Oryx
CoquettishCat
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- Age 31
- Seen Jan 30, 2015
Toujours'
Poetry Slam
Poetry Slam
Click the title to see the poem.
Migratory Birdsong
My family doesn't like to stay in one place.
Until I was two, I lived in Washington --
The state in the west, not the capitol.
Before I even had a chance to remember my home I was flown
to a place I'd never even known, New Jersey.
New state, new coast, new life -- for a while.
Until I grew used to it, and we drove to Texas.
I never did find out what happened to those kids I knew,
the ones who always were certain of where home was. They weren't me.
But New Jersey called again; we packed our things and boarded the train.
We came back, but it wasn't the same.
Still can't settle down, still moving around
And attached to that place down in Texas,
with memories tucked away in a storage unit --
But no longer attached to the people who helped make them.
I grew up thinking friends were expendable, tradeable;
If I didn't it would be too hard to leave.
The short reprieve I got from people, I pushed away.
I didn't want a reason to want to stay...since I wasn't.
I never grew out of that habit, counting days
treating my homes like hotels with extended stays.
Even now, the second I'm out
my family -- that is, my mother -- is moving again.
She doesn't know where, why, or exactly when
but the home I'm leaving is not the home I'm coming back to.
I count the days until I start over,
like I have so many times before.
Another shore, by which to soar -- or fall.
Does it really matter after all? Because
My family doesn't like to stay in one place.
And if you wait long enough, I'll just migrate.
My family doesn't like to stay in one place.
Until I was two, I lived in Washington --
The state in the west, not the capitol.
Before I even had a chance to remember my home I was flown
to a place I'd never even known, New Jersey.
New state, new coast, new life -- for a while.
Until I grew used to it, and we drove to Texas.
I never did find out what happened to those kids I knew,
the ones who always were certain of where home was. They weren't me.
But New Jersey called again; we packed our things and boarded the train.
We came back, but it wasn't the same.
Still can't settle down, still moving around
And attached to that place down in Texas,
with memories tucked away in a storage unit --
But no longer attached to the people who helped make them.
I grew up thinking friends were expendable, tradeable;
If I didn't it would be too hard to leave.
The short reprieve I got from people, I pushed away.
I didn't want a reason to want to stay...since I wasn't.
I never grew out of that habit, counting days
treating my homes like hotels with extended stays.
Even now, the second I'm out
my family -- that is, my mother -- is moving again.
She doesn't know where, why, or exactly when
but the home I'm leaving is not the home I'm coming back to.
I count the days until I start over,
like I have so many times before.
Another shore, by which to soar -- or fall.
Does it really matter after all? Because
My family doesn't like to stay in one place.
And if you wait long enough, I'll just migrate.
Cracks
I want to fill in the cracks between you and I
like the cracks on asphalt, hot and dry
beneath bare feet on a summer day.
Before we trip and fall on the cracks,
the cracks we can't mend.
Is this the end?
Raining on our relationship, filling the gaps,
then freezing over, an open trap.
Our cold winter days only hurt us.
There's no cement cure for a cracked relationship.
When the sun begins to shine after the long winter,
we run again
not heedful of the damage already done,
we run.
Then we fall, tripping on what we had forgotten.
Those gaping holes, the raw ends of our nerves
exposed to the surface, to heat and pain.
Exposed because of the winter rain.
We cannot pour new cement, fix us.
We can no longer run, we must walk, be careful.
Don't trip on the cracks in our foundation, because
There's no cement cure for a cracked relationship.
I want to fill in the cracks between you and I
like the cracks on asphalt, hot and dry
beneath bare feet on a summer day.
Before we trip and fall on the cracks,
the cracks we can't mend.
Is this the end?
Raining on our relationship, filling the gaps,
then freezing over, an open trap.
Our cold winter days only hurt us.
There's no cement cure for a cracked relationship.
When the sun begins to shine after the long winter,
we run again
not heedful of the damage already done,
we run.
Then we fall, tripping on what we had forgotten.
Those gaping holes, the raw ends of our nerves
exposed to the surface, to heat and pain.
Exposed because of the winter rain.
We cannot pour new cement, fix us.
We can no longer run, we must walk, be careful.
Don't trip on the cracks in our foundation, because
There's no cement cure for a cracked relationship.
Epiphany
It's not easy for me to be calm.
I'm always worried, always thinking
about that next big thing.
My mind is always running.
No matter what I do, there's always more work;
I can't shake it.
I try to get by
work to defy
what I thought I could do until I fly,
but right now my
inspiration is dry
and motivation is in short supply.
I try so hard to make progress,
but just make a mess,
guessing at how to suppress my distress
and impress the bosses, make it to success.
But everywhere I look, all I feel is stress!
But then...
Before me, you stand.
Just your smile calms me, and
you help me realize. In the grand
scheme of things, this isn't important.
Life doesn't have to be planned.
With a touch of your hand,
I'm back on solid land, with you.
It's not easy for me to be calm.
I'm always worried, always thinking
about that next big thing.
My mind is always running.
No matter what I do, there's always more work;
I can't shake it.
I try to get by
work to defy
what I thought I could do until I fly,
but right now my
inspiration is dry
and motivation is in short supply.
I try so hard to make progress,
but just make a mess,
guessing at how to suppress my distress
and impress the bosses, make it to success.
But everywhere I look, all I feel is stress!
But then...
Before me, you stand.
Just your smile calms me, and
you help me realize. In the grand
scheme of things, this isn't important.
Life doesn't have to be planned.
With a touch of your hand,
I'm back on solid land, with you.
Kakorrha
Third grade. Nine years old.
Old enough to know what's right and wrong,
not old enough to act on it. Right?
Cue Joanna. Straight out of Africa,
this girl is tall with an accented drawl
and my class was appalled, but I was enthralled.
Friends from the start, like I always was with everyone.
No different...to me.
The rest of them, they didn't understand.
"We can't play with her. She's BLACK." they said.
They turned on us, all my friends,
the ones I used to depend on, intending to cut her out,
and me because I wanted to befriend her. I didn't comprehend.
How was she different?
Nine years old. Old enough to know what's right and wrong.
Couldn't we go back to how it was before?
Before this youthful civil war,
let's restore our group, I implored.
I didn't want to fight anymore.
But I had to make a choice.
Old enough to know what's right and wrong,
not old enough to act on it. Right?
Turning my back on those I couldn't comprehend,
I made my own decision on who to befriend.
I endured the teasing, the shuns, the bullies,
recess spent crying under the trees with Joanna.
Nine years old. Old enough to know what's right and wrong,
and just old enough to act on it.
Third grade. Nine years old.
Old enough to know what's right and wrong,
not old enough to act on it. Right?
Cue Joanna. Straight out of Africa,
this girl is tall with an accented drawl
and my class was appalled, but I was enthralled.
Friends from the start, like I always was with everyone.
No different...to me.
The rest of them, they didn't understand.
"We can't play with her. She's BLACK." they said.
They turned on us, all my friends,
the ones I used to depend on, intending to cut her out,
and me because I wanted to befriend her. I didn't comprehend.
How was she different?
Nine years old. Old enough to know what's right and wrong.
Couldn't we go back to how it was before?
Before this youthful civil war,
let's restore our group, I implored.
I didn't want to fight anymore.
But I had to make a choice.
Old enough to know what's right and wrong,
not old enough to act on it. Right?
Turning my back on those I couldn't comprehend,
I made my own decision on who to befriend.
I endured the teasing, the shuns, the bullies,
recess spent crying under the trees with Joanna.
Nine years old. Old enough to know what's right and wrong,
and just old enough to act on it.
Body Language (Villanelle form)
Tension is how our bodies speak,
Something we both know, but cannot share.
Fighting our instincts has made us weak.
The thick silence invites us to be meek.
Words are hanging, unspoken, on the air.
Tension is how our bodies speak.
Will it ever reach a peak,
As we question, "Do I dare?"
Fighting our instincts has made us weak.
We try to turn the other cheek.
But of the other we are always aware.
Tension is how our bodies speak.
Do not worry; just seek
And you will find it all laid bare
Because fighting our instincts has made us weak.
Fallen together, away we sneak
To a place that we may share.
Tension is how our bodies speak,
and fighting our instincts has made us weak.
Tension is how our bodies speak,
Something we both know, but cannot share.
Fighting our instincts has made us weak.
The thick silence invites us to be meek.
Words are hanging, unspoken, on the air.
Tension is how our bodies speak.
Will it ever reach a peak,
As we question, "Do I dare?"
Fighting our instincts has made us weak.
We try to turn the other cheek.
But of the other we are always aware.
Tension is how our bodies speak.
Do not worry; just seek
And you will find it all laid bare
Because fighting our instincts has made us weak.
Fallen together, away we sneak
To a place that we may share.
Tension is how our bodies speak,
and fighting our instincts has made us weak.
Lucky
I've never said my life was easy.
It hasn't been. I've gone without.
Friends have told me, "Oh, you're better off than me",
but I tend to disagree.
When my family was nearly on the street,
we had friends that put us on our feet,
put us up when we had nowhere to go. You don't know
how lucky you really are until you fall,
and see who catches you after all.
While other kids learned of credit cards,
my father shafted us and we were left picking up the shards
of our life, again and again.
We'd put it all together, and then
it would just fall apart before our eyes.
Still, I learned to compromise.
I learned from every scrape and bruise
life has given me.
Although some people can't see, won't see,
how this life makes me lucky, smart
more experienced then my richer counterpart.
So don't roll your eyes, argue with me,
when I tell you that I'm lucky.
Because if your life ever goes like mine has,
I'll be there, I'll help you through,
I'm lucky enough to know what to do.
I've never said my life was easy.
It hasn't been. I've gone without.
Friends have told me, "Oh, you're better off than me",
but I tend to disagree.
When my family was nearly on the street,
we had friends that put us on our feet,
put us up when we had nowhere to go. You don't know
how lucky you really are until you fall,
and see who catches you after all.
While other kids learned of credit cards,
my father shafted us and we were left picking up the shards
of our life, again and again.
We'd put it all together, and then
it would just fall apart before our eyes.
Still, I learned to compromise.
I learned from every scrape and bruise
life has given me.
Although some people can't see, won't see,
how this life makes me lucky, smart
more experienced then my richer counterpart.
So don't roll your eyes, argue with me,
when I tell you that I'm lucky.
Because if your life ever goes like mine has,
I'll be there, I'll help you through,
I'm lucky enough to know what to do.
San Miguel
We bump and jump through the slumping streets,
the chumps who think we can make a difference.
Those kids, those ones slipping and tripping
on the ice, skipping and ripping their slacks, jackets.
Clever little eyes, pryingly defiant.
Teach them? Teach them what?
How can I tell Eduardo x equals four
when he's seen a man bleeding on the floor,
when he sees the *****s on the corners by the stores
on his way from his school to his front door,
when the roar of the sewers is just one noise more?
How can I tell Christian the name of his arm bone
when the only place he's ever known
is this one he was thrown into, the combat zone?
Gunshots in Cuba, immigrated to gunshots in America.
How can I tell Carlos how America is free
when his ancestors crossed the sea and ended up here,
this ghetto with no guarantee of ever seeing true freedom?
Did they foresee that?
Instead, I sit and listen.
Listen to their stories, the sound of sirens,
compounded by screams. In their ground, gunshots abound.
Nothing astounds them around here, the youthful profound.
Yet they are bound to this ground, they'll always be around.
Renowned city, renowned for evil,
a place of constant upheaval. Home.
We bump and jump through the slumping streets,
the chumps who think we can make a difference.
Those kids, those ones slipping and tripping
on the ice, skipping and ripping their slacks, jackets.
Clever little eyes, pryingly defiant.
Teach them? Teach them what?
How can I tell Eduardo x equals four
when he's seen a man bleeding on the floor,
when he sees the *****s on the corners by the stores
on his way from his school to his front door,
when the roar of the sewers is just one noise more?
How can I tell Christian the name of his arm bone
when the only place he's ever known
is this one he was thrown into, the combat zone?
Gunshots in Cuba, immigrated to gunshots in America.
How can I tell Carlos how America is free
when his ancestors crossed the sea and ended up here,
this ghetto with no guarantee of ever seeing true freedom?
Did they foresee that?
Instead, I sit and listen.
Listen to their stories, the sound of sirens,
compounded by screams. In their ground, gunshots abound.
Nothing astounds them around here, the youthful profound.
Yet they are bound to this ground, they'll always be around.
Renowned city, renowned for evil,
a place of constant upheaval. Home.
Tantalus
What have you done to me? You've taken me
and turned me upside down. What am I supposed to be,
now that you've come into my world?
You unfurled me. But then, you left,
with your charm, so deft that I felt you were still here.
Now I long for you to be near.
My independence was shattered when you arrived,
with your smiles, so sweet...and so contrived.
I have nothing left to believe in you with.
All my faith has been set adrift.
You led me on, and led me astray,
pulled me close and pushed me away.
I thought I was stronger than you made me,
thought I was certain, willful, free.
But you held the key.
You unlocked a side of me that only wanted to please.
I was disgusted with myself, with these actions,
this eager, willing disposition.
When did I go from independence to submission?
No matter my effort, my drive to succeed,
You always manage to mislead me,
take me apart however you want.
You use me, so nonchalant...
And I follow you, cursing how weak I am.
I know now that I am damned. All I can do
is close my eyes, breathe, and open,
and hope one day I'll be free again.
What have you done to me? You've taken me
and turned me upside down. What am I supposed to be,
now that you've come into my world?
You unfurled me. But then, you left,
with your charm, so deft that I felt you were still here.
Now I long for you to be near.
My independence was shattered when you arrived,
with your smiles, so sweet...and so contrived.
I have nothing left to believe in you with.
All my faith has been set adrift.
You led me on, and led me astray,
pulled me close and pushed me away.
I thought I was stronger than you made me,
thought I was certain, willful, free.
But you held the key.
You unlocked a side of me that only wanted to please.
I was disgusted with myself, with these actions,
this eager, willing disposition.
When did I go from independence to submission?
No matter my effort, my drive to succeed,
You always manage to mislead me,
take me apart however you want.
You use me, so nonchalant...
And I follow you, cursing how weak I am.
I know now that I am damned. All I can do
is close my eyes, breathe, and open,
and hope one day I'll be free again.
Clumsy
I can't draw.
I can't write music.
I can't give you all those gifts
that you gaze on with a greedy fervor.
I can't walk
gracefully
with that rhythm
in the hips of other women.
I swat at the shadows of insects,
insecure and shy.
You fight dragons with dauntless valor,
Sword and shield always by your side.
You take everything in stride.
But all I have as my donation
or, rather, my compensation
for my lack of cultivation
are my words for you alone;
for in my words I lose my worry
on solid ground I'm standing firmly
And I can tell you, bold and nervy,
how my heart has overgrown.
I can't draw.
I can't write music.
I can't give you all those gifts
that you gaze on with a greedy fervor.
I can't walk
gracefully
with that rhythm
in the hips of other women.
I swat at the shadows of insects,
insecure and shy.
You fight dragons with dauntless valor,
Sword and shield always by your side.
You take everything in stride.
But all I have as my donation
or, rather, my compensation
for my lack of cultivation
are my words for you alone;
for in my words I lose my worry
on solid ground I'm standing firmly
And I can tell you, bold and nervy,
how my heart has overgrown.
Bacteria
Just one thought
got in through a cut in my
heart, of course the weakest part.
Or maybe shot in with a needle,
making me feeble, invading my words, my art.
My warmth makes it easy to multiply
once you're inside, once you've slipped by.
A virus, a cold, or maybe the flu,
what unavoidably draws me to you?
In my bloodstream, through my veins
filling me so I can no longer feign
disinterest, can no longer resist.
Subsisting on you to remain just sane.
My heart did not fight this blight,
but is it? The feelings you emit
do not befit a virus, I admit...
Maybe you are infected as well.
Do I dwell in you,
in ways you cannot quell?
Just one thought
got in through a cut in my
heart, of course the weakest part.
Or maybe shot in with a needle,
making me feeble, invading my words, my art.
My warmth makes it easy to multiply
once you're inside, once you've slipped by.
A virus, a cold, or maybe the flu,
what unavoidably draws me to you?
In my bloodstream, through my veins
filling me so I can no longer feign
disinterest, can no longer resist.
Subsisting on you to remain just sane.
My heart did not fight this blight,
but is it? The feelings you emit
do not befit a virus, I admit...
Maybe you are infected as well.
Do I dwell in you,
in ways you cannot quell?
Cosmology
"Alone." Not a word, just a thought,
a feeling unsought, now become true.
But who was alone? And must it remain
constrained in this nothing?
But then, something.
It exists, it creates.
What it makes exists on its own.
No longer alone, a feeling of wonder
replacing its hunger for the known.
But it became bored with the space,
the cold, the rocks so tight and controlled.
So it made a cell that wriggled and grew,
one into two, into four, into you.
The lonely, gone, no longer the only,
its toys all lined up in neat little rows.
No need to create, bored, it waits
sated and sleeping,
creation dusty, forgotten.
"Alone." Not a word, just a thought,
a feeling unsought, now become true.
But who was alone? And must it remain
constrained in this nothing?
But then, something.
It exists, it creates.
What it makes exists on its own.
No longer alone, a feeling of wonder
replacing its hunger for the known.
But it became bored with the space,
the cold, the rocks so tight and controlled.
So it made a cell that wriggled and grew,
one into two, into four, into you.
The lonely, gone, no longer the only,
its toys all lined up in neat little rows.
No need to create, bored, it waits
sated and sleeping,
creation dusty, forgotten.
Diabetic Cappuccino
My mother's ex-boyfriend was a murderer.
Cigar-smelling Frump
And "I'm dry", I'm dry.
They found the backdoor in the back of the store.
Aries, Taurus, Cancer, Leo.
My mother's boy-exfriend murd a waserer.
They owned fake fireplaces but not faux fur.
Debtors depend on creditors
and creditors rent out apartments
above prostitutes and husbands in Closets.
My mother's was-boymurd ex a frienderer.
Time to take your leave when Playboys are
littered from Georgetown to the Holland Tunnel.
Wolves wear itchy wool suits and lipstick
And deny child support.
What's the difference between
insulin and heroin?
My mother's ex-boyfriend was a murderer.
Cigar-smelling Frump
And "I'm dry", I'm dry.
They found the backdoor in the back of the store.
Aries, Taurus, Cancer, Leo.
My mother's boy-exfriend murd a waserer.
They owned fake fireplaces but not faux fur.
Debtors depend on creditors
and creditors rent out apartments
above prostitutes and husbands in Closets.
My mother's was-boymurd ex a frienderer.
Time to take your leave when Playboys are
littered from Georgetown to the Holland Tunnel.
Wolves wear itchy wool suits and lipstick
And deny child support.
What's the difference between
insulin and heroin?
Program
I will program you into my life.
I will declare your type, make you equal,
end you with a semicolon.
Defined and usable.
You will make clean code, I think.
No, you are too complex for a variable.
I will expand my definition.
You are a function.
define_you(char personality[]) {
full of variables, endlessly expansive
ready to be called.
}
Where are the errrors? The program compiles.
The variables are set and determined.
Program grammar is perfect
not a semicolon out of place.
I have #included all I need
but calling the function isn't as easy
as a function should be.
What do you do with a broken function?
Is it not a function?
Am I a function?
Runtime errors, bad definitions.
Sometimes you call, sometimes you don't.
Sometimes my own program is called by your function.
I didn't do that
who programmed that?
who ruined my grammar and recoded you
I think you are too complex to be a program.
I will program you into my life.
I will declare your type, make you equal,
end you with a semicolon.
Defined and usable.
You will make clean code, I think.
No, you are too complex for a variable.
I will expand my definition.
You are a function.
define_you(char personality[]) {
full of variables, endlessly expansive
ready to be called.
}
Where are the errrors? The program compiles.
The variables are set and determined.
Program grammar is perfect
not a semicolon out of place.
I have #included all I need
but calling the function isn't as easy
as a function should be.
What do you do with a broken function?
Is it not a function?
Am I a function?
Runtime errors, bad definitions.
Sometimes you call, sometimes you don't.
Sometimes my own program is called by your function.
I didn't do that
who programmed that?
who ruined my grammar and recoded you
I think you are too complex to be a program.
Awards
September 2011 - Poem of the Month (entire thread)
February 2012 - Poem of the Month (Diabetic Cappuccino)
February 2012 - Poem of the Month (Diabetic Cappuccino)
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