Catch Some Wide Eye

Archive for the tag “relationships”

Love’s Lullaby

finding my dead rhythm to set it in the grave
sometimes we awake to love, and sometimes we abstain
he took my heart out with him; i hope it will behave
sometimes we awake to love, and sometimes we refrain
in a field of withered roses, maybe we all look the same



slices of soul
dripping with succulent nectar
as the juices of my heart
dribble down your chin


are the demon howl
of my soul

Pose and Repose

defenses wrecked
from years of scraping
my soul through sieves

scoop it into your hands
and sift
the screaming from the laughter

A Couple of Meditations

folding you into my thoughts is a luxury
smooth skin on freshly laid linen

Parents Batting for Home

your hands hit hard
your example hits harder


give me your poison and fatten me up
i suck out the words but the wound’s filling up
so i push on the keys and light another up
just a midnight melody and you’ve made the cut

chewing up, choking up climb to the top
i’d write your heart reckless but that’s not enough
light up and fill up and fatten me up
i’d think this was love when you’re feeling me up
suck out the soul but my brain’s filling up.

so star in my play and have all things your way
you’re the beautiful, wonderful almost broadway
spinning my memories, feeling them up
you’re off again, on again, claw to the top

chewing up, choking up, climb to the top
i’d write your heart reckless but that’s not enough
light up and fill up and fatten me up
i’d think this was love when you’re feeling me up
suck out the soul but my brain’s filling up.

now you’re the director just chewing me up,
the stage lights are staring, the audience is glaring
the audio’s shrieking, my headaches are leaking
the fuzz sets in again, off again, choking me up

is this your line or mine, and is anyone here
can anyone hear the venom you laid
all typed out page by page

chewing up, choking up climb to the top
i’d write your heart reckless but that’s not enough
light up and fill up and fatten me up
i’d think this was love when you’re feeling me up
suck out the soul but my brain’s filling up.


A bubble.


here is my heart
the stretched
bloated bubble


and here is the pin
gleaming, glinting



lemonade stand days
to boy band phase
that girl flutters her lashes
and then she’s gone
through the prom up-dos
to her first I-dos
your girl flutters her lashes
until she’s gone
whether death do us part
or she takes out your heart
that girl flutters her lashes
and then she’s gone

but i was always here
in my rawest impression
i was cradled by fear
guarding my sweet confession
wrapped up in waves of the dearest depression
when you flutter your lashes
or i take out my heart
(as it crumbles apart)
i was courted by fear
(so if you ever draw near)
and i am already gone
you just remember this song

Happy Valentine’s Day- For the Romantic in You

Nothing says I love you like chalk-flavored candies in a pink box. Yum! Diabetes by the time I’m thirty. Happy Sugar Day!

Anti-Valentine’s Day Poem

my seal has been punched open
i am forever broken
don’t buy this cap of lead
spread honey in my bed
toss my body in the woods
i am but broken goods

Rhyming Love Poem

like two still ponds hidden among trees
brimming with moonlight in the soft twilight
your dark eyes, lashes, bring me to my knees
my songbird heart cannot withstand the fight
my will, it smashes, emotions dart
like pale boomerangs hovering on the breeze
thrown with skill, a dying art
and one quick breath, it snatches
your eyes, your cheeks, your lashes
your mouth, an ember, lips apart
so where i end, there you will start

The Not So Absent-Minded Professor

It’s the woman who made me analyze the Oreo box. Contemporary Art and Criticism every other day right before lunch, my stomach growling, she went from discussions of lengthy packets on semiotics and orientalism that I had never bothered to read straight to that frustratingly empty cookie dispenser.

“Think about the font,” she said, wiggling the container at us from the front of the asbestos-laden classroom, her sonorous alto voice competing with the rattling air vents for our attention, “how white and creamy it is. This wasn’t done by accident. Even the background, the blue. Think about the use of a cool color rather than a warmer one. How would that affect your reaction?”

I pretend to ponder this while desperately praying that the hollow grinding in my abdomen isn’t too audible. Not too many days afterwards, she tested our ability to critically assess design by showing us the Burger King website. The woman was killing me. She had unassuming medium-length straight blond hair and an eye color that didn’t really stick with me. Only in her mid-thirties, she was already on her second husband and about 75% of the way through her goal of visiting every bit of art she lectured on. She had the slides to prove it. Well not the husband bit. That part came up one day during a lecture about use of line.

“See how the artist decided to keep the stray lines here, giving it a sense of imperfection? The choice to keep the mistake visible is a very interesting one. And you see how sharp these lines are on the frame of the body and how thin the figure is? Think of how painful it is to have to deal with such bony protruding hips,” her mouth almost immediately retracting the statement after it slipped out of her abundant, matronly frame. She didn’t actually have children, and I don’t think she really wanted to. In a way, we were her children already, grown adults though we supposedly were.

One day she decided to treat us to ice cream after a voluntary weekend excursion cleaning up the beaches. It’s silly that it took that long for me to really like her, and I suspect the ice cream had something to do with it. I was already nearing graduation with copious recitals and exit exams encroaching upon the relative peacefulness of my consciousness. I’m not sure how we ended up side by side that weekend, but her warm smile and knowing eyes disarmed me. We struck up a conversation, and she inquired as to my graduation date. I’ll never forget her response.

“Wow. 2006. It’s funny; it sounds so unreal. Being in this new century makes things sound so much farther in the future than they really are. Like it sounds like we’ll never make it that far.”

She never did. An aneurysm swept her away from us one cruel Good Friday morning. The woman who encouraged my writing, fostered my ability to critically perceive of the world around me and, yes, took us on a random field trip to the mall across the street to discuss the effect of shop design on our spending habits- she died long before I ever knew what she meant to me. But doesn’t it always work out that way?


Italo Calvino said: The more enlightened our houses are, the more their walls ooze ghosts. Describe the ghosts that live in this house:


Image credit: “love Don’t live here anymore…” – © 2009 Robb North – made available under Attribution 2.0 Generic

Images are usually what flash first and foremost in our thoughts as silent detailers of that monstrously complex world beyond us. Words are simply one more human tool, a project to categorize and tame a universe of tangible and unknowable things.

However, the musicality of this images’ title is what burst to the forefront of my consciousness.

‘Love don’t live here anymore’

Take that bitter, statement, the tang of truth rooted in action. Let it sink into the forgotten parts of you.

‘Love don’t live here anymore.’

Really? I wanted to shout this message at the top of my lungs, something so tintillatingly true for more than some demure cottage in the woods, but for an entire generation at large and lost in this intergalactic web, the fine tubing of faux interconnectedness. To put it more bluntly, I start singing the picture, through the lens of Estonian pop artist ad singer, Kerli.


Promise Ring
It took me longer than most my peers, and I had to suffer through many years of heartbreak. Looking back at it, though, my best friend got proposed to in a parking lot. This, here, is just my promise ring. There really is truth to the phrase, “Good things come to those who wait.”


i couldn’t think
think of which words to say
so i let you slip
slip on by me
while i remained silent
while all the world
collapsed at my feet
leaving me hungry
but for what
i cannot say

For Katie

you are not built like a barbie doll
thin-legged, glassy stare, perfectly pink lips
real women are fluid, not stiff mis-creations
we are soft, pliable, motherly, strong
embrace the form you were given
and accept nothing less
when the howling he-wolves turn to you
you deserve better
you deserve better than this
embrace the form you were given
and as your mind grows, blossoms
challenged by the words, shapes, numbers
we shove into your eyes
remember, to fight is wisdom
to rise above the glassy stare, anorexic hips
is the glorious form you were given
so accept nothing less


And in the sky,
the rustling of hundreds of thousands of wings
each black as char
signaling the end of an age.

With each flutter,
the world grows more black,
more imprisoned by the ones with the freedom to fly.

They clog our air,
they swallow the sun,
they eat our minds.

heavy day

too much death
for one soul
to take

no loved one’s arms
to hold me in

no love
much death
one soul


Inscription on Urn

goodnight, my lover
it is time to go
to that mystic place
where sleep cannot cover you
with her foggy kisses

my love for you is a lullaby

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