Posts Tagged ‘smell’

I had forgotten the feeling spring instilled in me-

a giddiness, the desire to move.

The desire to clean the dust off the bike no one rode,

and to fill the tires until their dark cheeks could burst,

and set out with the gravel crunching underneath,

the trees and fields passing as gray and yellow blurs.

 

I had also forgotten the scent of spring-

crisp earthiness spiraling up from the ground.

The sun pulls back the curtain of snow,

and the scent rises in spirals, the sun

helping it on its way.

This is what instilled in me

that sense of adventure, that desire

to move forward.

My white heart is gaining stains

and beginning to stink like garbage.

 

If you would have taken it,

it would have bloomed like a rose,

 

it wouldn’t become unsightly.

But, my dear, you’re not a good liar.

 

Truths bleed through the phone,

and I piece them together.

 

A half-truth is, after all,

a whole, stinking lie.

 

I’m wearing black now.

You’re wearing red

 

and consorting with a Union Jack.

You’re alive.

 

Where am I?

Not in your eyes. Not on your mind.

Curse

Posted: November 5, 2013 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Wishing to move

with cramps in every muscle

and pain stemming

from every joint,

to speak with a tongue

overrun by idle talk

until the mouth

is dry as a carcass,

to see with eyes scarred by a forest of cataracts,

smell with a nose sheared off and clogged,

touch with doll-like skin,

and listen with lost ears,

that is the cruelest curse.

We could look objectively at everything,

but then the heart would remain unseen.

The fire would be doused;

the flower would droop its full and unfurled head,

there would be no crystals within the bloom,

no smiles on the petals,

no dreams in the scent.

There would be no call of the ocean,

no challenge or caress in its waves,

no luster in the sand;

there would not be temptation from the dark forest;

there would be no warnings from the wind,

or grasp to it;

there would not be hope released with the rising

of the sun, nor fertile beauty in the glow of the moon;

there would be no celebration with death.