How can something so beautiful become so distorted and ugly?
lightning splintering jagged
edge to edge
Not quite shards,
New space created
One to many
With hope and
Not quite shards,
Rumbling trucks pass by
Rattle the smallest piece
A glinting shower
All shards now
And an empty
It seems our agreement shifted. And if I wanted to I would. If I believed anything other than the past would repeat itself, I’d behave differently. If I had it in me, I’d be right back on board. But,
I don’t have it in me. I don’t believe anything other than the past will repeat itself. In my deepest depths, recesses of my heart and mind, all my hidden coves, I know that nothing will change. I know that I will go through this over and over until I’m completely destroyed. Angry. Hateful. Resentful. Incapable.
And that’s not who I want to be. Not who I am. Not a person I’m willing to become.
I believe in goodness, in love. I believe in awareness, in knowing when you’re done, in trusting to know when we’ve reached an impasse.
It’s not that your aren’t worth it. You are my greatest love. You are everything I hoped and ever wanted. You are a kaleidoscope.
But I have scar tissue built up around my ability to go back. It’s marbled, knobby, held fast. I can see no, feel no, believe no other way.
The distance stretched too far this time. My heart is hardened. My hope proved insufficient. Asking for work, effort, belief, is out of the question. I’m tired. And I can’t.
Each piece you hand out may never return. Giving it all away so freely, you must know dangers await. Without a string attached, it won’t know to return. How will you have more than what you’ve got, if you’re slapping it in the hand of every stranger that walks by?
Surely, you could take more care. Keep it closer. Dole it out, once worth has been assessed? It’ll all be gone and you’ll be left empty handed. Hollow-hearted. Weak and sad.
I keep all of mine in here. See? It’s just there. In that pile. Waiting. For the right time. The right one. The one that deserves it. Earned it. Needs it. I’ll be fine sitting here, watching you empty of your abundance.
Fine, go. All I need is just there. Under that layer of dust. Beneath the lost and lonely. Don’t worry, I know what to do. While you dump yours all over, I’ll have mine right here. Close and always waiting.
For your unfettered consideration
and undoubtedly refined thought,
tell me how you interpret
all of these changes
that have come unexpected,
unannounced, and unwanted
into the lives of everyone
who manages to pay attention
and notice what wrongs have
been done, ignored, and
tragically encouraged with
the enthusiasm of
a two year-old child
and the recklessness of one
who knows nothing of struggle,
heartache, and loss.
Mighty 5 … in fifty minutes Workshop Margaret Pettis Poem 3: Goal to write on sentence (about 20 lines) that is one perfect sentence. Showing that I can control language syntactically, grammatically, logically. with 5 words per line.
Linda Pastan The New Dog that is one sentence that is grammatically perfect. See below.
The New Dog
Into the gravity of my life, the serious ceremonies of polish and paper and pen, has come this manic animal whose innocent disruptions make nonsense of my old simplicities-- as if I needed him to prove again that after all the careful planning, anything can happen.
It is the will of the Deceivers to keep you distracted.
It is the will of the Distracted to see everything.
Why do they do that? Cut everything down?
They want to be in charge. Kill it all so they can decide what is allowed to grow.
But nothing’s growing.
No. Nothing is.