Stuck between

The best part of the day

is the love you send

like flowers on a grave.

The dead know that none of this matters

as much as we hope it would. The dead

know how you can fault on your knees.

Better to not know yourself. Cry all

day under your glare. Escape in the

middle of the night and hunger for the

lustful cravings among

the banks of your shore.

I will kill your beauty, watch it

pass me by like a dead freight train.

I will add Greek olives to it as a gesture

of my hate.

Ugly me

has no will to look anyone in the eyes.

Beautiful me

will spread her legs

for you to go deep

shakes your knees

at my touchdown.

The theme escapes me daily

the words all gone again, starting

over on a new screen

to begin in another lifetime.

A poem brewing

Find me resting

contemplating

how your light

can easily change

my dark mood

and just like that

the drive you’re on

becomes mine

with a snap of your fingers

your sunlight

sees mine.

Are you blinded by the light or the dark?

Philosophers understand

my words

follow me to cafe shops

and try to storm my mind

with quotes.

Finding anything to write on

I must explore

how

I feel your pressed lips

against my skin

change from day to day

finding less reasons

to love you

as the chill

of your soul

freezes mine.

Letting the cards fall

on my dining room table

allowing the money to buy me less

moments with you.

I can jump into a moving car

or crash into a yearning

solely for you

with your black shirt

and cool jeans

perfect look to match

the beauty I see inside.

It’s hard to hide from me

as much as it is

for me to hide

from you.

Literally impossible

and all my dark

becomes your light

and all my drives

lead to your door.

Nothing stops the traffic

like you can.

No images more lasting

than those I want

with you.

I want out.

I want in

with you.

Have you had enough of my words

my ups and downs

my laying in bed

watching Breaking Bad

my dishes piled high

have you had enough

of my writing spells

my edits

my red hair?

At every turn

there’s a poem

brewing,

pour the fucking coffee

we must talk.

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My New York Way

Everything sounds divine

with a hint of you and some red wine

had to Google a few places

to get to the lines on your faces

the Virgo in me is awake

can’t sleep in a cold lake

next time around in another lifetime

you’ll meet me at the drop of a dime

at Strand in the poetry sextion

drinking doubles at the W Hotel

a sexual addiction

fuck the shows and the shops

water and cheesecake drops

don’t need WiFi

for my way  into the deep entry of my silent sigh

for the true artiste in moi

wants a glimpse of hotel bars

not merely sheets

drinks and sliding beats

we won’t come up for air

you better just sit there and stare

at my hokey pokey naked dance

you’re sure to be in a sick trance

I think there is more at the museum

but I lost my way at the lobby

lost my wallet and my mind

still I never lose sight of your kind

and rough verse

your silent twisted curse

it’s a gift I know

sometimes I’d rather not put on this show

but the need overrides the logic

and the rush of words so tragic

hitting the ground

in a lovers’ exhaustion

another round

of love with no caution.

Changing checking time

to another poetic rhyme

so we could capture the sunset

and let go of the butterfly net.

864

not really

not really prompted
by much
but you
and your lovely hearts
that speak
to me as much
as my naked hips do
to you

not really following roads
lately
only photos of stones
near deep rivers
to dwell on past
lives

not really caring about
punctuation
or sexy panties
just hustling by
changing words
in my novel
that sound the same

not really loving
the same people
but always you
how you get inside
me and out
with your drawings
grand gestures

not really caring
what others think
delving deep into
my vulnerability
and sucking up
my ego
as I lay on my bed
naked
waiting
for you.

Await

There was a title to my love
story. I changed it about
as many times as you left
then came back with
those images that always
worked before. Before him,
that is. The title is in the works.
In my deep mind of altered
dreams. You are inside me
now, like the poems I write. You
write. I sleep. You sleep. I dream.
You dream. We meet. We part.
I want no answers. This is my
main problem. No solutions.
Most girls want it all. I want none
of it. All the things you can’t see
this is what I want. I need to
disappear, even under the sheets
will do. With or without you. I
recite Bono too often, claiming
this time I have tricks of bravery
up my sleeve on bristol boards
of love. I will run to you.
What else will keep me going
from one frozen day into another
as doctors call my name in
waiting rooms and I create
some kind of poetry that wakes
you from sweet daily slumber
and boredom on your screens.
Head on the desk, claiming
the flu has caught you again.
The headaches they’re back.
This stays within me. This long
drawn wait for the inevitable.
Health. Love. All this I claim none
of.
All
This
I
Await to read
screens of destiny.

Year in Review 2014

My own version of my year in review varies so greatly from yours

the big bang theories and explosions of my poems

on the screen

is still unseen

and my followers are beautiful

especially you

and my words are floating in space

this dead feeling along my visited place.

I should be proud

but I’d rather not be seen in a crowd

except if you are there

close enough to smell the perfume in my hair.

All my versions of this year I want to burn in a fire

leave my soul out for hire

give it away for a little while

so I could sleep

in such a lost deep haze

guitar sounds could not wake me

only your hands can take me.

The year in review

is not really my type of cue

to carry on my shoulders or brag

because it painted my colors in a different hue

you broke down my guard

with the persistence of a great bard.

I keep quiet but

I like the way you hit me hard with all your gust

I fall down and you make me believe

in trust.

Every year with you is a better one.

Close my eyes and feel the heat of the sun

that bears down on both of us.

Happy New Year

it’s coming closer don’t you fear

I’m here.

Happy New Year everyone. Peace. Love. Trust. Hope. Truth. Cheers to 2015.

Sleeping awake

Hardly ate or slept for days

living in four walls

under isolation

and no moderation

as you still grab my legs

from a distance.

Stir the pot with love

chop onions and carrots

to obscure the lies

cry from interior melodies

that no one hears.

Obstruct walls around so I can

run again

I win marathons

Mont Royal is my haven.

I bend the truth

into the winding staircase

at Metropolis. Loud music

ass grabbing, sex in the

bathroom, driving in the car,

still feeling alone. Nothing

crashes into my soul

like you do.

No one can touch the

same buttons

as you do.

I lack sleep and words,

comforted by my darkness

as I stare at the walls

wondering why I

cannot run faster.

I’m not really awake

it is me pretending to

be done with you

but I never am.

It can never end

only begin

differently.

Every time.

I keep on telling you more

so you can see

the way

freedom is just

a word.

jim morrison

Happy Holidays

Dearest readers,

I start out by thinking perhaps I’ll write you a quick thank you for reading and blah blah blah but then it’s like lightning strikes and a poem evolves. Inspired by my friend who wants to go see Father John Misty in February and suddenly I’m listening to every lyric as if my life depended on it more than it did on shopping. Should be at the mall, but I’d much rather be here listening to how he writes a novel and how I have a poem. Here goes.

I wrote a novel

it’s not the first

it won’t be my last.

In just a few weeks

you’ll read it too.

I want to thank you

all for connecting

reading

commenting

inhaling each word

as passionately as I tap

them out

late at night

or too early in the bloody morning

spewing words like coffee beans.

I can’t possibly read everyone’s blogs

or words

but I try. And I thank you

ENORMOUSLY

for stopping by

loving the energy. I’m full of that.

Hardly sleep or eat. Still

in the same body as my teens

don’t ask how God made me this

way, but who knows how the mind

and soul empties its contents

onto this page and how the body

reacts to age. The soul though

it never dies. Relives. Sees more

than we ever can.

I unloaded my truck full

of clothes and food

and cried. Off to charge

thousands on the credit card

and roll around in debt and wine

on my name day.

Well Happy Holidays

my friends and let’s

hope peace is on

everyone’s mind for 2015.

I highly doubt that,

but I know that doubt

is one of my slow killers.

Shine on with your words

and thanks for reading mine.

– Christina Strigas

Magic Hands

You play the songs

say the write words

get me inside out

understand my coffee stops

late night alcoholic binges

cigarette traps

eternal fights

then you throw me on the bed

and all is forgotten.

You know all the thoughts

before I speak

yet still there is always more

to want and need

as one kiss remains

surmountable

climbing up that hill

every day

to get to this

point

of magical hands

all over the flesh.

I never listen.

I chase my own demons

and entrap them

with my wit

as even they 

confuse my day and night

my night with flight

my pain with joy

as words build invisible

love affairs

so do love affairs

build sweet heartache

to continue the words

that save us.

077

She woke up

The morning is taking away
all my night powers
my prowls
my inner growls.

Take my tiny hand
squeeze it, pinch me
on this snowy land
make me real
hence, all that I feel
turns inside out
upside down
wrong side up
I’m a fragile box
handle with care
keep the descriptive words
coming
need their existence
like water now.

Chasing me was not so worthy
my gaps are enormous
you should flee
before it is much too late
for bloody undeniable fate
to make us one.

I can not look back
at age and rage
and every single page
I wrote.
I am feeling alive
along the train track
with that song you played
blaring down the grey street
reflecting my weak heart beat
leading me straight to you-
all the darkness
all the light
all the tragic loss
all the epic flights
landing close by your door
to knock on number 605
before sunrise
to see the exact colour of your eyes.
All this means something right now
and that is what matters most
anyhow.
Not asking but telling
(as she wakes up in the middle of the day).