ToThePoem - a place for poetry

At the edge of sky, Where it can no longer be Harnessed Or corralled For its life-giving Liberty or Picturesque beauty Where the air thins and strangles But a whistling comes And something in its being groans dark. Where the beauty of sunsets Die out like a campfire And spit out slowly Smoldering into the thicket Igniting the black, Swirling in like night on top A double-scoop cone - the universe. The sun Wandered off To play on the other side Of the park And climbing up over the edge, On my knees Leaving thoughts Rattling and haranguing With no audience to Perceive them, Peace flooded like An avalanche And crushed all that was Known To unveil a multitude of Truths and never seen before Beauty. Everything was possible here And everything is. stephanie jordan-renz

The rose spots On her face like a leopard Lit warm as the sun overhead Held its rays out past the night Reaching to her like a child To a mother who had Been Gone A Long Time Beaming Across waters where Creatures had Never known its warmth. In depths dark and watery As the cave of his inner-being, Cold She doubted she was One, But maybe the Ocean, Blood filled And nothing else. Vapid and airy He glided over the earth After work, after long Hours of sitting At conference tables. Discarding his clothes. His shoes kicked off And fell from depths Like a broken ledge off a cliff Landing in the Sahara For the poor who hadn't Known coverings, Took to them as Super-natural. And the watery depths Dried, and the tunnels and channels Became like bedrock. Mystery was high above, On wings passing over Snow-capped mountains And your socks Dropped down too. Naked and filthy ...

Layer of rock we thought Impenetrable Built up by that  Book of living words Ring of fire Burned on your finger And the shoes I cobbled  Blistered you, I hammered the nails in. The flag of music trailed After your singing voice And I picked up its endless tail To bundle under arm And decorate with bows. The newspaper burned  In the tramps backyard Damn tramps, And ideas and words carried with the Smoke into my room Where I saw them,  Smelt them,  And deliberate, Discarded them, Wanting my own words To share with you. The waste basket nearby Filled empty  With fallen rock Cut open like the earth turning sides in bed  Too heavy to carry out Myself. stephanie l jordan-renz

When the night unrolled Its blanket of stars  Over The moving sea, Quieting its banter, Silencing its grip On the horizon She breathed in the good Of it all As with the turtles, the lizards The moss, the sea-birds, The leaves and  The slippery stones. Tree roots made their Way from hills deep into layers, Mapping through,  Down,   Following the scent of sand  And salt. Their wooden fingertips bruised  From tunneling. And sea creatures held on To fibrous ropes in puddles on stones As the moon pulled them  To drifting, watery beds.   She thought she would sleep,  She should sleep; Curled in, rested out, brightened up, Stretched wide By the firelight of the moon And the stories the ocean could tell, Rocking her to sleep Like a calf under the arm of a Mother whale; Drifting,  Never drifting Apart.  The crabs scuttled And pawed at her hair As the whole earth carried on  This way. ...

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...

The cross country Drive went off without  A hitch. Much kissing.  You parked down near my tailbone And camped out behind my spleen. You walked desert roads  And I listened with a cup Pressed up against my belly To your singing.  And then you exited through my pores Like a vapor  And for some damn reason I built wings for you to fly And helped you get them  On your back. Gave you the final push off Saying something like,  “Be free! Be free!” From me.  And I burdened myself With another cup against My belly,  My heart, My throat My head.  Kept hearing the same old song.  Until I watched magnolia leaves Turn brown And realized it was all enough.  Im going to throw these keys out now.  Throw them out the window Down my spine to be eaten by my stomach And  A permanent neutrality will come  To be.  What am...