Sunday, February 18, 2018

Wet Matches

my daily bread doesn't satisfy me anymore
the mocking silent moon that I pass the hours with
he won't choose sides
I am hungry for beauty, for a strange new love
that might cradle, might soothe and destroy
the panic that lodges
freezing me in hopeless Winter ruin

we would talk about how lucky we were to have met
talk about the heart, the whole madness that doesn't
quiet down or bed the damned tragedy that screams like a
inner electrical currents flow
hope demands we break the darkness apart
until we find something that cultivates the existence
and wins the argument of love

somewhere in the Winter rain
I must mutilate my bearings that feel like
Earth and He'll renegotiated and formed an eclipse
beneath my feet
My dreaming feels uselessly whimsical
I must pass my time wisely to survive
and push toward the crystal light
that dismantles and settles this rumbling
resembling a street whore that's lost on East 14th Street
that doesn't exist anymore

I can't translate this desolate season like before
My matches are wet

Sunday, February 11, 2018

Innocence or Something Like Silence

break a wine
burn a flame
dance in the darkness
until it fades

get drunk from a place
learn how silence flies
on wings of morning birds-
leave when you're ready

kiss your lover
like a desire that will
one day leave you

imagine like children
whose only want is
mud puddles to swim in

be in love with the unattainable
drink in the moonlight on your loves face
stir clouds in the sky
with your thoughts

torment of heart won't save you
so put that horrible toy away
quiet your demons with purposeful
silence of your choosing
say everything
speak no words

Sunday, February 4, 2018

Long Short Street or Hope in an Envelope

There's no more reason to burn the photographs 
the notes, no more room for the ache I carry 
Gone are the summer nights and moss covered trees, the scratchy green army blanket we shared
Long street was the shortest way to get to where I realized I can't fix me and maybe everyone isn't supposed to be fixed 
My mind is an ocean, rapid waves of heartbeat, oxygen in short supply, deep holes of darkness swallowing me
and I have been a fearless warrior 
I have mellowed in sunlight, drank the stars in the eyes of a most desired love 
I've hidden quarrels, buried their power in salty graves 
Slit my lips on on summer's devoted aphrodisiac of sugared plums, sent loved ones love and hope in an envelope 
I hid my madness in a mattress 
I faced sorrow that ripped my souls canvas and changed my place in this world and to most
I sometimes appear too alone 

Saturday, January 27, 2018

I Don't Remember

Sometimes love gets lost
the love songs don't matter anymore
they don't rhyme
the light goes out
bulb is not replaced

We talk too much
saying nothing, nervous chatter
resisting silence
looking for escape routes

I empty inboxes of messages and
I send you one
saying "I miss you"
I imagine you've made new connections
and besides I don't miss who you are now
just who you were back then

Existence is long
continuity is cruel
what is closure???
50 poems later I realize
there isn't a way to start over
it's just easier to say
"I don't remember"

Friday, January 19, 2018

Conversations with Michael

Michael says he doesn't sleep at night
he likes the quiet and aloneness
Asks me if I'm afraid of him
and I told him the love I have for my brother
is weightless and there's  no fear
But maybe love is nosey and wants competition
Maybe love is deferred
until silence chokes on isolation
Michael says he loves me now

Michael says he loses his balance
and he's fell twice in a week
goes sockless now, feet swells out of his shoes
Pulls his shirt up, shows me his bruise

Michael still believes in fairytales
and wonders what I think
Misses what could have been

Michael romantizes the abandoned words
the dark hours, misses his brothers
Doors are closing, relationships folding
Older age approaching
But I never ask what he thinks of me

Michael remembers the November road to a past life

When he comes over we reminisce about our loved ones
and I say, "at least they're not in pain anymore, their heartache is over"
And he tells me, "well we don't know what the soul goes through once we leave here"
Now sunshine in the graveyards feel a little colder

Michael counts our parents sins
Goes for beer on a midnight run, has few close friends
he no longer trusts anyone
Misses childhood, still watches Captain Kangaroo
Says the hard life he had to live has made him hard this way
But I refuse to

I love you Michael - Vanessa

Tuesday, January 9, 2018

Winter Monologue

falling in love with winter is a habit
the forlorn blue skies
the torn edges of the forests grieving 
for the loss
not ready to embrace a new season yet
dormant like me

alone, captured in the winds relentless howl
getting its say
the silence of the night that beckons to be
be quiet
just be

words run away
notebooks wait
and the ticking of the inner clock
imitates outside
conducting its own orchestra 
the limbs of the white oak
as their branches creak and grind together
the love that nature makes

hands waking memories
aren't lazy
pen is trailing in ash
refusing to ignore
the kiss
the farewell
the love that stayed
and the ones that left
no longer mine

stories buried in the frozen forest
words must give it a pulse
because the forest will never tell
pen is executioner 

Winter is the season when all my memories seem to wake up. I thrash through them like a child with a bag of candy. Some things want to be remembered, some people refuse to be forgotten and they keep me company like a ghost living in my pen. It is a season for dreaming, for letting go and learning how at every age we are still growing up and acclimating to this very precious thing we call life. Happy Winter and happy remembering to all. And if you find yourself reading anything of mine thank you  -  Vanessa 

Monday, January 1, 2018


I am your last written word: tragedy

he is rained on firewood
sidewalks where heartbreak destroyed
mirage of safe shores
the prayer that never reached your eyes
out of time
hated unfinished sentences
the match
the kerosene and 
the lighting up of your soul that began
years ago

you became a wasteland as he was
hungry January's white rose thorns
he was the mocking bird that was never quiet
the un-silent moving
the burning night
the smoke you can't hide from
terra-cotta Summers' escapes your imaginings 
an inescapable clinging to your skin 
begging for your purple fingernails kind of itch
you can't reach

the little voice of God nudges you awake at night
whispers, "do you remember the way back home to me?"
you don't but you say you do
rewind now-

the goodbye you never gave your mama
the last kiss you gave your daddy
the chocolate drop that dripped from your chin
the day he died
the way she rocked herself alone, the way she cried
the background spinning LP Joni Mitchell

your thin non winter coat
and all your loyal lies, the taste of frost
unhappy lullabies - dashing bolts of color- muted daylight
wanting out
wanting in
and on your final day
when you finally go-
missing breathing 

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