Woodnotes

Last night I fell asleep

before you came home.

I dragged the dog out for a walk

but he hates the cold as much as I do.

He pissed all over the kitchen floor,

he despises being alone.

He ate snacks before bedtime

wallowing in loneliness.

You wanted to have sex

while I had creative writing on my mind.

My blue journal sprawled between

my thighs,

I want my head there, you said.

My pens took precedence

Patience was playing from my phone

I ignored you. I fought your lights.

You take it personal, but I’m a writer

and you know that I can’t interrupt

my flow. Sex came and went,

making love is for another lifetime.

I took the kids out for dinner

ate avocado rolls

veggie burgers

St.Louisbourg burger

with onion rings.

I said, it’s hard to be an artist

to be in a relationship,

I am preparing them

for the heartache, but it’s

Too late.

If the one you’re with

does not understand what a woodnote is

or what defines you.

It’s a natural musical tone

or the song of

some bird

no one cares about trees

nature is becoming extinct.

The young and old have their heads

filled with useless information

school shootings

young wolves writing poems

academia taking the back seat

poets knocking on your door

I am locked in;

dead children

another statistic.

Here we are sleeping together

never at the same time

chaos in our fear.

Writing prompt: word: Woodnotes

#februaryfalls18

Drowning in Carnations

You said write a poem

about New York moments

we almost had in our arms.

I ignore you

only focus on the times

we had;

the walk hand in hand on Ste-Catherine street

the xmas gifts I gave you

in April—

you forget everything I remember,

that is how memory prevails

I could never be true to you.

I apologize for the past,

present, and dead future.

I apologize for being cruel

for changing when you could not.

You were not who I thought you were,

I wasn’t who you wanted me to be.

Bitterness is not changing

aging is ice skating on my dreams.

I held back

this is why I am not in muddy love.

I gave you corner bits

you wanted me whole.

I apologize for not loving you,

when I said I did.

At the time I felt love.

I am not a global liar.

I was drowning in red

carnations,

the smell suffocating me.

I wanted to melt in your arms

instead I was alone again

amongst five day old flowers

and a fake necklace story.

#januaryfalls18

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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Coffee Shop poems

I imagine myself

dying of some

disease. A morbid thought,

I know. I tell my children,

one day I will be dust.

I think I can fly. They nod

their heads and laugh.

I stare at the birds hoping one day

I will reincarnate into one and migrate,

take flight. I want to leave this city

in the heavy winter and fly south. Meet

the other nomads and talk about

our body heat. I want to see him

naked, knocking him down

with his knack for knowledge

about my imperfections. I want

him to look past the words and

battery chargers, the truth, the

half-made up lies, the quick

good-byes. It is all a bunch of

fucking crap. I smile, falling into

his trap. I am the best actress you

have seen off-screen. The theater

is in my mind. The mirror is off

the wall in between the hooks

and family portraits you barely find. I want

every poem to be the worst one.

I wish the next one,

to shake his world, make him

think about why he leaves me

every day, why I expect every man

to be him. I want him to continue

hating everything he loved

about me. The way he saw the sea

through me, the crashing waves,

the all night raves. The days

pass slow, he wrote me in a letter,

you make think I have forgotten

all the masks you wore, but

I went to Venice too, I saw how you

were everywhere, in the art you can explore,

the pleated skirts, the Murano glass

in spurts. I have not thought about you,

I will not think about you, no matter

how many times you want me to.

I want to be you and you want to be

me. When I write a poem that

makes me physically sick, the kind

of poem you would share with no one

the kind, that even

your lover couldn’t handle.

The coffee shop is too crowded.

Elements

It is not how
the sun rises
but the colour
of the sky
at dawn
dusk, twilight
that I marvel at
more than the necklace
in a green box
of the tiniest butterfly
captured in my drawer.

ten seconds

As you roar
bark, write, taunt
please the masses
years turn into decades
lines across the forehead
funerals become weddings.
In time,
you told me how you fell for me
in ten seconds
how you watched me walk
around the room
watched me dance
entered the dance floor
like a thief.
if I close my eyes
count to ten
I know how long you tried
and I was subtle
putty in your hands
entrapped in that aqua blue
taking off my shoes
ripping off my clothes
writing my number with black eyeliner
I had to have you
mostly because you tried
you came after me
you wanted me
I felt it
and
that desire alone
creates tulips in my spring
hence I wanted you
I fell into your arms
laughingly.
I want to remember this
and nothing else.
And these are the reasons
you have me
where you want me.

Here you go

Open road
Don’t Stop playing
Go Your Own Way
the pedal on the gas
faster and faster
hear me?
It is always the
ones you know
are coming
that hurt the most
the needle on the album
from beginning to end
without any interruption
or masturbation
upcoming drama
wind in the hair
arms bare
music in the veins
thinking only of you
and how you can reign
over my thoughts
say all the right
passages
and now there are
only memories
I take time and play
with them like a guitar
make them only mine
flip open the pages
and read the moments
I will travel
through countries
and space
only to see you smile
from above
in another
dimension
where we sit across
from each other
and debate
discuss
argue
make up
trivial needs
desires
and never see eye to eye.

Full Bloom

Crumpled up two pages

a rarity in my hands

most times I do not come up for air

as long as it takes a song

to start and end

as long as I make this pen bend

to my right and wrong.

I can detox my body

add ginger to my green tea

bring back my mind

with Rumi, silence and obscure poets I find.

I can revive my soul

writing until my notebooks are full

and the cardboard back cover will do

any blank space filled through and through

page after page of nonsense, raging like a bull

(you can come in and out of my room

I won’t see you, I’m in full bloom)

creating an inner world

with hotel rooms on fire

sex acts, food, conversation, attire

vivid characters’ desire

as she spreads her legs

feeds her need

with his vibrant seed.

I know the joke’s on me

of how could she write

such pornography?

Erotica from the Greek eros, I recount

and my real name

my real picture

forget it, it’s a bloody game

deconstruct me

the nature of literature

serendipity

carpe diem

in vino veritas

deux ex machina

professors’ voices reminding me

of tragedies, endings, motivations

mere words

to stop the critics, the academia, the vultures

the turds

you know who you are

and you might think you’re a star

but no one here gets out alive

and if you haven’t heard Jim say

it then get back to the past

listen without judging

take that fucking dive. 

Tell him a tale

wipe a tear

off I sail

do not leave any tracks

hard to tell the lies from the facts.

All I know is that I’m in full bloom. 

Only one

I like when I am the only one
doing my cross and kissing your image
only dead souls
under my feet
and I can’t speak to you
I feel blocked
no birds flying
I wait for a sign
but someone blasts music
from behind the Marble Jesus
and I keep it buried
where you are
wanting to join you.
But I check the candle
read the sentiment
examine the Greek letters
the year you were born and died
remember my book
cry as usual
squat and stare at your eyes
kiss the stone
and go to the grocery store.

Chasing the honey moon

He once brought me so high
I swear I could have touched the sky
then he murdered me piece by piece
left my heart for last
I actually did lay on the floor
my sex in the grips of his hand
moaning his name
crying as he fled out the door
proclaiming how he would always love me
but I leave him no other choice
I can’t use only lust on him
he wants me to give him
that part I hold on to
so desperately.

Under the honey moon
I take a drive with the kids
yelling to find it , where is it,
but my smart son says it’s cloudy
can’t see it, I guess you’ll have to
wait another hundred years
and I want to stop the tears
but I can’t
stupid fucking moon I say
and they laugh and know
to watch me carefully
because I will get lost
on the same road
thinking of you.
They know they shouldn’t ask
why I want to find it so badly
I wish I had the answer as well
but it leaves me empty inside
sticking my head out the window
I only see grey
and taste the acid rain on my lips
blending perfectly with my tears.

Play me a song from your phone
I tell my son
but he’s into Rush this week
no, go back
and he is the only one
who knows the playlist of my heart
let’s start with Dreams
he tells me.
Now the dark grey skies mean no harm
It’s in my head I tell myself
as Van Halen plays
but
Plath’s words hit me right then and there
and I repeat them
There’s no way out of the mind.