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

Victorious

You are in another year

time travels separately

into a victorious collection

of seasons that cleaned up

words into banned secure

parking lots of trash.

I would never meet you again

do not question

why, when, or how.

Count your six trophies

the four naked ones

add them to your collections

of home invasions

and move on to the next

forget the one before.

Look away from the railing.

#februaryfalls18 #writingprompt #christinastrigas #poetry #poetsofig #poem #poet #writer

Tagging a few to do the challenge @fallspoetry @breath_words_ @aseawords

Photo by @cocoluna___ ❤️

The Day my Life Changed

1

It was twenty-five degrees hot

that summer July heat

sliding on your skin

with wanting.

It got so warm on the dance floor

as Get into the Groove

turned our dry clothes

wet with sweat and need.

Hours later

I still did not know your name.

Not sure if a lie

bleeds words.

 

2.

I said I need space

from someone

who gave me too much

of it.

 

3.

You broke my mirror

and called me a whore.

 

4.

You rubbed my back

held my hand so tight

never left my side

when I almost died.

 

5.

I flew half way around the world

so you could look at me

like a lover is supposed to.

 

6.

That day

you made me leave

work with one call

I need you.

 

7.

There was a hockey game on

I guessed some statistics

Canadians vs. Rangers

(it was a bang on guess though)

you turned to me

You are so fucking gorgeous. 

 

8.

Last night when I left the restaurant

and drove home alone

crying.

The Accident

I can relive it every other day

of how I almost died in broken glass

but I am not dramatic like that

do not label me a hero

because the angels came to save

the three little girls

as they whispered in my ear

give her oxygen

lift the car

run to pick her up

I picked up her tiny body all blue

from under the tire

it’s weird how these images

never escape your mind.

 

 

Hey, you’re bleeding, the paramedic said.

 

I bent down and just then notice the ripped pants

and bleeding knee.

Oh, I shrugged.

 

I held her hand in the ambulance

so who really cares about some broken glass

in my knee

or in my heart

as Blondie’s premonition

eluded me.

It was not a regular day

as CTV news waited hours

for my account

 

 

I saw you on the news, strangers at Bath and Body Works

so now all anyone

has to say to me

the accident

and memories of how I hit a

glass wall at the Starbucks

hit me, and I cried waiting in line,

and that night all I did

was hit that Jack Honey

and hugged my pillows

as buckets of vomit

cleared my mind

of everything.

 

Life is a miracle though

for those three tiny girls

just entered kindergarten this year

 

November 12, 2013. You can google it

if you want to.

This is a true story.

Nothing to deconstruct her.

Footsteps yet taken

I suppose when you think about someone’s life

and its variables

you can make an equation

as to its sum of all matters.

I am not a pianist, or a mathematician,

I do not even claim to be a writer. I feel

inadequate at the most. When I think my

worst work is my best, I still

close my eyes. I listen to

instrumental music to block

out all lyrics, all of his poems

that keep me grounded. He says

I am everything and nothing

in the same sentence.  I can

turn to dust on all the footsteps

yet taken. Turn around from the

walk on the beach

and enter the snowstorm of the

year. Play you a song you will

never forget. Write you a poem

you will read over again.

Not from a book, or a blog,

but from my heart.

The ones that make you

think more than you ever

wanted to. The poem that

blends into the next.

The one that refers to the

same person you never

forget.

All these paths

lead me to the same

entrance.

Band-aid and Bruises

It is a dream you are selling

to the neediest girl,

about fancy rides in cars

admiring every part of her body

pretending she is the only woman

on earth that matters

besides your wife

and numerous lovers.

All these band-aids and bruises

you cover up your roles

like a thespian.

Tell me have you discarded morality

as much as you profess?

Have you discovered the ego

is the only thing worth stroking?

Have you forsaken even god

to kiss the devil?

I am too old for fancy cars

and precious poets

who claim to

love me from afar.

When I was eight

I covered up my bruises

with band-aids

they healed.

Now they are invisible.

Who can see the cuts now?

Truly not you,

with your line-up of women

at the door

and your presumption

that I like anyone you have ever met before.

I am not even close

to anything you think I am.

I have not been married three times,

I do not have children from different men

I loved.

I do not have a mental illness,

I do not care for the car you drive

or the clothes you wear,

I do not care about the money

and what I have in my life

I cherish

I hold dear.

And what I’ve lost

I hold even closer.

Your tricks do not work with me

so stop trying.

 

Hymns for the Hopeful

I will make this a Hellenistic hymn to all my ancestors

who believed in the twelve Olympian gods. We had to

memorize them in Greek school, learn how to write

them, practice our diction to continue the traditions

of people I never met. We learned that  Zeus and Hera

were the Queen and the King and everyone that came

after did so with intentions to create this world of caves,

darkness, silent roads,  mountains that reach the

sky. I learned to see mirrors in rivers. I was taught that

stories can corrupt my mind into believing myths

as real. So young, even Hercules became my idol and

my hero. Who can compete with the gods? No mere

mortal man could ever win my heart. I wanted the

top of the echelon. I wanted my own Zeus, who created

the world out of chaos. Who else could tame my soul?

All these hymns for the hopeful left me breathless

for such intrigue and adventure, not even Aphrodite

could have the visions of beauty I imagined. She

took hold of my body and showed  me how to dream

the imaginable. Could you see how I became another

person in my mind, the one that spoke to Goddesses

in Ancient Greek and touched the sky with her

fingertips? Artemis guided me to the moon, to hunt

for my solitude, to hide from all the demons claiming

to be on my side. I learned about deception, betrayal,

brotherhood and sisterhood through the ancient ways

and much like others I became invisible. People mocked

me, sold their adventures to me as golden tickets. All

these leaps, I have taken for no one but my ancient

soul that saw the constellations up close from a

chariot in the sky, along with eleven other friends.