Category Archives: Poetry, written by me, Vicki V. All rights reserved

Aside

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

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Silent Solitude With Memory So Close

Lumbering bare limbs

porcelain plump long bones

luminescent, in last

summer’ setting sun

Gentle bear

shy conquest

Did you know

I felt like a warrior

chieftess making a treaty?

Shadows under your eyes

from a long week

tolerating my company

made them round

Your eyes glowed

quiet, understated

I feel the most

zen at your side,

Kumar

a moment’s slipping by

catching in timelessness

the presence of us

Like naked 

on the woodtrail

You open my mouth

I hear your words with my arms

I see your legs with my ears

and I walk on your shoulders

dissolved in our moment

Always in these moments of ours.

We wouldn’t feel

more advanced experience

if we had lifetimes

to collaborate with science.

by Vicki V. Jones

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Smoking On Campus

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

youth salad.

Then he prays

with clicking mitral valve

that smoking

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

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Daily Prompt “Happy” A Poem

The rays of happiness, like those of light, are 
colourless when unbroken.

                                            _Longfellow._

One of her

favorite

pastimes

sitting on

an old junk front seat

left for months

in the car port

holding a genuine

steering wheel

her babies

misbehaving

in the back

enduring

treacherous

weather conditions

pressing on

through rising water

Thunderclaps

crashed!

a marching band parade

awesome inner silence

detours and hospital trips

facing the summer sun,

and in season

vegetables from the local

Mimosa tree.

Would her babies

ever learn?

Her favorite

laughter

was giggling

without stopping.

(There were times

when the same face

made her cry.)

Her favorite

work caught her up

like a runaway horse.

Her favorite topic

was happiness

at first when

falling in love, but

was never

a favorite pastime.

The dwindling Insomniac. Last posts of 2013

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

eventually
not having an opinion…. IS
having an opinion that’s
a relief…..as

I said–so much easier.

Poem for Daily Prompt, Metamorphosis

How we Middle-agers Earn Our Wings

The un-remembered

tension:

butterfly

with

pick and shovel

mines

to find the diamond

sky.

Without question,

Born to fly.

Not

so for

the writhing

Human–

born of

breath’s

determination;

born

to gravity,

finds the gavel,

sure of nothing

nor

of why.

Till

in hard-

blood

sequestration,

quinquagenarian

muscle

dies;

to show us

life

among

the wise.

To Zeus. Please Don’t Go.

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

and now

and 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.

Supernatural currents

obscured his necessity

from registering sufficiently

with my spirit.

He had cursed God

(hasn’t every saint)

but he trusted me.

Nothing now

for myself to do

but learn,

and mourn,

and make a difference

before it’s too late

for the rest of us.

The Motion in the Stillness, the Color in the Gray

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.

Two Poems I’m Proud Of and I Wrote

Dear Followers/diary,

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:

Soul Mate

(By: Vicki Jones)

You

called me Your Playmate.

I pooched out my cheeks
and puffed like a hussy wolf–
or a too proud Playboy Bunny.
Then,
after a miserable
long-time of time-out,
I died and came back
crawling the world as a bug,
with a tantalizing,  bitter shell.
Your
teasing tickling
chas-ing and hid-ing
undying essence…
…Your
cheating, incorrigible truth…
…wriggled through
that coarse barrier
which surrounds what is me
and imbedded
in my egg of immortality.
Is
grows strong
as it feeds
on Material Me.
I  giggle
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.
I love you, My WordPress Friends.

Gratitude, Music, Clouds, Life

These words rode channels

you and I carved in

minute dimensions of infinity,

and were

instantaneously eternal.

I hope you feel the same.

The End. Hello! 🙂

(above poem, by me, Vicki V. of course.)

———————————Please enjoy this voiceless version of the Verve’s “Bittersweet Symphony”.  The Clouds say it all. This morning I awakened to this song in my mind. Special thank you to Hoopblah58 who shared it on Youtube.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gh9Or4IxnwM