ToThePoem - a place for poetry

A warm day, When the sun was moving slow overhead My teacher and I played in the yard, A ball was spun with anger, even hate,   And a tail of ferocity like a frozen heart   Of ice Gleamed behind it,   Spectacularly, Striking me in the eye. Leaving me black and blue. A comet. Who’s not in awe of a comet? The bruise filled my vision And narrowed. I was in awe of it still. Glistening icicles, sparkling diamonds. I watched the slow drip and drop  As tears from One man’s sadness, Cascading across the driveway And running quickly into Pores in the pavement. The same slab of concrete where my brother and Sisters and I rode big-wheels And lay on our backs Watching the sky roll by. The summer ended and came autumn. Another teacher was sent my way And said, “You are exactly the student I was looking for. Get into my box, Under my wing.” My legs were long And needed to stretch. I was getting a crick In my neck. The sidewalls collapsed One day in the rain, As weak cardboard does...

A note was left On the fridge that Said I’d make it Soon To that place where The edges are rubbed out The walls have vanished Puffs of smoke keep moving Toward light and darkness. I wondered about it And felt a strong dejavu. Kept moving To that place I think I’d known. I got into the studio And moved with brushes Paints and all sorts of things On hand. My fingers became loud With voice And closed up over my throat. I’m alone in this place I’m traveling to with the scent Of paint on my tongue And the rubbing of canvas, It sometimes is a great hurt. I touched the breast of solitude And pressed against her chest with My cheek Lovingly held her there in This room with no walls. We centered in on vastness And I let-go my brushes in to space And felt never again The desire to be up and around others With their stories and Dramas and likes and dislikes And closed rooms Like chai...