Untitled

Is love something you find

Like a key under a rock

Or something you lose

In the laundry, like a sock

Is it something you feel

Like pain from a burn

Or something you do

Like when you listen to learn

Is love a thought

From a reoccurring dream

Or a taste

Like fresh whipped cream

Is it a word

Like something you’ve said

Or is love a book

You’re glad you’ve read

Is love a place you can reach

Should you want to go

Or is love a thing you can see or smell

Poisoned

Love, your love has poisoned me
And you have used me brutally
The infection started in my eyes
Spread down my neck, like a shiver--
Down my thighs
Up into my heart
Through my every part
My veins are full of poison.

Love, your love has poisoned me
Weakened, you are all I see
Dazed, I am euphoric
Your love has made me parasitic
Starved, you're all I crave
Your love will put me in the grave
My appetites, my mind, this body
Are under your disease.

Love, your love has poisoned me
The only cure is separation
Which would kill me with its desperation.

Only Fiction

man is not meant to be a god
which is why he can kill and not create
the power of death is a lie
intoxicating like wine
for a moment you are free
limitless, seamless,
but blood, like wine, wears off
until there is only death
that you cannot end, your power
is powerless and you hate it
it reminds you that you are worthless
fragile, you can fall apart
the poisoned apple has not made you divine
but maybe the next one will
to kill again will set you free
and so I do
I touch heaven as it turns into hell

We're not as related as before, you and me
I am a synthesis of multiple ethnicities
From the way that I walk
To the way that I talk
You are my brother--
Down to the very last strand
Of your DNA
But I am mixed, and you are not
For eight years we shared a classroom
Sometimes a bedroom, the experiences
Of our trans-cultural childhood—
The stories of our heritage.
Then you forgot.
The foods, you grew to dislike.
The mother/father lands, you didn't know.
I am not American, and I am,
But you always are.
You have been this and then that
While I am always those and these
"I am Mexican," you might say
"I am not just," I would think
"Don't you remember," I might ask
"Remember what?" you would answer
That Tamar of Genesis is our mother
And Judah is our father
That our great-step-grandmother was a Trini witch
That Zapata was our comrade
That your blood is European, your skin Indian
While your hair is French, your eyes Chinese
"I am me" you would say
Not wanting to be taken apart
"And I am me, but these are us, "I would know
Liking the pieces
"We’re just brown," you'd say
"Not just," I'd answer.
Which is why we are less related now
Than then
Because I am mixed
And you are not.

I Am Mixed

Multicultural, biracial, mixed, mestiza
Ethnicity, ethnocentric, anomaly
Race, culture, identity
Your blood mixed with mine
The historiography of my parents' sexuality
The power play between two shades of brown
Descriptions, constructions, definitions—

I am not a conglomeration of labels
Races put on like cloaks
Stripped down into stereotypes
Condensed for people who are not me.
Not just two halves of what you can’t see
You want to know me?
Then ask.

I am the only one with eyes that see this view
You don’t know what my hands can do
Your heart has never loved who I loved
Your brain never thought the thoughts I think
Your feet don’t plod the path I trod.

I am multidimensional, multi-intentional, multi-generational
So much more than multiracial
Yes, my blood is multinational
It may be rich but it’s still red
So much more than a statistic
Of colored people who shared a bed.

Eyes on the Sparrow-Savanna Nolan

Another new poem by Guest Poet Savanna Nolan

Cary Grant once said something like
“I faked it until it was true.”
And so, feeling like a small, french-fry-driven sparrow
I tried to enter the room with the swagger of a dragon, an impenetrable hide.
One small stumble—a spill, a botched job, wrong name—
Is all it takes to spoil the masquerade
And in the blaze of a blush the dragon is gone
And only the small sparrow remains,
Drenched by rain and mistakes,
Frantically searching for french fries.

Tracheotomy-Savanna Nolan

New poem by Guest Poet Savanna Nolan

Sir, I am more than just my chart.
I am a person, not a med student’s treat,
and though I don’t speak and my flesh is char-
ed, I am more than a puzzle of meat
that you talk to in search of a trace
of life. You don’t talk about yourself, but I cheat
and know enough of life to see through your chat.
I see the ring you wear—your favorite charm—
from the sweetheart asleep in a bed you long to race
home to. Finish with me and she’s just a tram
ride away—the cure to your heart’s ache.

To John, Over the Years

Hello,

Frances remembers when you left
the tears dropped in her oatmeal.

Frances wanted to follow the tracks you made
she was angry when i wouldn't let her.

Frances slept with your shirt tonight
she thought that she could smell you.

You should call Frances
she needs to hear your voice.

Frances took down all your pictures
she put them in a box.

Frances didn't want to go to school today
she hoped that you would take her.

Frances tried to call you
the number didn't work.

Yesterday, Frances was in a play
I saw her check the crowd for you.

Frances got her ears pierced
she didn't mention you.

it was Frances' birthday
she kept checking the mail.

Frances kissed a boy today
i don't think she wanted you to know.

Frances fell in love
she wanted to ask you a question.

the boy Frances was with left
she said he was just like you.

Frances graduated today
i thought you'd like this picture.

Frances moved into her dorm
you were nowhere on her mind.

Frances has been thinking a lot
she wondered where you were.

Frances bought a car
she asked some guy to help her.

Frances got her masters
she went somewhere for a job.

Frances moved back in
she wanted to be close.

Frances saw me writing this
she said that i should stop.

Frances met a boy
she said he's not like you.

Frances got a ring tonight
she's planning her new life.

Frances didn't want to go down the aisle
she thought that you would call.

Frances' husband bought a house
they want to start a family.

Frances said you're not invited...

i guess that's all,
um, you can write if you want.

I am the Wolf

Strike fear in the eyes of men
Hunt in packs of ten.
Run like the win’
Take care of our kin.
Teeth real sharp
voice like a harp
Loud and clear.
Strong like a bear.
Eyes like the moon
I ask no boon.
I am the wolf
respect me, fear me
I am the wolf.

SlideShow

shards of broken glass
frail white egg shells
a forgotten sock behind the dryer.
Strands of someone’s life unstrung.

fish in an empty pet store
old men in the park
the last piece of pizza, in the pizza box.
Puzzle pieces lost.

Beach Glass

How rough you were, how small, how sharp
Tumbling in the sands of time
Carried hither and thither in the tide
Broken glass in the ocean wide.

No one knew how like a jewel you could be
So prismatic and smooth
Polished by the ocean’s crush
Caressed by the water’s rush.

I always knew that you were something great
That you had a hidden sparkle
I wish you hadn’t shown it to so few
So that the world could have known too.

I am sorry that you were forgotten
Sorry that no one cared
But what could I do?
I was beach glass just like you.

A Gentle Soul

The world whispered
But to you it sounded like a yell.
The world gently touched
But to you it was a shove.
Silently in corners you hid.
A gentle soul, too gentle for this earth.

You cowered,
And I saw that you couldn’t stand tall
The world was too bright,
Too bold,
Too harsh,
And you were a gentle soul, too gentle for this earth.

I am sorry for you,
Who will never feel the brightness,
Never touch the harshness,
That makes life so brilliant,
So exciting.
For you are a gentle soul, too gentle for this earth.

Antlers

Once, I was powerful
Atop a noble steed.
Once, I was a weapon
Brandished with a gleam.
Once, I was a danger.
Once, once I was sharp.
Once, I made leaders
And followers.
Once, I stood between
Life and death.

Now, I am brittle
As dry leaves in the fall.
Now, I stand for nothing
But a shadow of yesteryear.
Now, I am just a twig.
Now, now I am dull and damaged
Now, I am left by the wayside
Useless.
Now, I have met death
And it has taken everything.

I have tumbled from my high place.
I have touched the ground.
I have been remounted
Placed in a glass case.
I have been used
As a model for something that was great.
I have been reminded
Of what I am no longer.

The Prisoner

In his lonely cell
He sits, thinking of the hell
His life has been.
Unfairly judged, unfairly sentenced.
He was there under another’s pretence.

From some place did come a glow
It was from that crack, dubbed a window.
Slowly, slowly, does he pace
To look upon an unseen grace.

Stone wall hides all
To his own mind does he fall.
Sunlight, sunlight, sunlight
Is his vision
In the horrible, hated prison.

He bangs agsinst his cage
In rage.
Why dream dreams that never will be?
Why harbor thoughts of being free?

But hope he must
And hope he will.

Footsteps soft and steady
A pastor come to get him ready.
Cutting through the silence like a knife
The jailer come to end his life.

Down the isle while others look on
Through a door with it’s curtains drawn.
Sunlight shines upon the gallows.

To the cry
“Any Last Words?”
This was the reply
“What more
(My dream has been met)
Do I have to live for.
And with his eyes to the star that shines in the day
Did forever the prisoner his burdens lay.
So was the life of the convict.
His story told.
His life come to a fold.

Men and Women

We are lying in a million ways
Between the clicks of our teeth
The flicks of our tongue
Through the slants of our eyes
The crossing of our thighs.

We are lying with smoke and mirrors
Under paint and silk and lace
And past that we are honest
Flesh, exactly as we are.

You are lying in a million ways
Between the flex of your muscles
The acceleration of your car
Through the size of your wallet
The brand of your drink.

You are lying with status and suave
Under paper and plastic and brawn
And past that you are honest
Flesh, exactly as you are.

But you and we, we want the lies we web
Even as we tangle in what we weave.

Facebook Stalker

(A comment on society)

Click to stay connected
Looking at your picture
That everyone can see
Feeling like I know
Who you used to be.
Stringing together lists,
Comments, friends made to you
Trying to paint an image
That’s fast fading away
Your status-
Does not mean me.
Can’t tell who-
My network’s not that wide
Are her stats as good as mine?
Her friend list as big?
Look at my accomplishments-
My groups-
Does she compare?
You don’t know,
I’m facebook friend some-hundred-something
You haven’t clicked for so long.
Forgotten who friended who?
It wasn’t me, it was you
Didn’t even know you were on.
Check you history
It’s the very first story.

They Love Me Not

They picked my petals
One by one, they plucked
Beautiful, they said
As, fully, I bloomed
The sun shined on me
On my leaves, my stem
They all wanted a piece
So they could carry my scent
On their fingers and hands
Press me between pages
Watch my color bleed
And my softness wrinkle
So always I would last
They took them all, they did
petal-less, they left me
Colorless, I wilted
With nothing more to give
Stem too weak, sun too hot
I sank to the ground...

A second rose will bloom
Let her last longer, please
We have such short lives.

Night Terrors

Soft inhale, exhale, of breath
Peacefully as you’re asleep
Calms the fears that rise in me.
I’m alone, you’re someplace else
Just across the sheets from me.
In the dark I’m drowning.
Pulled, pushed, compressed,
Insanity is rising,
As my heart, and mind, races
With a world that spins too fast.
Knees drawn to chest, head on arms
Folded, I am self-contained.
While you sigh, tangled in sleep
Versus my rapid-fire breathing.
Insanity is rising
I want to whisper to you.
Can you hear my silent screams?
Your muted lips answer, no.
Once again I will rise up
Pushing insanity back down
And by morning I will be
Pressed against you, tamed.

Irony

I will not write me in rhyme
Or self-centered rhythm
I will not sketch myself with words
Or paint my soul in line
I will not wipe my tears with paper
Or hide my scars in ink
I will not bury my fears in blog
Or type each thought I think
And when you read the words I write
The letters woven the way I weave
You’ll see yourself in place of me
The world the way I see
I am hidden in the stacks-
Of leather-bound manuscripts
And in everyone you read
Will be written more of you

Wanderer

she is rock
rock
rocking
and her hair is gray and grizzled
but her eyes sparkle with a shine
that neither you nor me will know
she has laughed and loved in her time
and the secrets that she's shared-
are in her heart still held
but her mind is truly muddled
and the time she cannot tell
the newspaper never comes
the milkman doesn’t milk
through the glossiness on her glasses
only strangers does she see
but she is rock
rock
rocking
a queen who couldn't quit
and her hands tremble with the tears
she didn't dare to drop
as she still listens for the voices lost
feels for friends
she rarely can remember
still searching for the self
she desperately desires
but through the tough and tumble
the pain persists to press
going even while it's gone
whining, wandering, whispering
and she is still rock
rock
rocking
as she stares straight ahead
to a tune that's lost its tone
while it meandered in her mind