My Title? Um. I get a title?

Greens, blues, purples,
Dashes of reds and pinks
The colors separate clearly...
Now, half-close your eyes and see
Smudges, vaguely blurred outlines.
Verdant clouds might be treetops,
The carpet might be grass;
And I discover that most often
What I truly like
Is not the thing that's really there,
but possibility--the "might".

You model of serenity,
Entrance to the underworld,
What have you seen?
Have you seen the girl of the pomegranate seeds?
The explosion of volcanoes,
The fall of Roman rule,
All came and went before you.
Antonius and Nero,
Their ruins crumble as you watch
Yet you rest here in your valley,
Watch the world go by,
And all the while, your visitors lie lounging on the grass
I'm sure that you could tell them
If only they would ask
But they remain oblivious,
And you, behind your mask.
In your current gui… Continue

Black beak,
ruffled chest,
beads for eyes.
Shh--
is anything near?
Tiny talons
scritch-scratchy on the sidewalk.
Fluffy--orange--
long, with pointed ears.
No tail. Floppy tongue.
Charge--snap--
shrug, and trot away.
Sigh. Maybe next time.

"Shorty" leans against the car,
Cigarette dangling from her fingers.
Denim mini slightly grungy,
Posture claims she doesn't care
We do not see her face.
Boyfriend? brother? looks at her,
Wonders with his eyes.
Where will her balloon end up?
Her last string frayed and snapped,
The chain around her neck
Is no anchor, and
She drifts away, whispers,
"Life was perfect until I was eleven."



This poem is inspired by a photograph on display at the University of Missouri's journalism school.

I was inspired by Aleya's featured post and decided to post some of my poetry on here. This first one is grim, but I promise they're not all like that. Here we go, then:

Auschwitz

A child's favorite sandal lies tossed among the rest
Clumps of matted hair entangle,
grey and dull with age.
Names on your suitcases, reassuring lies.
You are gone, so
Silence tells your story.