The Kiwi Fruit -- A Villanelle
The people, playing their love on a lute
Trying to find the light in every day
And yet, beside them lies the kiwi fruit.
The life of the Earth lies in its taproot
The celebration of the solstice day
The people, playing their love on a lute.
It is a human’s promise to salute
They swear to protect all of life’s mainstay
And yet, beside them lies the kiwi fruit.
The promise is broken when they pollute
They have a new debt of death to repay
The people, playing their love on a lute.
A sacred animal they hunt and shoot
And the loss is much to their dismay
And yet, beside them lies the kiwi fruit.
The species they’ve killed wont reconstitute
With fierce hate they have turned the blue skies grey
The people, playing their love on a lute
And yet, beside them lies the kiwi fruit.
#poetry #villanelle
A Softness
It lays there, a softness, wavering
Its petals not yet ready to bloom
But it dances all the same
It’s fierce, almost, the softness, I mean
The radiating power of calm longevity
Overshadows the hungry morning mist
As it hangs in the air
Obliterating
It’s sprawled there, a kindness, perishing
Nimble in fingers yet fragile still
Flakes wash away, stubbornly
It’s magical, almost, the way it persists
Tight smiles on long drawn faces
Yet not purely human
It watches the clocks tick
Waiting
It sits beside us, a terror, eating
Like a shadow, in envelops
The world suffocates, yet survives
It’s beautiful, almost, how it lives in the eyes
A stressed life of perception and grace
Obese in fairytales and smothering fat
It murmurs to the heart and the mind
Panicking
It marches by, a courage, fleeting
It sings a song of the past and future
But, in its moment of glory, leaves the present behind
It’s scary, almost, when it floats away
Its follicles scream delightedly, but it still fears
All of its scars are dents from a natural wound
The beast quivers in the dark
Pretending
It lingers on, a sadness, listening
Its brow, caked in dust
It sits on a fallen tree, and paints
It’s simple, almost, the loud emptiness
Gazettes of pale opportunity emerge
Hanging beside a man of knowledge
It remains, erupting in a gale of yellow leaves
Laughing
It whispers here, the loss, painfully
A frost that melts without dignity
Yearning to be free and watch the world burn
It’s peaceful, almost, nesting in its cage
But we can both hear it now, wrestling with the lock
And it stays quiet, a humble being
Our icy skyscrapers hollow themselves out
Dying alone
#poetry #freeverse
Beauty Queen
Her eyes filtered over the glasses
Like sunspots through wheat fields &
The music blares an unholy yellow
& she sings into the screaming heat of bodies
& lip gloss & sequin dresses &
Wiry hair & artificial smoke & her breath pops
Like bubble gum & the bass strums a heart beat
Into the onlookers & the dancers & the drunkards
& she can smell the drugs in their sweat & she
Can feel their eyes on her fur coat
Watching her body & the music
Isn’t enough to keep her forgetting
& The smoke suffocates her in
Memories & the braid in her hair swings
Like a horse tail flicking away flies
But this time the insects buzz with insanity &
This time the scrotty guy in the corner
Tucks more bills into his sleeve & her eyes are
Drawn to his stubby fingers and the heavy
Bottle with the heavier heart & her intermission
Is fruitless & her voice wants attention
But her body is where their eyes
Linger & the flies swarm her tight blonde braid &
She can’t focus & the lights blur
& the disco ball rains on soulless bodies & they
Dance surrounded by old tattoos & melted
Ice cream & human waste that didn’t belong
Anywhere else & her sequins glare into the night
& she’s terrified but her words lapse over them
In awe & longing & her eyes cascade over them
Churning in the deep & she sings
Absent of her lungs & heart & mouth &
She spills her soul onto the floor
With the rotten piss & old drinks &
Glistening sweat & her sunglasses are pulled
Low in the midnight light & her lips
Purse with sorrow & she lifts her hand
To her mouth & the white capsule falls in
& she swallows her memories with an
Oblivion of hexagon shaped glasses &
Her knees hit the floor & it is finally quiet
#poetry #andpoems #andpoem #&poems #&poem