Signs

source

The sky had no clouds,
A pristine blue dome
Was created for my wedding day.
Every thing was perfect,
My dress,
My schedule,
My wedding party,
My fiance.
But before I walked down
That aisle, before I say
My vows to the man
I love, I want to see the world
With the eyes of a single woman.

Out I walked into the open space
Between the two buildings.
At the other end of the space
Was where the wedding was
To take place.

I looked up,
Looking for a sign,
Any sign and more than one came.

The wind blew from behind me
Pushing me to that space,
The geometric shapes on the buildings
Pointed to that space,
And when I closed my eyes
A quiet voice said
"Walk boldly into your destiny."

I was filled with
A sense of completion,
Of surety and without
Hesitation, I returned to
My wedding party and
Prepared to walk down
The aisle.

In less than an hour
I was united for life
To the one man
I loved completely
And I knew the universe
Was happy with the union.

Dream

source

They slept,
Nikki and Daemon
Tucked away in their
Respective dream worlds.

I wondered if Nikki
Was dreaming about
Dolls and friends
Or of boys who
Caught her eye
Under their hooded eyes.

I wondered if Daemon
Dreamt of action figures
And karate class
Or he wished he was out
Fishing with Grandpa James
Instead of taking part
In Aunt Joan's wedding.

I watched my babies sleep,
The wedding is to start in
An hours time, but I'll let
Them sleep another
Half an hour, I'll let
My babies dream.

River Goddess



source



Cigarette butts

Lay in the gutter,

The world took on

A grey cast,

As though all life

Had been drained,

Leaving behind

The hard edges of things

Man made.

I didn’t care,

All that mattered

Was that this was

My day,

My wedding day.

On this day,

I was a river goddess

Who lived among

The rapids. My dress

Reflected this.

My body was embraced

By a frothy lace

That gave way to a flowing

Skirt that spilled between

My fingers where I grabbed it.

No,

I was not going to be

A princess,

A queen,

A supermodel,

Or some uber feminine mystique

Associated with brides.

I chose to be

A river goddess.

And today, I will marry

The one man I can refer to

As my rock.

The one who stands by me,

Strong and resolute.

I know in time,

I will wear him down,

But in that time,

He will have calmed me down.

So the world can be

Stark and ugly,

With cigarette butts

And cracked walls,

But today this river goddess

Marries her rock.

I Love Them Both

source

I love them both.

Their curves captivated me,
I would trace my fingers
Over them, enraptured
By how different they were.

She was soft and yielding,
I would hold her in my arms,
Squeezing never crushing.
She would whisper in my ear
Words that tickled my senses,
Touched my soul.

It was hard and unrelenting,
Each part designed to perfection.
Through city streets, country lanes
And never ending highways
It would take me.
Instead of whispers, it roars,
A primal roar that urge me on
To live on the edge of my
Existence.

She never asked me
To let it go, and
It can never ask me
To let her go, and
Together we live in
A comfortable arrangement.
Man, woman, car.

I love them both.

Thank You For Listening

source

Dear God,
It's me,
I hope you can hear me
Through all the cries
Of sorrow,
Of pain,
Of anger,
Of quiet desperation.

Can you hear me,
God,
I just want to take
A moment,
This one scrap of time
And thank you.

Thank you for my life,
Although at times,
It felt so hard,
So pointless,
So full of tribulations,
But somewhere in there,
I've felt love, joy, peace
And, once and a while,
Happiness.

Thank you for my family,
My friends, my co-workers,
Even my enemies,
Without them
I would not remember
How special I am
And through our encounters,
We all grow to be better people.

God,
Are you still listening?

Thank you for my husband,
For bringing him into my life
At the right time.
A time when we were both ready
To love and cherish each other.
In him I have a best friend,
A trusted confidant,
A lover and a partner in crime.

God,
I know you're busy
Looking after this and that,
But I thought you would
Like to hear a genuine
"Thank You".
Let it be a flicker of light
In the darkness of
Humanity's sorrow.

And one more thing,
God,
Thank you for listening.

Untitled

source

Wrapped in lace and tulle

And the most exquisite of silk,

I contemplated this next step,

This next stage of my life.

No longer is my life

Solely my own,

No longer will my decisions

Be left unchecked,

Unquestioned,

Unchallenged.

I will no longer be a leaf

Floating in the breeze of life,

Going here and there,

Without thought or consideration.

In a few hours,

I will be bound to another,

Tied to another with silken ties

That covered metal chains.

A little bit of my freedom

Traded in for a ring

And a promise.

And yet,

I walk willingly into my fate,

I embrace it open eyes,

An open mind and an open heart.

I shed my singular nature,

And as I wrapped myself

With lace and tulle

And the most exquisite of silk,

I embark on a new beginning,

A beginning with you.



Goodbye

My Modern Met


Goodbye.
I never thought
I would say that word.
It would be a word
That would represent
A temporary state,
Always holding the promise
Of another meeting.

I took this day
To escape from my death,
The ending of my life.
Just before my body
Ceased to listen to my commands,
Just before I become dependent
On others for even
The most basic of things,
I took my bike
And rode away.

I rode to the fields
Beyond the city limits
Filled with wild flowers
That scented the air
Leaving me heady.
I pick a few
Till my basket said
No more
Letting some spill on the ground.

I rode to the seaside,
And looked out
To the horizon.
The sea was a reflection
Of the overcast sky.
I didn’t care.
There is something heavenly
About the sunlight breaking
Through the clouds.

Somehow the sight
Made me feel safe,
Ready, even for when
I take my last breath.

I no longer hope for cures
Or treatments that will
Make me live a little bit longer.
Today, I got the chance
To say Goodbye
To the world
That mesmerized me,
That accommodated me,
That I loved.

Not a tear will fall,
Not a sob will escape my lips.
Simply,
Only,
Goodbye.

This is my last poem inspired by Sator Arepo's photography. I hope you liked them and if you want to read them again just click on the Sator Arepo tag in the tag clout to the right. So what replace my Wednesday Sator Arepo poems? Well, I'm thinking of posting videos of my reading or reciting some of my poetry. I have to figure out how I'm going to do that. It should be interesting.

When I Think Of Amanda

My Modern Met

Red coat,

Black boots.
That is what I remember
When I think of Amanda.

It was one of
Those spontaneous days
When we would hop in the car
And drive to nowhere in particular.
We would drive.

It was only
When something caught our attention
That we would stop.
Sometimes, a food place
We wanted to try.
Sometimes, an amusement park.
Sometimes, a friends home.

This time it was the seaside.
We got out of the car
And walked along the shore
Playing truth or dare.

I dared her
To jump up and down,
I chose to tell her the truth
That I loved her.
This made her jump
Without being dared to do so.

That day,
Changed the dynamic of our relationship.
That day,
We learned that we loved each other.
Red coat,
Black boots
Is what I remember
When I think of Amanda.

In This Place

My Modern Met

Sometimes,
The world can be
So overwhelming.
Life can be
So overwhelming,
Leaving me
With the desire
To curl up
In my bed
And shut out everything,
Everyone,
Every emotion.

Just when I am
At that breaking point,
I grab my keys,
Toss my cell
And jump into my ride.

Within half an hour,
I am standing
On rocky ground
Looking out
At a watery horizon.
I return to the the one place
That saves me,
Brings me back
From the edge.

The Trade Winds
Fills my lungs
Recharging every atom
In my being.

The wails of the dead rise
From their watery graves
Reminding me that
I should be grateful
That I am alive.

In this place,
All my senses
Are engaged.
I see and hear the waves crashing,
I smell and taste the salty spray
And I feel the wind
As it rushes by.

In this place,
I am renewed
And can now take on
The world.

A Green Beetle

My Modern Met

One day,
I grew tired
Of my champagne sedan.

Champagne.
That is what
The dealer called it,
As though giving it
An expensive name
Made it less of
A boring colour.

So when Bobby
(That's my husband)
Wasn't looking,
I traded it in
For a green beetle.

Green.
A colour that
Took me back
To a time
When smiles were found
More often than frowns,
When mommy had
All the answers
And when my favourite colour
Was green.

At first,
Bobby would go through
The five stages of loss.
Denial.
Anger.
Bargaining.
Depression.
Acceptance.

I will be waiting for him
At Acceptance
In my green VW Beetle.

Quite Beautiful

My Modern Met

The sun made it's descent
Into the distant horizon,
Being chased by the velvet night
In shades of blues and blacks.

I watched the whole show
In the reflection of still waters
Which distorted the reality
Into an artist's rendering
Of the world I grew tired of.

So in the evenings,
You would find me
At the water's edge
Watching the world
I never take notice
Turn into something
Quite beautiful.

Sweet Amanda

My Modern Met

The vintage car pulled up
To the pier,
And a feeling of dread
Engulfed me.

Mr. Peterson was,
In one word,
A Prick.
According to his press releases,
He was a self made man
Who built his fortune
From a little lemonade stand
He had when he was about 7 years old.

The sad thing is
That prick was my boss.
He owned the yacht I worked on
And twice a year,
I had the displeasure
Of being in his company.

To ensure that he never
Knew my true feelings towards him,
I plastered a smile on my face
And greeted him
Like my favourite uncle,
Going into a spiel
On how well the boat was doing.

This time,
He appeared to be distracted.
His eyes darting to me,
The pier, then the car.
Something was off.

“You’ve been doing a great job
On the boat, Tom.”
Don’t I know I do
A great job on this mega yacht.
“How about you take
The weekend off.
I’m not taking it out,
But I need some alone time.”
No problem,
Lara was talking abut going upstate
And this weekend was as good as any.

Something is off.

I packed up my stuff
And made my way to my ride.
On the way home,
I called Lara
And shared the good news.

Saturday morning,
The ride was packed,
And the road was calling,
But I forgot my pocket knife
At the yacht.

It was no problem,
I’ll just stop on the way.

It was still pretty early,
So I decided to sneak on,
Find the knife
And be on my way
Without disturbing Mr. Peterson.

As I passed the main stateroom,
I heard moaning
And something akin
To a struggle.
I slowly cracked the door,
Making sure not to make any noise.

What I found
Was Mr. Peterson on top
Of his twelve year old daughter,
Amanda.

He didn’t see me,
But she looked right into my eyes.
Her eyes spoke volumes.
They told me that this
Was not the first time.
They told me she didn’t
Want to be here,
Doing this act with anyone,
Much less her father.
They told me that
She was about to give up.

At this moment,
I chose to do the right thing.

Sure, I could have walked away,
I could have called her mom,
Called the police.
I could have done
These things anonymously,
But I didn’t.

Instead,
I pulled Mr. Peterson
Off of his daughter,
Shoving him against the wall.
As he was a bit shocked
By the intrusion,
I was able to get off
A good uppercut
That knocked him out.

I threw clothes at Amanda,
Giving her time to get dressed,
As I waited just outside of the room.

Five minutes later,
She stood at the door.
“Do you want me to
Take you back home?”
She shook her head. No.
“Where do you want to go?”

It took a while
For her to answer
And I was not expecting the answer.
“I want to go with you.”

As we approached my ride,
I read the questions
That were written across Lara’s face.
“Later,” was all I said.

Later, as we drove
To Lara’s parent’s house,
We learned about
The Petersons,
And what emerged from
The lips of Amanda Peterson
Shook us to our core.

Amanda, in our minds
Was not returning home,
Amanda was never going
To step foot on the mega yacht
Where her father violated her.
The same boat he called
The Sweet Amanda.

Fortunately, the Petersons didn’t want
The scandal to smear their “good” name.
They told friends and family
That Amanda was attending
A Swiss boarding school,
But the truth was they signed
Guardianship over to Lara and me.

We moved to the west coast,
I’m still working on boats,
Lara found a good job,
And Amanda,
Well, Amanda is doing great.

An Urban Prima Ballerina

My Modern Met

I first saw one
When I was visiting
Gigi’s apartment.

Mrs. Ortiz had the TV
On one of those cable networks
Dedicated to the arts,
While piles and piles
Of laundry covered the furniture
In the small living room.

As Gigi ran to the bedroom
She shared with her two sisters,
I stood transfixed
By the woman
With an impossibly short
Mini skirt over a bathing suit.

“You like?”
I heard the smile
In Mrs. Ortiz’s voice.
“She’s the prima ballerina,
The star of the ballet.

That afternoon,
I sat on the Ortiz’s floor,
My eyes trained on the telly
While the woman of the house
Told me everything she knew
Of ballerinas, ballets
And the like.

Momma couldn’t afford
To send me to ballet lessons,
She said as much
When I asked,
So every Tuesday and Thursday,
After school,
You would find me
At Gigi’s place
Watching ballerinas jump
And twirl with Mrs. Ortiz.

I would memorize
Every move
And on the way home
I would mimic
What I saw.
I would practice
And practice
Until I become known as
The neighbourhood ballerina.

Then one evening,
Just as I completed
A complicated routine,
A lone round of applause
Echoed in the alley.

In it’s entrance
Stood a petit woman
With an enviable presence.

“Come with me.”
An expression of admiration
Was written across her face.
She introduced herself
As the owner of a ballet school
Located a few blocks away.
She was directed to my alley
And there she would find
An urban prima ballerina.

And so,
I went with her.
She taught me
Free of charge.
We fought.
We reconciled
And under her tutelage,
I became a real ballerina.

Over the years
That followed,
I work very hard
Until I became
A renowned prima ballerina,
But always in my heart,
I will always be
An urban prima ballerina.

My Field Of Memories

My Modern Met

It was just before
The time when
The sun would
Dip low and kiss the earth.

I found the field
Empty and waiting
For me to return.
An old friend waiting
For an old friend.

I walked around
The field,
Stopping at places
That brought back
A memory.

The memory
Of pretending
I was a plane.
Arms stretched out
To the sides,
Dipping and soaring
As I imagined
An open sky
In front of me.

The memory
Of my first kiss,
Awkward, yet sweet.
The foundation
Or many more.
Some good,
Some bad.

The countless memories
Of dancing.
Dancing for joy,
Dancing to release stress,
Dancing just because.

Then there were
No more memories.
I had stopped
Visiting the field.

Life happened
And there was no time
To visit,
To create new memories.

Now my time
Has ended,
I will not be
Making new memories.

One moment,
I was in my hospital room,
The next moment,
I was walking
Through the woods
To the field.

I’ve said my goodbyes
To all my loved ones
Except one.

As this day ends,
Taking with it my life,
I say goodbye to
My field of memories.

Lover's Typewriter

My Modern Met

Lover was not a modern man.
He was one
Who still listened to records
And drove a 1976 hoopty.

Lover was a writer
With a love
For all things old.
His first love
Being his old school
Typewriter.

No word processor,
No personal computer,
No laptop
Graced his desk,
Nor will they ever
Cross the threshold
Of Lover’s apartment.

Late into the night,
I would be awaken
By the clickty clack
Of the old typewriter’s
Keys being struck
By his slender fingers.

I was never jealous
Of the inanimate object.
I saw it as a part of him.
Without it,
He would not be whole
And I loved him
In his entirety.

It also didn’t hurt
That it was on that typewriter
That he typed
Words so heavy with love
That they could not be spoken.

On that typewriter,
He typed a possible
Future for us.

On that typewriter,
He typed the possible
Names of our children.

Soon that typewriter
Held a special place
In my heart,
And I would fall asleep
To it’s clickity clack.

Lover was not a modern man
But he was my man.

Waiting

My Modern Met

Waiting,
Waiting for you,
Waiting for us,
Waiting for the bus
To take me from here.

To take me
To the city.
To take me
From the farm.

The farm
Where he touched me.
The farm
Where he raped me.
The farm
Where Mother looked away.

Mother looked away
Because she could do nothing,
Because she was afraid,
Because she wanted
To hold onto what she knew.

What she knew
Was the farm,
This man who left bruises,
Who provided shelter,
Who provided food,
Who provided.....
Babies.

I was waiting
For you
To give me strength
To wait for the bus
To take me
To the city
To give birth
To you.

My Future

My Modern Met

I didn’t plan
To be on this street.

It was a if my car
Drove me to this location.

The same car
Pappi bought from
The widow down the street
From our house
On the other side of town.

This side of town
Was older.
If I looked
Hard enough
I would see the ghost
Of the past bumping
Into each other.

I would probably
See hippies bumping
Into 14th Century farmers,
But I chose not to see,
Ignoring the past,
Looking for the future.

My future just
Stepped out of the building
Across the street.

He was tall,
Not attractive
In the contemporary fashion,
But he caught my eye
And as I got to know him,
He caught my heart.

I wanted to run over
To him to apologize
For all the awful
Things I said,
To ask him for forgiveness,
But I just stared at him.

Pride.
Fear.
Emotions held me
In my little white car
And watched him
Walk away.

He looked back,
Our eyes met,
But I didn’t move
And he continued walking.

I didn’t run
After him,
Nor did I start up
The car and drive home.

I just sat,
Watching
My future walk away.

Good Morning

(source: My Modern Met)

The sun peeked up out
Of the horizon
She never saw.

As she trudged
Up the steps
To her third floor walk up
She envisioned
Being sprawled across
The pillow top bed
In her cramped room.

Her roommate
Was probably fast asleep.
Lucy worked at the cafe
Off Broadway,
Her alarm would be going off
In half an hour.
She had the AM shift.

With out seeing
She walked through
The living room
And slipped into her room.

He was asleep,
He always promises
To stay up,
But she knew
He was incapable of that.

Although they've slept
In the same bed for months,
She still undressed with
Her back to him
Facing the rising sun,
Even if he was sleeping.

Instead of the comfy PJ's
She threw on her red lingerie,
The one she knew he loved.
She slipped into the bed,
Into his arms,
Into slumber.

Good morning.

Every Wednesday

Every Wednesday,
Not Tuesday,
Nor Thursday,
I would see her,
Brolly in hand,
Purple dotted with pink
Sheilding her from the sun.

I always found her
Perculiar,
And I wanted
To know more.

I asked everyone
I knew
And even those
I did not
About the woman
With the purple and pink brolly.

Unfortunately,
No one had a clue
Who I was talking about,
And even those
Whose faces showed familarity
Looked at me strangely,
Mumbling something
Then walked away.

On a Wednesday,
Not a Monday,
Nor a Friday,
I followed her.

Through the small streets
And the back alleys,
I followed her
And in the open areas
I kept my distance.

She walked to the boardwalk
And passed that to walk
To the water's edge.
There she stood and
There she looked out.

Minutes passed,
Then hours and
My curiousity grew,
My confidence grew.

I walked up to her,
Stood next to her,
Then I spoke to her.
"Who are you?"

She did not look at me
But she reponded
With a question
Draped in the clothes
Of a statement.
"You can see me?"

"I can see you
As I can see
The birds swooping
And diving above
The surf.
What are you
Looking at?"

"I am looking
At the storm
Brewing in the
Distance."

I saw nothing,
I searched the horizon
And I saw nothing.
I looked beside me
And I saw nothing.
She was gone.

Every Wednesday,
Not Sunday,
Nor Saturday
I saw the woman
With the purple and pink brolly.

As years pass,
I grew older,
I would talk to her,
She would disappear,
But she never grew old.

The woman with
The Purple and pink brolly.

The Old Man

Simone was late
With the stash.
Of all the places
We were to meet,
Did it have to be
Outside the bright yellow building
In the alley behind
Of the main thoroughfare.

As I waited,
An old man walked
Towards me,
A black dog traipsing behind.
He reminded me
Of my uncle
Who was much older
Than my mother,
But who possessed
The same mischevious glint
In the eye, just like Mama.

Instead of stopping
In front of the yellow building
He turned towards
The building across from it.
There is where I should
Have been waiting.
A nondescript building,
Grates on the window,
A reflection of the society.
A society, I was part of.

I watched him,
Weaving a web
Of stories that would
Culminate into his life.
I questioned if
An equally charming, old lady
Lived in that building,
Or did he live alone,
His only companion
Being the black dog.
Did he have kids,
Brothers, sisters,
Nieces, nephews?
Was he happy
Or sad?
How long did he live there?

As he disappeared
Into the building,
I ached for home,
I ached for my family,
I ached for all I left
To be here.
Why was I here?

Just as I was
About to leave,
I spotted Simone,
A brown envelop
Tucked under his arm.

He walked in that lazy gait
I grew accustomed to.
Then he fell.
I ran to him,
But he was dead,
Blood flowering from his chest.

I looked around quickly,
Staying low in case
The shooter was still taking aim.
Nothing happened.

Then I saw a glint
In a window of the building
Across from the yellow building.
I walked closer
Trying to get a better look.

There in the window
Stood the old man
Putting away a sniper rifle,
Taking his time
As though he had all the time
In the world.

He looked down at me,
The mischevious glint in his eyes.
I ran back to Simone
And grabbed the envelop.
And I continued to run.
I kept running,
Not looking back.

The next morning,
Simone’s death was in the papers.
They called him a career criminal,
Associated with the drug trade,
With organized crime,
With arms running,
With the sex trade.

I later found out
That he crossed the wrong person,
Traded the wrong girl.
This was part
Of the world I lived in.

From that day forth,
I kept my eye out
For the old man
Who reminded me of my uncle.
The old man
With the black dog
And the sinister history.