It is finally time for another installation of Poetry Friday. I’ve cradled an inner poet since I was very young and will always hold it close to my heart. I’m happy to have a place to share a few archived poems and some new ones to come.
This poem dates all the way back to 2003, which happens to mark the beginning of the relationship with the man that would later become my husband. It’s nostalgic. It’s young adult. It takes me back in time and that is why I love it. I hope you do too!
Your hat was on backwards
the day at the train station
I picked you up and
we drove away.
The lights of the skyscrapers
twinkled like seas of fireflies
above the backyard of my house
on Pinehurst Street
on humid Midwestern nights.
My hair was freshly cut
like the grass.
I am allergic to grass.
You said you liked it
even though you weren’t sure
My heart beat differently.
You sat next to me
your arm leaning on the car door
vibrating from the bass of the stereo.
I sang softly to the windshield
and the steering wheel
as the city grew smaller
I could hear you listening.
You looked at me and smiled
as my car held us tight
and headed to
For my very first installation of poetry Friday, I’m kickin’ it old school with my very first published poem, printed in my college literary journal, The Marquette Journal. It’s a little serious for a Friday morning, but I hope you enjoy!
Was it reality in the form of a dream?
Or a dream in the form of reality?
Everything I desire,
While I seek wisdom
I gain futility.
Where I find my trust
I replace it with lost feelings of loneliness
and greed for the ideal.
I rationalize myself yet defer all regulatory thought
and dream only of imaginary futures;
Balancing imagination with truth
And truth with love
And love with desire
Leaving only hollowness in a space-less mass.
I retain gaps between heart and mind
Idea and action,
To consume not only what my eyes believe
But what my heart deceives.
My feet stand firm above the pettiness of nonconformity
and negatively driven ambition.
Yet my heart lies unvoiced
anticipating broken silence.
Time leaves nothing
Yet time never leaves.
It only ticks in the night as I try sleeping.
Its taunting presence nerves my ill resting mind
as sleepless hours drain the night of beauty.
The monotony of each breath drowns the impulse for drawn out fantasy.
The desire for connection stagnates
until the inertia of the next moment
forces opposite direction.
If there are any poets out there, I’d love for you to share, or link to your site! Have a great day!