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[notesapppoetsuggestion]

Fall Sonnet

In shadows of a willow’s weep,

A shelter for the frail deer,

Where dusted leaves curl up to sleep,

October rain is welcomed here.

I stand in place, but wonder if

The moving earth can speed along

the taking of life. I stand stiff

As if to hide from deaths sweet song.

But clouds have bled October rain,

And grandmother leaves float down the streams,

I want to take away the pain,

Of dying during savory dreams.

But then snow falls and the deer have hid,

I see it now: What’s able to die is sure to have lived.

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

I never did it at home

But kissing the mezuzah means something to me here

It’s become a habit

Scan my ID card to unlock my door

kiss the mezuzah

Put down my laundry

kiss the mezuzah

Shift my books in my arms

kiss the mezuzah

Someone gave it to me when I was a baby, rainbow glass with the ש in gold

I took it from the door of my childhood bedroom

Where I never had to wonder if it would still be there on my return

And brought it here

Where it sits on my desk

Lifeless.

Is that so much to ask?

That it will be there when I return, ready to meet my outstretched hand?

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

i think about you one minute of every hour and romanticize the worst parts of us while half asleep

youre like a parasite

sucking me dry

eating me alive

youre overwhelming

you're killing me

and im helping

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

mom

it hurts me to see you hurt

it hurts me to see you blame yourself

it hurts me to see you in pain like this

it hurts me to see you hate yourself for laying down

im sorry for making it about me but

god it hurts me so much

rest, please

i don’t want your body to hurt you anymore.

i think you need help from someone, mom.

i won’t be here to listen forever.

i don’t want to be.

it hurts me, mom.

i would ask for a hug but i know i’d be more the one comforting than the one comforted.

i know it would only make you more hurt and tired to lay me down and rub my back like you did when i was young.

i love you, mom.

i want you to get better, mom. for me and for you.

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

hello! i wanted to ask if i could please have my poem taken down? i kind of regret posting it. its alright if it's too much trouble though. mine is the one with the ocean allegory that begins with "i stand where you are". at the time of asking it's currently the second most recent. thank you so much if so!

no problems! I will take it down

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

"Am I a good daughter?" You may ask me one day.  "That isn't the point," I will smile and say. 

Your job's not to make a good daughter for me; your job is to find out who you're gonna be. 

My job is to help you however I can, to give you support, so here is my plan:

To cook with you, clean with you, learn with you, play, and pass on what wisdom I can on the way. 

To gently guide you when you want to explode and show you a better way to unload. 

To comfort and hold you when life's got you down and all of the world makes your smile a frown.

Your job is to try things, see what's good and what's not; to make lots of mistakes that won't soon be forgot;

to make lots of new friends, see who stays and who goes; all that's to say that your job is to grow. 

And if I am good at my job than one day you'll look back at that growing and smile and say

"I'm proud of myself and the person I grew, and in part it's because of, not in spite of you."

So ask not if you're a good daughter my dear; I only ask that you live without fear

of not living up to some standard I've set.  I love you so much so try not to forget

That whether you're gentle or whether you're rough, you are my daughter and that is enough.

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

He is such a piece of shit

What a shitty dumwit

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

falling asleep in the living room chair

and they're not there.

a chair left empty,

cherry red couch cushions soft and welcoming,

almost warm with shadows left behind.

the arms are worn from years of elbows and hands

and children planted for storytime.

the soft rumble of their voice echoing

in my head,

in my home,

in my house.

miss you

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

Honor

🦊

What I hold is a moasic of those adjacent to me.

"Death voids all debts",

From a story I recently read.

"Sometimes the price is nothing",

Created to comfort a friend, when I choose to take no debt.

"Authority does not inherit respect",

Learned from many incompetent kings.

When all you know is push and pull,

You choose where to place your markers.

In the ground,

The sand,

And the flags on display.

Like the knights I idolized as a child;

I create my own chivalry to guide me.

🦊

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

Something's in the garden

It walks on unsure legs

...

Something's in the house

... Mom's not here, is she

...

Something's under the bed

There's blood in my mouth

...

Something's got my hand!

...

...

...Hi mom.

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

Stars clenched betwixt fingers

Curls in our hair

Cloaked in dresses made of nothing

But smoky night air

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

I am trying to think of a poem to say

In time to the faint snipping sound when I pluck the blossoms from the olive trees

I am trying to think of a poem to say to the sun and the desert wind and the purple shrubs and the silver sheen of olive leaves

A poem to say to the ibex tracks and the black beetles

and the dust colored dust covered lizards that race across my path

The poems that I know about beauty

Talk about how the cup holds the tea

and the drawing of blinds

and the thrill of rain.

There is no rain here.

Just the howl of wind

and the sounds of the soldiers practicing in their steel blue frames

gunshots echoing across the ancient hills

and the flowers fall into my hands and the olive’s bark is cool against my fingers and the summer sun burns the part in my hair and I am trying to think of a poem to say

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

“do you…” i say. “do you think this is forever?”

“no,” she says. “no, i don’t think so.”

“how do you know?”

“i don’t but it must be true.”

a silence like the beat of a heart. 

“one day you will laugh again.

maybe the day is not today, but it will be soon.

because it must.”

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

today i saw a big grey building

concrete walls that bled with old, mould

the smell of rust, ugliness begets lust

the windows were built in sparse straight lines, on the big grey building

i felt a very sharp pang of hunger

in the deepest caverns of my desire i thought;

i am big and block out the sun

i lean down; bring it to my mouth, big grey building,

i lean down and i bite into a concrete apple, nothing temple to nothing

i feel the hot crush of steel beams on my teeth

i choke on dust; coats my tongue and seeps

there is skin on this building

and blood

i am hungry

hello miss world

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

I have been having issues with the queue--if you sent a poem in and it has not yet been published, expect it to come out in the next couple of days

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

I sleep with my curtains drawn open.

(It’s fine. I live on the fourth floor.)

Not because of laziness,

Not because of forgetfulness,

But to let the light shine out the window,

A silent reminder to the world outside

That I’m still here.

The light flows in the other way too,

The moon blessing me with her presence,

A gentle reminder that the world is still there,

And that I’m still a part of it.

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

I do not want to be someone who does not know the price of freedom. I want my descendants to have never known the taste of the price first-hand. I do not know which will be true. I hope it is both, but I suspect it will only be the first. I will live in this world boldly. I will live in this world as myself. I will live in this world being true to my spirit, spitting blood and smiling wide. I will have scarred knuckles but I will also have laugh lines. I have looked into my reflection and seen my future and I know this to be true. Violence is not nice. Neither is love--radical love--nice. Love is a force, love is a revolution, love is beautiful. Love is movement. Love is split knuckles for the future generations. Love is the taste of the price in my mouth, red as the beating heart, red as poppies, red as the sun low on the horizon--or the sun rising on a new day. Red as love. For the future. For me, smiling boldly in the street. It hurts. It hurts. But regardless, I will do the work.