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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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Tears Grow Nothing March 21, 2012

Posted by findingherforte in poetry, writing.
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4 comments

Don’t let me define you.
I am not a mirror
and even those are flawed.

Let me start over.

I am a gesture.
At best, a natural occurrence.
A pretty face and nothing more.

Don’t let me decide for you.
That’s not fair
I am not equipped for that
And you deserve better

At the end of the day,
no matter how many petals you pull,
he’s never coming back
And I’m only a flower.

Liquid Courage August 18, 2011

Posted by findingherforte in poetry.
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Dearest Champagne lips
you dream of grandeur
of romantic times and romantic places
and are often disappointed
You are far from steady ground
and it crumbles beneath your feet with
every drink:
The foundation of beauty upon which
your worldly view lies,
The lens through which you capture rare
instances of radiance.

Although you are on the brink of destruction
your biggest fear is drowning in your own tears
and a broken heart,
the most treasured part, torn to pieces
and left on the floor, forgotten
There must be something in the air
that’s making you feel this way
The darkest places, although full of unknown,
may be hiding the greatest treasures
And when all else failed and the ground
started to crack
Love took your face in both of his hands
to protect you from the outside pitter patter
(threatening to pull you under)
A kiss told all of your secrets
and he loved you more still

For a heart in strong hands
has no worry of falling
no matter how uneven the footing

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

Lighthouse March 25, 2009

Posted by findingherforte in Uncategorized.
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A ship with
no lighthouse
Dead
in the water
You’ve decided
to shine your
light
elsewhere
I’m jealous
of the Captain
that you guide home

Misguided
until further notice
The sharks
are coming
And I’m running
out
of ideas

Do you know
who you’re bringing
ashore?
All you see
are sails
A siren
leading you
to the rocky,
attractive landing

Brace yourself
for the worst
Crash landing
or smooth sailing
The forecast
is unclear
fear it
or be its
vicitim

If you need
me
I’ll be
here
Floating aimlessly
Until I find
another
lighthouse

Yellow March 3, 2009

Posted by findingherforte in Uncategorized.
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Yellow
mellow fellow
Catalyst
for forgotten feelings
finding shapes
upon my ceiling
hard to swallow
try not to wallow
in self pity
or think about
the nity gritty
Soft to the touch
but painful to feel
can’t find the fine line
between dreaming and real
My heart’s not a toy
for your amusement
letting go
of my resentment
Old news, I know
let this hope grow
and wrap its vines tight
I struggle to fight
the wandering mind
Afraid that I’ll find
reason to hold onto
what I have left of you
 is just a teddy bear

[[another oldie. enjoy]]