Posted on by Christina Strigas · 13 Comments

Figment

figment

Everything turns blue

if you dissect it

even the color purple.

 

I feel how words exit

like last night’s

whiskey shots

as the burning sensation

warmed my insides

along with your hand upon

my skin. The combination

was deadly

sin.

Just because I listen to my voices

does not mean

you need to.

You go about and leave me

in this shallow water

it’s not cold at all

actually,

my illness has gone

my hands are warm again

my feet touching the ground

but my imagination

it creates blame

for misunderstanding

my own intentions.

Often, you deny it all

and I believe all the

lies. The fact is

I am a consensus

a Canadian statistic

and now I am

growing my own garden

seeds intact

you on top of me

digging deep inside me

for all the answers

to the questions

you can never ask.

Posted on by Christina Strigas · 20 Comments

Revival

On the days I feel I have nothing left to give

a root sprouts with verse. I have to be

a psychologist with no degree, give so much

to get nothing sometimes. Appreciation

flushed down the toilet. Revive me with

an oxygen of words. The revival of

the artist within

with raw poetry

in my veins. I have nothing else

to give you or make for you

but Greek hand me down recipes

that I botch up. My tired legs

and lifeless soul need ventilation,

pass the glory of self-publishing

into modern technology

reap no rewards. I try to revive

myself when the alarm rings

with caffeine and poetry.

Pack the lunch, make breakfast,

start the car, reminders,

doctors, appointments I forgot,

trace the outline of my body

with imaginative chalk

as I hold onto poetry

for dear life

and let everything else

fall apart.

Posted on by Christina Strigas · 27 Comments

Less you, More me

From above if you were watching through

a fine telescope

my wise ass remarks

would help you to understand

that it means nothing

to die. One life to create memories,

one breath to forget. Then Alzheimer

kicks  you and sets you on fire

with nonsense. I try to laugh

to cover up my turmoil of

uneasiness at these awkward situations

when the brain ceases to speak,

when the mind is muddled with

words you never thought

would make you cry.

 

Hold on 

to that patience, you will need it.

 

There was a time I lost everything in you.

Now I speak to my soul and repeat

less you, more me.

All this to convince myself that I still matter

somehow, before the memories fade

or the cancer grows

or the breasts disappear.

It’s Hawaiian day at work

and I will wear my hula

tell all the teachers how I appreciate

their soul

hug a child

and try to forget about the telescope.

 

Hold on to your soul,

you will need it. 

 

Posted on by Christina Strigas · 12 Comments

Let’s Welcome Back Humility 

Your ego needs a break

stop staring in the mirror

and taking all those selfies

for strangers. your wardrobe is

stale, humidity can be seen

on your clothes. your hands

need pens instead of those 

fake diamond rings.

check your narcissism 

at the bar of outdated dreams

writing is an amazing escape

not a word

to the neighbours

who pretend to not read your status.

please stop telling us where you ate

and how beautiful your lie is

your gray is showing

and your husband is too sweet

for your wicked party ways.

I was raised with more heart

than glamour

mended socks

home-made meals

opera singers 

so let’s welcome back

humility,

it missed you

while you were 

taking another selfie.

  

Posted on by Christina Strigas · 21 Comments

The Arch of 2016

 

It wasn’t up until the year ended that I thought of all the things I replaced you with. It was how the sun sets from my balcony

how the sun sets when I drive

It was how the day never ends early enough. How the night is so long that even sleep does not help.

I have been writing before you existed and when I do not reply to the calls,  I have stopped the sucking of my soul.

I hear the crying, but lock myself in rooms and escape. Make fun of me,

joke about my art

watch me drive on black ice

never  buy my book

you were the first

and the last

typical cliche

horrible poetry being written

on the other side

and sometimes I compromise

other times I stand tall.

Why didn’t you kiss him hello? I’m moody.

That’s not an answer.

My daughter tries to get me

but she questions my motives

I have no reply sometimes.

I don’t conform sweetie, that’s all.

She breaks the rules

and here I am

trying to guide her

in this mess.

No answers to the arch of 2016

but do not want to see death

this year

want to bury the past

and conjure it up

in fragments

in poems.

Never challenge me

I break down

too easily.

Change my mind

like the Montreal weather.

You deplete me

with your absence.

No more fight in me.

Focus on my books

and bury the year under the rubble

of regret.

People on the other side

of the screen

mostly want

to bring you to your knees

and point fingers

at your weakness.

it’s toxic in here

in my head,

in my world

but it’s a new year

and I must charge up

my battery

or I’ll be drained by

the scavengers

that hunt for the art they can’t make.

 

 

Posted on by Christina Strigas · 26 Comments

I will be fine

Today’s state of mind

is not as poetic or earth-shattering

or as wise as yesterday’s.

Perhaps it is softer, subtler

in tune with the crystals

in public bathrooms. I see

everything and that is a bloody

curse. I know. A twenty-four hour

sleep cures nothing. In fact,

it awakens more dread

and sweeps the dark

under the light. I will be

fine, as you always

appear to be. In this

home, at this stop sign,

under the half-moon,

trembling at all these

diseases that eat up

my daily blessings.

I will throw words

around, too fucking bad.

Read me or not.

Love me or not.

I will not die

but it has changed me

and my hands,

they are the ones

that suffer

the turmoil

of my soul.

You go on

and build your

beautiful home,

discreet love,

Past transgressions

and future bomb attacks.

I have to keep up

with these appointments

cure myself

see you

in my Reiki sessions,

I whither with some kind

of grace.

As long as I have my memory

and the rest

could eat me up inside.

It’s all crystal clear

needs polishing

to claim

the prize.

Bring your magic.

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=of+monsters+and+men+crystal

Posted on by Christina Strigas · 11 Comments

Freedom

I wrote it on the beach

while staring at the ocean

but forgot to send it

deleted it somehow

and poetry faded into

the sand under my feet.

I hear what you say

but I’m nodding at the sky

it’s talking to me

so be silent.

listen. i told you to

stare and you did,

listening to the wind

and how the earth moved

with the clouds.

You breathe deeply.

she was the one

who never got

away from your thoughts

and she was the one

that reminded you

of me. no spells

required. it was

word play. tricks

that poets perform

on cue. i trust no one

but my lover

who knows every

mole on my skin.

every beach is different

yet the same,

and every man is you

and every woman

is me.

That freedom of

saying you’re mine

or I’m yours

or other lovely phrases

that confuse the horizon

are Purolator express

packages of signed poems

I sent to Pakistan, London,

Lebanon, and other exotic

places that poets meet.

Remember how we ruled

the scene with teased hair

and duMaurier cigs

no line ups, no hash tags,

no texts, no pictures?

You just wanted to

get next to me.

That was all

that mattered.

Now everything matters.

My shoes, my hair,

my fake promises.

Yet you see nothing

but what you

have always seen

and that is one

of the myriad ways

that I love you

in every song.

Posted on by Christina Strigas · 29 Comments

untitled

if you could just dare

to fuck the art in me.

the kind of sex

that would put

us both on fire.

the part where you

never leave in

the morning. i

disappoint you

all the time,

with my past,

my present,

my unstable future.

if you could just dare

to love me,

none of it would even matter.

 

(this will be in my poetry book in a section with no titles)

 

 

Posted on by Christina Strigas · 24 Comments

Love or Lust

first it’s my eyes

then it’s your heart

pounding. your kiss

lights my soul. my

love for you empties

the darkness. what’s

left of us? you ask.

the lust. the desire.

your arms around me,

drowning my river

turning me slowly

into all you crave.

love and lust me.

my body and soul

and mind

are waiting.

as are my legs

ready to wrap them

around your waist.