though you are not of my world
nor i yours—
i suspect our customs are not so different
under the skin
i suspect you know a little about being
i guess you know a little about being
a two-bit King.
Eye wouldn’t go in there
They say it’s creepy.
Red eye at dawn,
I stayed up and dreamed.
Summer nights and star jasmine,
the mown grass greeness of moonrise
and the purple grove after
This is battle and betrothal.
I promised to stand and to be true,
then there was the sound of grey green thunder
and I was almost weeping,
but the screams of my aching nights
were the only things keeping me from clawing
my skull from beneath my skin
and painting my fate with slippery warmth.
I remember the reap and feasts
I remember you.
There is a line of crimson-curled poesy
working deep inside
and it’s biting at my ribs
to be let out–
(this is Awen–when muse strikes and you are helpless before it.)
oh I’m trying to live.
I’m trying to be real.
It’s not like anything else I know.
we are but travelers here
picking up a few souvenirs along the way
i know things don’t always go right
and so i write
ya see I’ve never been good at math
but when I feel like i have nothing left
it all adds up to you
there beside me,
slightly to the left
making me more than one
and i know that i have won
I am worthy of love after all
and that particular piece of baggage can be tossed aside
cause i no longer have need of it
I‘m tongue-tied and vague
a red-headed harpy let loose by the sun
I’m the price of a stiff drink
in a one horse town
I’m a dusty floored attic
and you are leaving footprints as you go
I’m a wild summer night
driving too fast and screaming
obscenities out the windows
I’m the grey-green glow from the instrument panel
I’m the nubby-brown tack
of nicotine stained curtains
in a secondhand room
I’m incense in a closed space
I’m falling asleep in front of the TV
on a school night
I’m decadence made plain
I’m a whey-faced creature
coughed up by the earth
I’m butter-yellow sunshine
and I live in your eyes
I’m 10 feet tall and raggedy red
I’m desperately trying to make you see
I’m the sticky peeling pain
of sweat on vinyl
I’m the summer dusk from childhood
I’m wishing on stars and dandelion puffs
I’m fairy dust and magic wands
I’m the moon on an October night
I’m the orange-grey haze
falling on wet pavement
I’m rain on leaves
on dead tree rings
Do you know who I am yet?
I’m a blue-eyed
dime store queen
I am who is
and might have been.
I originally posted this here on May 2nd 2013 so it’s the poem’s anniversary 😉
*yes, those are my eyes and that is the most of me I’m willing to post!
no man could exist
no boy child would be birthed
Take back your power
Take back your control
we are the teachers
we are the nurturers
We can make change happen
Teach responsibility, not blame
Teach love, not hate
Teach peace, not war
Teach your children
that they are enough
that their lives are their own
and that they alone
who and what they are
that they alone can define
what happiness and love
look like to them
that they can choose not to
continue a cycle of violence
but live instead in peace.
with an excited gleam in his eyes
he hands her a package
silently she opens to find
a fantasy of silk and lace
sea-foam green and barely there
he directs her to undress and put it on
wordlessly she complies
he observes as silk slides across young, pert flesh
he commands her to model it for him
to move with the music
she complies as he watches with hungry eyes
brusquely he pulls it off and tosses it carelessly to the floor
pushing her roughly to the bed
he can’t be bothered with undressing
he just takes what he wants from behind
when he is done he notices the delicate green silk crumpled under his boot
he tosses it to her and says
“Wash that and re-wrap it before your mom gets home.”
a reblog, this poem is in my 2nd book of poetry.
which is available in full color, black and white or on Kindle.
Poetry and Stories by Mark Tulin
Author River Dixon
poetry by nicolas ryan brown.
𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚋𝚒𝚐! 𝙻𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛!
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