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Hush February 19, 2013

Posted by findingherforte in poetry, Uncategorized, writing.
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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”

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The Collector January 6, 2010

Posted by findingherforte in poetry, Uncategorized.
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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

ReinQuest October 18, 2009

Posted by findingherforte in poetry.
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All that unites
the inventor
and the virtuoso
is the difficultly to
articulate

There’s a sneer
painted
behind the
diversion,
the lying canvas.
And layers of
bohemian scarves
that make
you
feel secure
among
bombastic dissonance

One could
challenge as to
whether this
“masterpiece”
is about nature
at all
or if
maybe
its valor
is merely
self portrait

Is it truly
icebergs
of which this
compilation of notes
describes?
Or those icicles
that adorn your
pretentious features?
critiquing our
every
tremolo
to your
every
ridiculous,
sophisticated
specification

Golden Hour September 21, 2009

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Once upon a
golden hour
underneath the
glassy towers
when burdens seemed
too much to shoulder
what patience had
was left to smolder

And there I sat
against a wall
afraid that I
had lost it all
You took my heart
in both your hands
and tried your best
to understand

The wind grew cold
but you stayed warm
protect my heart
from this icy storm
Let worries melt
in this golden hour
what remnants left
are forever ours

Be April 29, 2009

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2 comments

Tense, inward
apathy
dislike the
taste
you leave behind
Spit until my
mouth is
dry
Blink until
I can’t help
but cry
in the face
of bright
lights
dilating my
expectations
jaded
to these sensations
that used to
free me
be me
Go ahead
and leave me
Don’t tell me
that you
need me
to be there
When the world
gets cold
Your excuses
grow old
leaving dust
in my ear
we’ve got
nothing
to fear
As we draw
our last breath
sketch it
into concrete
Big thoughts
will get you
no where
Action’s what
it takes
forget about
the stakes
If you mean it
let’s
see it
Don’t believe
just be it

Prescription February 26, 2009

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3 comments

Hook up the x ray
You’ll find nothing there
Tell me you’re worried
I don’t know if I’d care

Diagnose me with apathy
Two pills a day
Fill me with hope
That won’t go away

Strap me down tight
And see what is wrong
Test my stability
And see if I’m strong

Fill up my holes
With logic and glue
I’m sure you can find them
There’s more than a few

Cut me up pretty
And take out the hate
I don’t feel like fighting
Screw your debate

Run your experiments
To see how I tick
I’m numb to you now
But you still make me sick

[[this one is also an oldie. Remember to check out my other ones too]]
<3Christine