Meeting Andy

"What's his name?"
I looked up
To find a little boy.

Skin as pale as
The snow heaps
I used to avoid
While looking for
A place to sleep.

I looked up
And around, anticipating
A young mother to
Swoop in and extract
The little boy from
The black street walker.

She never came,
Instead the little boy
Stood waiting for my
Answer as he patted
My mongrel of a dog.

"It doesn't have a name,"
I said at last.

"But what do you
Call him?" he asked.

"Her."

"You call him, 'her'?"
His eyes opened wide
At the ludicrosity of
Calling a boy dog, 'Her'.

"It's female, kid and
I call her 'Dog',"
The dog looked up at me.
"See, she responds to 'Dog'."

"My name is Andrew,
But everyone calls
Me Andy," the little boy said,
Continuing his conversation
With a complete stranger.

"Look, kid...."

"Andy."

"Look, Andy,
I don't need
To know your name.
In fact, where's your mommy?"

He looked down
At the dog, talking more
To her than to me,
"She's dead."

"What about your daddy?"
I was grabbing for anything.

He shook his head,
"He's dead, too."
He looked up and
I saw unshed tears
In the small boy's eyes.

The thick, ice shell
Around my heart broke
And melted away.
"My name is Angella,
But everyone calls
Me, Angie."

A smile spread
Across his face,
"It's nice meeting
You, Angie," he said.

"It's nice meeting
You, Andy."

It's Complicated

source

"It's complicated."

She sat in the middle

Of my living room,

In the middle of my

Life's debris, reading

A book.

"What's complicated?"

I asked, I always had

A problem called

Curiosity.

Looking up for a second,

Before returning to her book,

"Everything.

Everything is complicated,"

She said, matter-of-factly.

I felt the beginnings of

A deep conversation

And I wondered if

I was prepared to go

To a place she knew

Very well.

I was not prone to

Heavy thoughts, I 

Left philosophy to the

Likes of Socrates, Plato

And her, 

The woman 

Who would wear 

A top that skimmed

Her hips with nothing

But panties while 

Reading Nietzsche.

"Everything is complicated

Because we can't handle

Simple."

She decided to take 

The reins and lead me

Down the path.

"We can't imagine that

Life is simple so we 

Tell ourselves that it's

Complicated."

She caught my interest

So I sat down to listen.

"If given the choice

Between simple and 

Complex, we always

Choose complex.

We love a problem to

Solve."

"What is a problem

You are trying to solve,"

I asked.

She looked up

And leveled her

Gaze with mine,

"I'm trying to figure

Out how to stop

Loving you."

She was right,

She was always right.

It is complicated.

See You Around

source

"What are you looking at?"

She looked up at me,

Distracted. Swimming

Upstream in her personal

River of her thoughts 

To the spot on the bank

Upon which I stood.

"Nothing, just lost

In thought," she gave 

Me a small smile.

"What are you thinking

About?" I had been here

For over an hour, trying

To engage her in some

Sort of conversation.

"Nothing of importance,"

She said after a long bout

Of silence. 

I wanted to scream,

I wanted to shout,

I wanted to take her

By her shoulders and

Shake her, instead 

I said "Oh."

She was looking out

Of the window again,

And I felt dismissed.

"Well, I have some 

Errands to run, so

I will see you around,"

I said making my way

To the door.

"See you around,"

She said without looking.

I never saw her around,

As time passed, it was something 

That didn't impact on me.

Somehow when I closed 

The door that last time,

I closed it for good.

Time passes and people

Grow apart and that's life.

Even the people you thought

Would be in your life forever

They, too, fade away.


Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets

Willard

Willard.
Willard was his name.
Not William.
Not Willy,
Nor Will or Bill,
But Willard.

Willard stood 6ft tall,
Maybe more but
I never had a
Measuring tape around
When he came by
The farmhouse that
Pa built.

In those times,
They called it courting,
I called it sniffing around,
But Ma and Pa liked it
As every time Willard came by
He would bring news
For Ma's ear or
An extra hand for Pa.

As for me, he would
Bring wild flowers.
A whole mess of them,
Ma would have me smile
And put them in a pretty
Vase bought specially for them.

I didn't like Willard,
But I didn't hate him
Either. He was like
A stranger you saw
Often enough that
You end up liking them.

First, I like the way
He laughed nervously when
I told a blue joke.
Then the way his sandy hair
Would catch the last rays
Of summer sun.

I liked the freckles
That came out in May
And said goodbye
When the harvest moon
Said hello.

I liked his smile,
Not the nervous one,
Or the polite one,
I liked the one that
Was full of mischievous
That mirrored mine at times.

Or the one that
Could only be described
As proud when I told
Mary Sue, that little know it all,
Where to put her
Pretty, little nose.

When a summer turned
Into a year and
A year into two,
When puberty brought
New surprises and emotions,
Willard was there.

When Pa got sick
And Ma became Ma,
Pa and Pa's nurse,
Leaving me to fend for myself,
Willard was there.

Then Willard was gone
For a spell or two
And I felt a sadness
I never knew could exist
Leaving me listless and cagey.

Then he came back and
I swear, though Ma said
Not to, it was like
The sun came out from
Behind the clouds.

When he came back,
He took me down by
The river where the big
Oak tree stands
And out of his pocket
Came a ring.

I said yes before
He could ask the question.
Yes, I love him,
Yes, I will marry him,
Yes, I will live with him
In sunshine and rain.

Willard is his name.
Not William,
Not Willy,
Not Will or Bill
But Willard,
The man I love.


Submitted to Poets United's Poetry Pantry

Untitled

source




"Ricky called,"
Jasmine was leaning
In the doorway
To my bedroom,
Thumbing through a magazine.

"That's nice," I replied
From under the bed.
I was searching for
The red bag that matched
The red heels I was wearing.

"He asked for you,"
There was something different
In Jasmine's voice, but
I continued on my search,
Trying my best to act normal.

"Did he say why?" I asked,
Pulling the bag out and
Standing up. Jasmine was
Not at the door but
Right behind me.

"Are you seeing Ricky?"
Her eyes slits when I turned
To face her. They were
Searching for the truth as
Though expecting me to lie.

"No, why would I
Be seeing your boyfriend?"
I scoffed, walking around her.
I started to put things
In the red bag, hoping this
Was the end of the conversation.

"He broke up with me,"
Jasmine fell onto my bed
Dramatically. "He found
Someone else," she croaked
Before sobbing loudly.

"Forget about him, you
Deserve better, you'll see,"
I said, patting her leg.

"Oh no, is that the time!
Sorry Jazz, I have to go."

I slung my bag onto
My shoulder, grabbed my
Phone and my keys and
Ran out of the apartment.
The sound of Jasmine's sobs
Following me down the hall.

I met up with my date
At the corner of our block.
We made our way to the
Restaurant.

"So you broke up with Jazz?"
I looked up at Ricky.

"And you didn't tell her
I broke up with her for you."
His response was a statement
Not a question. "She doesn't
Want me. She never did.

"How do you know
I want you?" I asked,
Following the maitre d' to our table.
"How do you know I'm only
Using you to hurt her?"

"I just know," he said,
A smug smile plastered on
His face. "Plus you're not like that.
She is, but you're not."

The evening passed with
Good food, good wine
And good conversation,
The roommate and the ex-boyfriend
Enjoying each others' company.

Mario invited me up for a night cap
But I declined as I had an early morning.
As I walked home,
I slipped off my red heels.

I found Jasmine fast asleep
On the couch in the living room,
"I Love Lucy" on the TV.
I turned it off and
Made my way to my room.

"Lucy......?"

"Yeah, Jazz,"
I turned back to look
At her.

"I love you, Lucy,"
Jazz said, drowsily.

"I know, I love you, too,"
I turned and went to my room.
I locked the door and
Fell into bed, knowing that
That was the last time
Jasmine will ever say that.

I love Jasmine and
I love Ricky and
They both love Lucy.

My Best Friend

She is my everything,
My cheerleader
When I become my own heckler.
My moon,
When the nights
Of my life seem too dark.
My inspiration
When I'm blocked
By the wall
That stops me from creating.

Without her,
I am nothing,
Just an empty shell
On the landscape of life.
Without her,
My sanity is a fond memory,
That is fading fast
Into the dark abyss
Of insanity.

She is you,
You are my friend,
You are my best friend
And I can't think
Of life without you.
Thanks and I love you.

(pic: vi.sualize.us)

We were friends

When we were young,
We would sit
Under the tamarind tree
Upon the roots
Who grew tired
Of the earth
And wanted to see the sky.

We would talk
Of dreams,
Or our futures
Together and apart.
We did not know
That our paths
Would part
And only cross
Once or twice
In our lifetimes.

In that time
And space,
We were sisters,
Bound by friendship,
Bound by trust,
Bound by mutual appreciation.

In that time
And space,
We were friends.

*The last poetry night was on the theme of friendship, and I didn't have any poems on friendship so I wrote this. I also started one and composed one in my head. That night I started with The Poet's Call, went into the one composed in my head, Roots, this poem, then Daddy-o. The last one seems to be a favourite.

Best Friend

She is my everything,
My cheerleader
When I become my own heckler.
My moon
When the nights
Of my life seem too dark.
My inspiration
When I'm blocked
By the wall
That stops me from creating.

Without her,
I am nothing,
Just an empty shell
On the landscape of life.
Without her,
My sanity is a fond memory
That is fading fast
Into the dark abyss
Of insanity.

She is you,
You are my friend,
You are my best friend
And I can't think
Of life without you.
Thanks and I love you.