Arting Again

The Fall

 (As I wrote this poem, I heard it to the tune of Wicked Little Town from Hedwig and the Angry Inch. The words are mine, but the "melody" in my head is blatantly nicked from the Hedwig score.)

The smell of fall is in the air
The golden leaves around you
Remind you he's not there
Remembering the summer heat
and how he left you incomplete
With every one you meet
You leave a piece of you

You know there's only you to blame
He disappeared fast as he came
The hottest flame that burns
Is fire that burns blue

You write his name in all your books
Try not to notice every
disappointed look
You don't feel happy, don't feel sad
Can you miss what you never had?
Were you just mad or naive
that you fell so hard?

You know there's only you to blame
No time for sorrow or for shame
You chose to play his game
and he held all the cards

So now October's left you here
You can't ignore the change
You wear it far too clear
And though it all seems so unfair
He walked away without a care
You barely knew what love was
Believed in what you saw

You know there's only you to blame
You're sure that he forgot your name
You hardly know yourself
and everything feels raw

You are so naked and alone
Your beating heart has frozen
Turned itself to stone
You have no doubt that you'll survive
Convince yourself that you're alive
The prize you set your sight on
Cost you much too dear

You know there's only you to blame
You walked straight into his cold flame
And now you stand in ashes
Choking on your fear

And there is only you to blame
And you will never be the same
The headlights on the night streets
Blind as they come near
The headlights on the night streets
Illuminate your tears.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Friday Night Raw

and now for the inspiration: John Cameron Mitchell singing Wicked Little Town. Stephen Trask's lyrics are much better than mine!

Distance = Pace X Time

source

Perched on the ledge of adolescence, we

were too timid to jump

but too bold to uproot and climb

down

So we skimmed the surface

Tasted only a slice when we wanted

the whole pie

Curious fury stilled

only to shake loose each time

Your eyes shone blue topaz

Your tender growl

mingled with shrill, girl giggles

Green passion urged me onward

Propelled me

toward your freckled mouth

But you were wending your way toward

someone else

something more typical than I

could offer

So I stood in your dust

Bit my maiden aunt lips and

Tasted  grit in my teeth.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Get Listed (the Grapeling Way)

Thinking About Hydrangeas

photo by mindlovemisery

“He was more of a father to me

than my own lousy father,” said she

I wondered how bad it really must be

for an eight year-old to say those words

 so casually

Then she said, “Light blue

is my favorite color.”

Just another fact

And I pause to react,

“You really miss your grandfather.”

This is, after all, about grief

Speaking it to give some relief

So she speaks

Her words explode,

bullets searching for a target

Granddad let her spend the night

when Mom and Dad would scream and fight

Now she has nowhere to go

to escape the horror show that plays

itself out when Dad starts to drink

And she thinks he learned it

from his own dad

The cursing, that is,

The alcohol, too

And one time, he choked Mom

til she was almost blue

The dog is scared of him

‘cuz he get a little intense

She tries to make it all make sense when

anyone can see it’s just insane

“Are we going swimming if it starts to rain?” she asks me

And we’re off on something else now

and I remember reading about a flower 

whose color depends on the soil pH

What color will she bloom, growing in hate?

Who will nourish her now or

Is it too late

for this flower to flourish?

for this girl of eight? 

submitted for Prompt 13, Photo Inspiration, at mindlovemisery 

and dVerse Poets Pub, Open Link Night 106

and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday

Love Letter from a Gun to a Hoodie

Thanks for covering for me, baby

You make my work so much easier

No one paid me a bit of attention;

they were all looking at you

I did the dirty work;

you took the blame

That’s real love

You let me do my job

with impunity

I kill the children;

you go on trial

Thanks for covering for me, baby.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Mini Challenge, A Love Letter

Summer Is the Devil's Friend

I open the door
The devil belches in my face
His hellish breath,
hot, sticky, fetid,
envelopes my body in a
sickening slurry
I detect the stench of his perfume
Notes of decay
and dog shit
drift together in the thick air
I want to leave
but there is nowhere to go
I search my conscience for sin
What mistake put me in
Satan’s lab?
There is no rest
Every second,
every breath
translated from stagnant soup
to air, barely usable
Every step
stuck to the scorching concrete
like gum stuck on soles
of blistering feet.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Artistic Interpretations w/ Margaret, Dog Days of Summer
and The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 117