Rags of Light (poetry)

Wednesday, July 11th, 2012

I know what you are.
I know that you know that
Your knowledge is made of less stuff than my stockings.
Yet you escort it as proudly
As if it had invited you to some Sadie Hawkins dance of facts.
I want to watch you taken by ideas,
Ravaged in bed by a book you thought would kiss your cheek.

Wednesday, July 4th, 2012

No one will ever
Call something “creative”
Unless it isn’t.
And it only takes the average
To wear the word “poet” like a theft protection device,
Always explaining away the ink stain,
Suspecting his shining neighbors of being better criminals.
Crows tend his stashed yearnings in uncanny valleys,
Hatreds glittering like dark mirrors,
Favorite words glinting like magnetic tape,
Shoplifted from the people he wishes he was.

Wednesday, June 27th, 2012

Newly molted, delicate as a papercut
A wad of wilted insect
Abandoned on blameless asphalt
Inflates its wings
Waits still for its mother’s love
And, realizing it can do without,

Wednesday, June 20th, 2012

Sinister when ignored,
Her wild mint
Engulfs domestic flowers
In loving sour groves.
Ferments those meek pretenders to the Earth.
She opens her proud forest,
Beckons drunk and timid vines to touch her chinaberry,
Tramples as only the trespasser can.
Her purple blossoms giggle,
Her leather leaves beckon.
Her wet absinthe hyacinth invasion
Darkens the southern sun.
This is not a condemnation or a hymn.
Just a question:
Is it fun?

Wednesday, June 13th, 2012

This week, I’m posting some of my favorite poems previously published by Broken Publications, an indie publisher out of the Pacific Northwest. They are currently looking forward to publishing an anthology of works to raise awareness about domestic violence. Please stop by and meet them if you would like to buy a book, help out, or submit your work. I’m looking forward to my copy of a volume of horror stories, chosen because I love the title- “If you’re human, don’t open the door”. Enjoy!  

by Jennifer-Crystal Johnson

The brake lights
are the
of the interstate
rush hour

Blinking steadily
on and off
as traffic
slowly pulsates

on I-5

by Jennifer Popescu

The butterflies are dusting,
airing out their domicile
after a long, long absence
I quiver with them
an internal fluttering,
a great mass of winged frenzy

and though they unpack
the necessities
their suitcases are by the door
just in case
Who should I thank?

by Robert Ronnow

You may feel about the planet what
you feel about a great baseball team or band:
that once there was a moment when, unknown
to us at the time, we convened
and lost and found ourselves in what we created.

Who should I thank for this day?
A fresh-mown lawn is a robin’s repast.
A bear a black bear a rolling delicately dancing
graceful as silence sailing through the ferns and understory
unafraid and in no hurry.

My musician referral business, vacation rental business,
nonprofit management system, plant identification database,
great American songbook and anthology of poems. Coach says
in a thousand years back and forth games like lacrosse and soccer
will be played against genetically engineered primates

but baseball will be played solely by humans.
In a thousand years, amen.

She that holds the lamb shall not slumber or sleep.

Wednesday, June 6th, 2012

If you marry a musician,
You will master power tools.
Your hands will absorb the callouses his can’t afford.
If you marry a musician,
You protect eardrums tuned to angelic frequencies
That howl in pain at the joyful noises of your vinyl devils.
If you marry a musician,
You live in a house of silence.

Saturday, May 26th, 2012

Your god didn’t harden my heart.
You duct-taped my mouth.
You labeled me king of customer kings, powerless to reason-
Your cold command cornered me in that last square on the graph.
I crumble dumb, fungal,
Rife with the ringworm of well-meaning lifestyle columnists
citing each other’s tails until truth is made.
If I chose this crown of scorn, don’t you want to know why I did?
If I did not choose, don’t you want to know why you did?
The tides of your Twitter feeds crushed me,
But one day your locusts will haunt you
Without your god to guide them.
I think about transgenics a lot.

Saturday, May 19th, 2012

Some girls love
A hairband like a smile they once knew.
The wry wit of snarky socks.
A skirt for each sort of embrace.
I love the world from my empty house,
But I forget to look in mirrors
And I forget to say hello,
And I forget my hats aren’t human,
Then forget to take them out of their boxes.
The chlorotic clothes in my overstuffed dresser
Shimmy toward the sun,
Dim life pushing through cracks.

Friday, May 11th, 2012

There is no sacred salve
To soothe the tingle of the books I’ve read.
My phantom limb drags me
Through ethical ghost towns
Where nothing is forbidden,
And nothing is fruit.

Saturday, May 5th, 2012

While you protect us from pastel monsters you invented,
The flyspecked face of conventional wisdom
Whispers that the whims of the biggest person in the room
Synthesize reality.
If you think we are frictionless billiard balls
Then if the World’s Evils strike us we will run away.
If we run towards them, perhaps you should ask us why.
Words have power. But we will not use their power on you.