I shook my head at pancake syrup
because I knew it’s your tool
when words fall within the cracks
and spaces that even lizards avoid
after offering excuses no one buys.
Dishes are toppling over
themselves in a room dark like
autumn days should become,
murkier still as you dance those
crooked steps disregarding mind.
Your lips move as midnight moves
closer, openings seal like tape
and the locket hanging to disagree
breaks at the hinges, paper photo
ripping without the unfelt touch.
Television blared the day I knocked
and you told me to call back, that
you were busy, in a conference
that did not result in a solid deal
to ease your labored breathing.
Cat No. 90 of the 500 Cats Project
That a girl š Glad to see poetry from you and this is poetic skate down the lines. Hugs~
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Thank you, Tammy. Hugs back!
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I love your poetry because it doesn’t sound like anyone elses. This is no exception.
I especially like the third verse–
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Ah, thank you. I like yours because of this emotional brazenness I don’t find too often. Your writing makes me feel and see where the speaker is coming from.
A lot of my writing stems from memory, or seemingly insignificant details from a memory. In this case, I was thinking about a stack of dishes awaiting a wash and I wrote based on how I would feel if I was a dirty dish. I know, it’s kind of strange.
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Not strange to me…
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And thank you…..I love you call it brazen. Just might borrow that word. You know why? Because I was silent for over 10 years. Once I got the nerve to open my mouth, I just can’t stop writing about now (and memories)
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I’m glad that you chose not to remain silent. That would have been a shame.
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Beautiful blog, beautiful voice, lovely poetry…
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Thank you so much for your kind words and encouragement. š
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My pleasure
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