chord without melody
but if you were here
you’d find me a remedy
I know.

Reunited our love will explode
in so many colors
in extravagant wonder
with lightning and thunder
My eyes will open and so
will the skies
to realize
my demise when the
sun starts to rise
and I don’t see your
eyes staring back into mine.

The line is so fine
between dreaming
and real
when the love that
you have
give dreams no appeal.

Pen Pals May 15, 2010

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It’s been awhile
hasn’t it?
Sitting in on my
life
watching me,
loving me
All the while
putting up with
a bad hostess.
Me.
Where are my
manners?
Please don’t think
I’ve been ignoring you
(you’re hard to
ignore)
It just hadn’t
crossed my mind
to offer you a
cup a tea
(frivolous, I know)
or to strike up
a decent conversation
(why would the
weather interest
*you*? It’s merely
a brush stroke
in a work of
art)

While, in the back
of my mind,
I’ve never thought you
absent,
I haven’t really
*seen*
you lately
Perhaps I haven’t
been looking
A figure with no
definition
At least,
none that we
can all
agree on

Pen pals
suddenly silenced
Tragic, really.
Except, you’ve definitely
been writing
You’re always
writing
(Never knowing
the curse of
writer’s block.
All knowing, huh?)
I haven’t been polite enough
to take the time
to write back

I’m so sorry.
Oh, how silly
of me.
Apologizing like
you haven’t already
forgiven.
You’re always
one step ahead.
I guess that’s
how you got the
job

Pardon me,
I’m rambling.
We should do
this again
sometime.
You’re such a
great listener
and I’m always
up for talking

I’ll be sure to keep in touch.

Tell Jesus hello for me,
Christine

rain April 29, 2010

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I really love it, you know.

The pitter patter of Heaven’s tears. It renders the world silent. A soggy, gray standstill. Precipitating. Anticipating the end.

Sounds waves slow and marvel at the sorrow. Who knew there were this many shades of gray? Soaking the colors in such a dismal shade could depress any creature.

Nothing seems real until it rains. You don’t notice the uneven ground until it fills with water, creating a puddle paradise. (Boots not included.) You don’t notice Spring’s bloom until it’s drowning. Every sagging cherry blossom begs for attention. So desperate that it’ll make its way to the cruel, cold ground. If only to be stepped on by an oblivious passerby.

The sprinkling generosity that, inevitably, keeps us going. The dew, left behind, makes Mother Nature sparkle (more than usual, of course).
“Over here! Look at me!” She’ll cry, winds and breezes only aiding in Her shimmering attempt.

The dense, sodden air steals time. If only long enough to let you listen. For once in your life, really, truly listen! You can almost hear existence in the pounding, relentless down pour. But only if you pay attention; and this is your chance! Umbrella or not, for the love of everything and anything you hold dear, embrace the eerie element.

And love it.

Living Abstraction April 9, 2010

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Make a note:
every progression,
no matter how deceptive,
is here to stay
A science
of risk and
ritual
(careful not to
disturb what unstable
geniuses have previously
set in motion)
Formulas to make
the skin crawl
and the heart throb
combining the necessary
elements
to create a masterpiece
or a monster
Hoping to scar the Earth

Make Her remember

every thrilling trill
Perk every ear
Til it makes a
spark
Fiery melodies
armed with plagal
harmony
contrary to any
motion
made before
Like a leading tone
there can only be
one

Musician turned
muse
Rousing
the dead, dormant
dancer
writer and dreamer
inside

Dissect the Pieces
to better appreciate
the whole
This is no animal
vegetable or mineral
Unworldly and
most inviting
(like most sinful things)
warm and moving
Almost as if it’s
alive.

Collectively Individual February 25, 2010

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Looking up into
the past
as we sit in
the present
pondering about
the future
By the time
your light reaches me
I’ll have already
left
a mark on this
Insignificant planet
Scar tissue
to be admired
but forgotten
and when your
light shines down
on us
you’ll be long gone
too far to hear
the awestruck gasps
of your admirers
too late to realize
that your presence
left a twinkle in
the sky
in the eyes of
mankind

but more importantly
will they mourn for you?
like a snuffed out god
of some ancient
clan?
reaching our hands
high
toward the celestial sphere
to touch the heavens,
if only for a moment.

Dedicated to Crystal, who inspired this and helped title it :) Thanks dear!

Paradox February 20, 2010

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Revisited by
a newcomer
Deja vu
long forgotten
Putting everything
behind me
to greet,
head on,
magnificent, clear cut
ambiguity

It is here
that
I know both chaos
and peace
all in one breath
a rigid
release
you know how to
please
until it aches
and

my memory fails me
(while this hunger,
it plagues me!)
for I cannot recall
ever being this
satisfied
begging for
more
I cried and
I laughed
at such absurdity
feeling so free
feeling so
(dirty)

You conjured a
shiver
that leaves
Death’s frightening
will
feeling inadequate
to produce
such a thrill

You summoned a
storm
a fiery frenzy
through your veins
it runs eagerly
desperate and
swiftly

Less thought
leads to a light,
dizzy brain
no reason
remains
for this overwhelming
feeling
that reaches the ceiling

In jaw-dropping
awe
I’m blinded by
wonder
But in all my
life
I’ve never seen
such color

(sorry this one is so lengthy. I couldn’t help it haha)

The Collector January 6, 2010

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At first a mere hobby
Your collection of souls
no thought in your method
just dolls with their roles

But their pain became pleasure
for your cold, wicked heart
til scarcely a feeling
you felt on their part

You held the souls tight
Til all hope was lost
you berate and abuse
no matter the cost

Your greed left no room
for warmth or compassion
And it became about numbers
not quality or fashion

And yet you’re surprised
when one day, they left
You took all they had
the worst kind of theft