Walk with you

I like to look along the ocean,
to find the place where blue meets blue;
If I could just swim far enough,
perhaps that’s where I’d find you.

Or walking through a garden, too,
while marveling at the blooms,
I inspect a gentle petal
in case it bears a note from you.

Standing outside in early Autumn
when a cold wind chills my bones,
I look to the sky and pray you’re there,
I’m so weary of being alone.

Some believe another world lies beyond our own–
but I know naught will wake the dead.
You loved to be in nature, though, so
I’m content to walk with you, instead.

My goal for this year’s NaPoWriMo is to 1) actually write a poem a day, and 2) work more on rhymes. I’m a huge fan of free verse, but I like the idea of forcing myself to treat this more like an exercise in writing.

Oscar

She was never the same–
there was a vacancy in her
enigmatic gray eyes.
Death had greedily collected
her happiness,
potential,
vitality,
along with the life of
her brother,
twin,
best friend.
She became solitary,
withdrawn.
By rote she completed
what became mundane aspects
of a previously brilliant life.
Each day spent in a fog
until nighttime
when she would go to his bed–
curled up;
as though completing a puzzle
created in the womb.

I’ve been trying to write the story of Oscar and Alphonse for two decades now, so much of this has been taken from previous attempts to describe the lives of the close, ill-fated twins. In early childhood, Oscar proved herself to be a temperamental tomboy, which earned her the unflattering nickname that would stick throughout the remainder of her life. Her brother Alphonse was gentle-tempered, frail and prone to illness. His death in their early teens permanently altered the trajectory of her life. What happens to them has yet to find its way on paper. 

 

In the room

I was in the room, breathing so softly.
Watching as she took the pins
out of her long, silky hair.
A smile on her tired face.

She kicked off her heels when
I was in the room, breathing so softly.
And she stepped out of her dress–
letting it gather in gentle folds at her feet.

There was desire in her eyes;
a coy cocking of the head as
I was in the room, breathing so softly.
An unquestionable invitation.

My love. My obsession.
She turned to him and fell into his arms,
as I slowly lifted the gun and pointed.
I was in the room, breathing so softly.

Inspired by CC to try a Quatern. It’s a little dark, even for me, but I just can’t help myself…

Thorns

A pattern of dark days
and lonely nights.
A friendly bartender.
The never ending glass of wine.
The tab?
Taken care of,
he answered with a wink.
A dirty couch.
The nondescript hotel room.
One man?
Two?
A hazy trip home.
The darkness.
The headache.
The nausea.
Self doubt.
Whether she was forced
or unconsciously acquiesced
is a matter of semantics.
A rose is a rose,
and all roses have thorns.

Time Departed

I am time departed.
A late summer day
when the dark clouds of autumn
lurk in the distance.
I am loss and heartache.
I am ineptitude and despair.
I am the schoolyard bully–
teasing and taunting.
A cruel reminder of the promises to yourself
that you failed to keep;
the empty promises you will continue to make.
Your burning hopes and dreams
smoldering into ashes–
dancing wildly in the cold winter wind.

New blog. New me. A new attempt to write thirty mediocre poems in thirty days for napowrimo. My husband’s response to this poem? “It’s gloomy.” I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but he didn’t say it was awful, so I figured I’d go with it. 

© Sarah Conrad and Wish by Spirit, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sarah Conrad and Wish by Spirit with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.