Recent Posts: day3of
Category Archives: Poetry, written by me, Vicki V. All rights reserved
This is a Poem I wrote this morning. My Mind IS My mind is an eager puppy My heart is an aching bruise My soul is a scout for a journey My spirit is a frightened child My world … Continue reading
Under the streetlight where campus is deserted,
parking lots tucked in for the night,
he senses he’s been duped.
The tired, timid teardrop, the jaded lethargic
self-awareness under empty spotlight
addresses shadows in silence.
Curling climbing cigarette draught
beams like a whispering bush.
In spite of warm air, his nose
and fingers have numbed up again.
The precursor of resolve is pushed back so far
as avoids inexplicable defeat.
The cresting breath of a brother’s car is a timely rescue.
As curtains close on unnoticed stars,
he’s forwarded on wheels of newfound friends.
Tentative-clutch adulthood is a shifting chariot
for the tribe of invincible memes.
Young men in need of telling secrets
of innocence and fear
do not invite revealing things,
when things to hide become equally true.
He trembles with longing for passion
for fighting words, to
Broadcast that HE IS a failed State
that he seeks asylum to betray his own orders.
He has to be the only one now facing the grave.
He laughs with wild eyes
shaken like a spicy suspension
adding his savory slice
to the communal
Then he prays
with clicking mitral valve
not be as hazardous as it feels,
that faith which doesn’t turn back time
nor vanquish demons
imperceptibly cobble him again
like a house gnome
night after shame-denying night
as long as it takes,
and that money won’t be a problem.
Each of them will be alone on the dark side of campus
paralyzed like the deer in headlights
hoping soon to be caught up by tribesmen
and hidden away from the spotlight on their fates.
By Vicki V. Jones
The rays of happiness, like those of light, are colourless when unbroken. _Longfellow._
One of her
an old junk front seat
left for months
in the car port
holding a genuine
in the back
through rising water
a marching band parade
awesome inner silence
detours and hospital trips
facing the summer sun,
and in season
vegetables from the local
Would her babies
(There were times
when the same face
made her cry.)
work caught her up
like a runaway horse.
Her favorite topic
at first when
falling in love, but
a favorite pastime.
The Foundering Wake of
a Shanghai-ed Monogamist
No sleep no move
one man where mid
night has happened
already doesn’t care
as the sun pierces
through my yawning pupils
clear to my memory
and another year is almost gone.
The anguish is fading too.
Opinions Life is so
much easier as
long as we have those
not having an opinion…. IS
having an opinion that’s
I said–so much easier.
I have grief.
My friend lost his life
which hung him by his neck
I forgive the ones
who say it was for show
I forgive myself
for not being more alert
(I’m punished enough)
What dare I say
to answer any who didn’t know him
who would say it wasn’t justified
To defend him now
will become my greatest cause
I can’t imagine
life without him.
But it can imagine me.
I write this to him
as I miss him every moment
I might possibly have laughed
or been encouraged
or held tightly as we caught
each other’s tears.
obscured his necessity
from registering sufficiently
with my spirit.
He had cursed God
(hasn’t every saint)
but he trusted me.
for myself to do
and make a difference
before it’s too late
for the rest of us.
A broken young heart bleeds tears that fade away.
Moments moving forward fine tune the the inner clock.
Curiosity calls Shaman, configurer of dreams.
Young bones call muscles to the battle on that day.
A broken aging heart cries blood in spots that stay.
Eyes diverted, desperate, lose lifetimes in the shock.
Reels of loathsome patterns interpret loathsome themes.
The motion in the stillness, the color in the gray.
I was back together with my boyfriend for a while. Things were rocky, but I loved him very much. For almost two months, we didn’t see each other, but I still believed our love was true. I can’t bear to give details, and I apologize if this is boring. This past week, I felt my hope for a future with him was becoming much more happy and proving true– until this afternoon, when I discovered he had a profile on Match.com, and was online the very moment I found it.
Now what I feel more than anything else, is that I probably do not like the person he actually is. I’m trying to keep a positive attitude about this emotion. It feels very complicated. He is extremely charming. I think he is the first man I’ve ever known to whom I might willingly entirely submit. I don’t think I could do “tough love” with him if his vices ever called for it–for he is simply too adorable.
So, I’m thinking I should be grateful to God if this relationship can end this way.
Oh, by the way, I didn’t discover his single’s account while hunting for singles myself. I just happened over to his facebook profile for the first time in a while and saw that he had “liked” Matchdotcom. So I bit. I did a bogus profile for the privilege of doing a free search. (I thought y’all might be curious about that.)
Now that I’ve told you all more or less what’s been going on in my meager soul all these weeks, I want to share something with you, two things actually. These are two poems I wrote for him, one yesterday and one the day before. I do believe that you people will be able to appreciate my efforts much more than he ever would. As always, please any strangers out there, please don’t steal my work. I am actually proud of it. In a way, it’s all I have to show for my own life.
The first poem had not been titled yet, but I like titles. So here’s the poem and the first publication of its title below:
Come, My Darling. Let me Gently Explain,
(by Vicki Jones)
Love floats like heart-shaped swans
Wandering across dappled years
Enclosed by limitless pleasured reflections
Eyes to eyes, with eyes closed
It is why the pond glows at sunset
Others can learn from its silhouette
The true form of love has two sides
Two, my darling, only two.
He really liked that one. He looked at my eyes when he asked me if I “really” wrote it. Anyway, and here’s the other one… originally titled “To My Soulmate”, but, now simply “Soul Mate” as follows:
(By: Vicki Jones)
called me Your Playmate.
I pooched out my cheeks
and puffed like a hussy wolf–
or a too proud Playboy Bunny.
after a miserable
long-time of time-out,
I died and came back
crawling the world as a bug,
with a tantalizing, bitter shell.
chas-ing and hid-ing
cheating, incorrigible truth…
that coarse barrier
which surrounds what is me
in my egg of immortality.
as it feeds
on Material Me.
and call you my playmate.
____________________________________________________That’s all of the poem I just want to mention that I made a couple of minor changes as I was transcribing it just now. …. Ah paranoia, will you never desert me.
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