Poetry Portfolio

and all at once, I dreamt that pomegranate seeds grew in every human brain, and that usually they wouldn’t sprout.

but just then, I found myself a-wandering the local wood, and came across such a specimen.

she lay in the marsh, 

nose and mouth just barely above the surface, 

with great vines exiting those same cavities, almost as if in song, in vast production of some indescribable lyrical composure, 

unbeholden to those of us without such a sprout…

I myself find some sensual longing for a growth, or death perhaps.

she’s no longer conscious in our world, the one below, however, she is quite intact with;

the ruptures between our world and those next seem not to apply, as those producing a forbidden fruit only add to that ethereal power, 

and if I were to eat such a thing, an eased release would be blessed to me, though evil nonetheless…

and my own body would be added to that marsh, growing pomegranates for the rest of eternity. 

the wispy curls of smoke gently billow from my cup

i found myself at the table, staring into the kitchen, 

barely feeling my own breath as the entire house felt tense; poised even.

i knew he was upstairs, maybe in wait, but perhaps more in hesitation, and bubbling with his constant anticipation, as if it was time. 

quite possibly that hour had passed, and we both found ourselves reaching out, grasping for a hand no longer there between one another…

even with that, he loved me. 

that much i knew for sure, it was more reluctance on my part with regard to accepting it.

sun rays fill my vision, as they typically do when i awake…

this time, though, i found myself 

wrapped, curled.

in his arms. 

a safe cocoon, as it may be described by an outsider, and it was, in a sense. 

almost as if i were spinning my own silk wrap, preparing to evolve,

to transform completely after laying with him felt quite regular… 

as it was resetting for me, to feel above it all, floating outside the skirts of my daily life and that of society — but that sun, She tickled my cheeks, gently waking me from my soft slumber as if to say, “rebirth? no, reawaken into your Self, my child.”, and it felt just like that, like waking from a long life-dream, and finding myself being more aware than ever. 

perhaps even describing it as waking up for the first time, but being grown into my being.

“forget it all my dear, as it’s one thing for the sun to touch you, and another for it to trick you altogether.”, causing such a spiral of Want and Hope, all stemming from one illucid moment of dehydration and doubt — She prodded me abruptly now, the sun, and i woke in the fields, among the whispers of tall grasses brushing up against one another, and the swirls of the clouds just beginning their darkened assault of blues and grays in the sky, 

so amid my resting within the earthy scent, and those pensively chaotic grasses, it all was such a homely notion. but with finding myself alone, that closeness, and that intimacy from my Sun was missing, as was the grasp of his arms…

and it all felt more demeaning, as if She was judging my actions leading up to the field scene, and still more within with that angry glower of lightning behind the tunneling billows above me, as if it all was my fault that i had not woken up in his arms,

and all i could do was run. 

The tangle of the forest in his hair, the silence of the woodland in his eyes

An ethereal scream of his voice—just a distant screech of birdsong could reach me before, 

now ugly rejects, states of gross audio would hit me in waves, thumbling through my eardrums and I’d hardly even hear what was being spoken by anyone—no words uttered made sense to me,

I’d rather find myself rendered deaf and petite than to ever return to such a state of misremembering and lack of understanding.

home is the first grave, 

where parts of myself had to be put to bed, not buried, 

no even more so than that, 

covered, wisply grasping at air, but failing to return…

I needed to feel that she was gone, like so, 

beyond recovered, beyond what world I knew and cursed.

and yet, she flew. 

home is the first grave,

where parts of myself had 

to be put to bed, 

not buried, 

but covered, and weakly grasping at air,

perhaps even floating among the clouds. 

Though failing to return…

Echoes run through all lines of my life, 

like little reverbs, and reminders of days quite gone by, 

actions left unacted. 

Things left unsaid. 

(reminders…)

They all live inside my mind, 

as vividly as they had been when experienced in collision of my life…

The time that has passed doesn’t bury it, 

yet even so, I know I’ve forgotten that initial home. 

To see the ocean is said to be more than wary of its power, 

its vast, hauntingly murderous capabilities —

though any time that I have viewed it as such, it’s more than a force in that way.

A gale, gusting, cackling, crashing, 

with all the versions of my sadness emitted; and it will be there that I find myself. 

In the punching of the sands, with tears flying in salty sprays, 

the gentle weeps on a calmer passing

with a tender swipe against the rocky coasts.

Tick-tock and it’s still rippling, 

even as I still cry, my ocean always forming with the wispy winds, 

colliding with my thoughts, 

Always trailing behind that soft murmur and mantra of 

“i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you…I LOVED YOU!”

And I find myself once again, 

on that beach, by those extraneous boulders, 

crying to the thought of your name. 

“kiss me?”, that’s what the foam of the ocean whispers to me as I sit beside the waves…

she’s projecting, that much I know.

the desperate statements of the lovers, those that are bent on breaking,

almost as though the trickles and waves could heal such fractures. 

ruptures to my heart feel quite the same, as it’s all I wish to say the same, 

begging for a connection in the latest of nights, and earliest of mornings, with you, 

by my side.

Goodbye, for it’s no such use of mine, to linger, and think what if, 

for the rest of my days, as we travel from nook-to-nook

though you’ll never lay your head on my pillow

or by my side.

As you’ve committed your spirit elsewhere, longing it through the world, 

and I’ll always find myself whispering our “bye”’s with nothing more 

than a look, between our eyes.

is it quite so horrid, 

that when, in the brief 

moment that the jealousy

does take a hold over me, 

that I wish for nothing more 

than for her to go far away

from existence, and leave you in despair. 

but to be mine, my own

within the suns and moons above, 

i’d love nothing more. 

“How well it sits on you…”

a flight of a whisper, I barely 

heard her speak, 

The words stayed no longer

than the toss of a petal, 

a leaf, falling gently on the 

forested floor

I frowned in thought, 

wondering how it came to be just the

two of us, 

surrounded by the trees, 

the graves of some 

Forgotten…and us.

Her. A most dazzling streak of light and Love in my eyes. 

Her smile, those mannerisms, 

in which she’d always 

quietly compliment

something about me, 

those dark eyes piercing into my soul; I could 

hardly meet such a 

strong gaze…

Just us, in the woods, 

side-to-side, we danced…

I, drifting about from 

stone-to-stone

Her, in pursuit, or haunting,

some might say, as usual. 

just us. 

surrounded by fallen 

leaves, barren trees…

the greens of the mosses,

the browns-reds-oranges

of the landscapes

and the stones beneath my feet.

“How well it sits on you…”

She repeated herself, 

Speaking more breathlessly

now, and with a glance

backward, I noticed the 

pink in her cheeks, and 

breath misting about

the aires.

I blushed, myself, at her

adorability, her

senseless childlike behavior

one second, and her

confidence the next…

how thoughtless of me, 

as it was something 

amusing, or perhaps not, but

I laughed.

Stopping at a stone, more crackled and 

sinking than the others, 

I laughed, and laughed. 

Bemused, but also appalled

at the pure idiocy of the 

situation…

It was just a step or two 

beyond my own where 

she stood, now fully red

in the face, but determined.

There was no stopping her

when she got like this, 

as I well knew, but 

loved to push her to…

As she creeped ever closer, 

it came to be still, 

the winds between the 

bushes and twigs, and whistle of 

distant whispers halted, 

their absence presenting 

their prestigious presence. 

She kissed me. 

And it was still, much more

still than I’d ever expect 

the achings of nature

to be, as if they were 

all waiting with 

bated breath for us

to collide, and even 

stiller, for the continual 

collision, which She 

willingly provided.

Once finished, she swept away

with a whisper of skirts, 

and I could only find

myself with a ghoulish 

smile, and a moan echoing

in my ears with a “how well it sits on you…”,

drifting about with my 

tears. 

I felt tender, reaching for your hand — though my fingers found themselves trembling to open the strings around my heart…

as I traced your palm, 

we spoke, 

and it felt as if we were both hiding something from each other.

and yet I could reach you. your eyes. 

they mirrored my own, with the want. 

it fills, and all it truly does is that; consume, eat, kill even…

hellish, it’s nothing else but hellish without you by my side. 

I don’t yet know how to manage, when all it takes is a breath, 

a great wallowing gasp for air, as all you do 

with those hands, and 

those gentle brown eyes makes me breathless, and empty. 

THE WANT IN ME: 

I find it as vast as all the seven seas, 

and I cannot reach you. I cannot breach that wall you have placed, 

yet, you beg me to break. 

THOSE EYES!

look away — the wall, the ground, the sky, the stars, anything but you!

the aching, the need in your eyes I see, 

but will not fill, as it will not achieve for all I can do is to wait here, 

for you.