tgvillanuevapoetry - Tumblr blog

[tgvillanuevapoetry]

Feet on Cold Linoleum

Time to change - self. The stars are fixed and you are not - constant. You are the Tiber untethered the wide open road, they call you; Earth, fire and air, they carved you out of blue steel blue-grey. Your skin changes colors - you know - or so it goes: somedays you're yellow and somedays you're red on Sundays you're every color in the spectrum. The stars do as they are told. People like you - do not. Life passes by like feet on cold linoleum. Too long isn't long enough but you still have tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that and the day after that. Twenty more years- or ten. Give or take.

[tgvillanuevapoetry]

For When We Break Up

Dearest: I loved you and I love you still maybe not as much, but still.

I’m sorry we didn’t work out.

I always thought we’d make it out of the winter [of our lives], alive. Together.

But I am the raging Aegean and you - were mighty Greek fire. You burned me out.

 I guess I always knew we would never work out

But I loved you and I love you still maybe not as much but still

And maybe that’s why I stayed, for as long as I did.

I wanted to change you. I wanted to extinguish your flames and turn you into something - more like me: a body of water, as wide as the Atlantic; but pliable, like the placid Adriatic.

I guess I loved myself more than I ever loved you.

You beseeched the gods for Aphrodite, but you were given Narcissus - in the flesh, instead. I’m sorry.

But I loved you [once] and I never will again. For your own good; and not for me.

And if you ever see me ‘round again turn the other way.

[tgvillanuevapoetry]

Untitled 3 (2021)

Land mines for the silver Vietnamese it's her 14th jubilee - hurray beret. I need coffee and an inkwell. I need to water the plants like Poseidon waters his corals then count backwards from 3 or 4 before lunging over the hydrangeas and rolling in the grass - smoking the grass all while my cat sings a lullaby for the women in my village

[tgvillanuevapoetry]

Untitled 2 (Mr. Simpatico)

Mr. Simpatico washes the dishes with his feet before kissing his wife and his daughter the shrimp on the cheek. He poaches his eggs in an oven toaster before absconding to the graveyard to do cartwheels with Mike. On the way home he befriends a squirrel named Ferrel but changes her name to Lilibet because he reminds her of Elizabeth from the teli. They trudge home on their knees, backwards; and fed iced-coffee through an IV.

[tgvillanuevapoetry]

Untitled 1 (I Write-)

I write poems to silence the cries of the monster who lives under my bed nailed to the floor – begging for water. She appears in my dreams too a doyenne lost in the melting orange groves of my subconscious. A miasma of currents, that one flowing to and fro a caricature of a river creature worming her way into people’s lives and bodies fragile as they are. I write poems to make people like her – disappear.

I don’t think when I write poems I just let the words slip, slide slip up. I feel like one of Freud’s malcontents tied to his armchair of woes I wouldn’t have fared any better on the couch either; or under Jung and his archetypes. I’m far too complicated for a man in a white coat. Maybe that’s why I write, maybe that’s why I “make.” To un-complicate redact to depoliticize dehumanize to make me more – palatable and polite. But just a little disagreeable.