new poetry
Coil
Break in, to a world of
pride, open the door way to
a new life. Breathe out side
wind the toy
store motion
sickness from this turn
me on top
lest you kiss me again.
Care fully understood
holding hands, outstretched
across your arms
demand, I love you
under any
circumstances, change
break
away to get
a new
day
to day, leave
but do not go.
Beads
When I was young, in the glow of a reading lamp
I watched my grandmother with
her prayer beads
Droplets of Gods’ tears strung
together on a gold chain
each bead, larger than the last
amassed to a dangling quartz.
In her heirloom rocking chair
she passed the blue glass ove
her paper thin hands, traced
embedded symbols with
her fingers. As I sat
on hard wood, I listened to
the hushed patterns of her prayers.
Years later, among packed boxes
in her chair
I slid the beads
over the chain
heard them
click as they dropped
closed my eyes
fingers on etchings
I prayed.
No Gods answered
only my thoughts
Worries and regrets
birthed in the beads
given a pulse
grew
as the beads did
Years of
letting my family down
click
of putting my true self aside
click
to pursue what I thought was the right
click
of pushing myself to achieve
click
things I don’t fully believe
cumulated in each bead
until the dangling quartz
brought me back
into my own
anxiously
created
reality
Years later
I held the beads
sat in her chair
but
felt no comfort
like she had felt.
Thoughts? Comments? Criticisms? Areas for improvement?
Break in, to a world of
pride, open the door way to
a new life. Breathe out side
wind the toy
store motion
sickness from this turn
me on top
lest you kiss me again.
Care fully understood
holding hands, outstretched
across your arms
demand, I love you
under any
circumstances, change
break
away to get
a new
day
to day, leave
but do not go.
Beads
When I was young, in the glow of a reading lamp
I watched my grandmother with
her prayer beads
Droplets of Gods’ tears strung
together on a gold chain
each bead, larger than the last
amassed to a dangling quartz.
In her heirloom rocking chair
she passed the blue glass ove
her paper thin hands, traced
embedded symbols with
her fingers. As I sat
on hard wood, I listened to
the hushed patterns of her prayers.
Years later, among packed boxes
in her chair
I slid the beads
over the chain
heard them
click as they dropped
closed my eyes
fingers on etchings
I prayed.
No Gods answered
only my thoughts
Worries and regrets
birthed in the beads
given a pulse
grew
as the beads did
Years of
letting my family down
click
of putting my true self aside
click
to pursue what I thought was the right
click
of pushing myself to achieve
click
things I don’t fully believe
cumulated in each bead
until the dangling quartz
brought me back
into my own
anxiously
created
reality
Years later
I held the beads
sat in her chair
but
felt no comfort
like she had felt.
Thoughts? Comments? Criticisms? Areas for improvement?