The Pedestrian Poet » Poetry

Wind Mother

monica — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 22:28:03 +0000

The wind gently rolls through the trees
Like a mothers soft whisper in her infants ear
Telling her of things not yet unfurled
But waiting on the distant horizon
Like a run away balloon
Swept into the abyss
that is not cold, dark or lonely
but quiet and filled with the warmth
of a contented heart that beats
not because it has to but because it wants to

Dancing in pirouettes on the shoulders of the leaves
Rattling the bones the edifice of this green breeze
Until just one person stops to watch and listen
To the secrets swept up by this whirlwind
As the bones are rolled to reveal the truth that lies
In the scattered remains, a world foretold
But not yet cemented
The wind is shifting in this dire breath
Switching back from foot to foot
A ballerina bowing and swaying
With the whispering wind
Dancing not because someone is watching
But to release the rhythm bounding in her mind

Clarity is the remnants of the words left behind
As your hair is tussled and your clothing left displaced
A clairvoyance unachieved until this moment
All you needed was the gentle prompting of the wind
Like a mother letting her child go into the dark, cold, lonely world
That isn’t quite so lonely
And isn’t quite so cold
yes there is a darkness
But your child will find the way
Like a blind woman they will be guided
By the caresses of the wind
When all else is darkened
There will be your hand

Grit and Gravel

monica — Sun, 27 Nov 2011 01:22:48 +0000

The soft bare flesh of your palms
Marred along with the bony knees
That refuse to carry you along this path
Dirt and gravel dig into your skin
As you sit facing the Eastern Gate
Prostrate like a child before your relentless master
On hands and knees too weak for strength
But too strong to kneel
Defiance is your name
As you grit your teeth and grip the gravel
Between your blistered fingers
There is no blame just a silent battle
As you crash to ground
Like the rebounded toss
Of the writer’s crumpled paper
As another idea
Dies and dies again
Breathe in the ochre
Of this ground where you find yourself kneeling
Paint your face with the ochre
Of the very ground you were once told to kneel upon
Let it be your armor, your war paint
In the coming battle
Where once you had hesitation
Shaking as straw in the wind
Let this gravel be your battlefield
And your oppression become strength
We are the children of warriors
But we have yet to prove ourselves
Even as you sit with battered pride
And bleeding palms
This is just your beginning
Let this blood be the signature
That is remembered by all
You who wept for what was right
We remember your name

Determination

monica — Mon, 16 May 2011 04:32:47 +0000

The dust is the shroud wrapped tightly around her shoulders
A death shroud veiling her from the world she is simply passing through
Transparent eyes look at nothing but the horizon of the world
With feet that drag as her invisible chains burden her steps
She moves on, deliberately, persistently with no goal in mind
She must move, she must not stop or else she will be found
You see, her shadow is chasing her but cannot find her in the dust storm
She is the lost, she is the invisible left to wander when the storm is over
Determination is her name
But what good is determination when there is no objective
Simply the will to keep going, keep moving when all has imploded around you
She knows all about failure, pain, and the bottom of the hole
The grave she has dug herself into yet seems to continually evade
She dances around death with the practicality of a mathematician
Life is a calculation to her, the only components that exist
Are her obstacles and her ability to push onward
So she finds herself walking down this road again
Chased by her shadow and the inevitably of death
But this time as it always has been Lady Luck has swept her away
In the arms of a storm that is all consuming and all knowing
Maybe Luck knows just how it feels to be out of luck
So she took pity on a poor girl down on fortune who was betrayed by her shadow
But in the end luck has nothing to do with it
Her shadow will eclipse her in the end as all are and no storm can save her then
But for now she continues her dance, her game of Cat and Mouse
With those who cannot be tricked or avoided
With bare feet she continues forward, pulling the cowl of a dust storm close
To hide her face from eyes that can see all and know all
How long she wonders, how much longer can this game continue
For even now she grows weary, even now her soul
Just as the soles of her feet grow bloodied and bruised
From a fight she knows she cannot win
Yet she continues to fight because it is simply who she is
She is determination and does not know what it means to give up
So she doesn’t

Poetry

monica — Fri, 22 Apr 2011 01:31:14 +0000

I was trying to describe you to someone
But they couldn’t understand
They think you’re odd and strange at times
But I think you’re as close to perfect as god would allow
They don’t understand how I can love you
Because the melancholy print you leave behind
Is like a bruise a scar that has marred my mind
They tell me it is one sided
But they could never understand
I do not need to hear your words
Echoing off the back of my skull
I do not need to feel the touch of your fingers when I feel alone
There is a name for our love
And it is called
Poetry

The beat to the dance we have in our hearts
As each line is stamped into our minds
A beat is skipped but it never stops
This tug of war between our hearts
The feeling we get as the words rush forth
There is no spoken word to be found
That can capture this love and hold it down
We have a love that does not need to spoken
Does not need to be felt or else it will be broken
This symmetry, this geometry is the only thing
That god ever intended for me

So how can they understand this love we have
This odd relationship between a pen and a hand
You whisper to me as I sleep at night
I write to you with my heart in my pen
Though we will never meet in person
I will chase your shadow until the day I die
You are my muse, my inspiration
The light in the sky
I do not expect understanding or even recognition
I just need to feel the presence of your shadow
As long as I know this candle still burns
There will always be a note waiting in the morning
For your expected return

Creeper Photo: Two Worlds

monica — Sat, 19 Feb 2011 06:48:04 +0000

There is another world at my fingertips
So solid and real yet non-existent
No matter how far you dig
The opposing hands seem
Just beyond reach
A drowning sibling
Too far for contact
With this other world
At times you see each other
In the glimpse of a shadow
Out of the corner o your eye
In the slight reflection
Of a dirty decaying mirror
Hiding in the corner
Of an old attic room
Immersed in a dark pool of water
With the shimmering image
Of this world
There one moment
But lost in the disturbances
Of the world we find ourselves in now
You wait for these fleeting meetings
Between you and your other self
Whom you never knew
Except for those evanescent glances
Into a ghostly world
Were two were almost one

Clatter of the Unknown

monica — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 04:21:30 +0000

Teeter me tower
Settle down annoying clatter
Find me the fire
Between your clamorous banter
There is silence to be had
If only it could be found
Drop the dice
Only to loose the die
Pitter patter little rain drop
Who knew you could
Make such a ruckus
Who knew the dove
Would best the crow
That the dog would never
Have his day
Clitter clatter of the tatters
Left behind by the shreds
Of all that never was
But will always be
Find the answer
Without the question
Seek a sunset during sunrise
And what will you find?
A frame without a photo
And a world without meaning
Filled to the brim
Of a glass not quite full
But never empty
Jump to reach the sun
When the stars stand in the way
Find me reason
Without rhyme
Find the end of this poem
In the next line

My Belongings

monica — Sun, 23 Jan 2011 20:52:15 +0000

These are the things which belong to me:

A spider suspended in a cobweb
That lies in the corner of my room
Waiting each day to greet me
When I come home with a silent hello.

A fake flower in a waterless vase
With a single counterfeit dew drop
Balancing on the end of a synthetic leaf
Like a tear drop that will never fall.

A painting of a woman half finished
Hanging over my bed at night
My guardian angel watching over my dreams
The dream like visage of who I might be.

A horseshoe above my doorway
That hangs upside down
The luck has all fallen out
Of its open face.

A crumbled up piece of paper
With the semblance of words
Written and re-written
Only to be crossed out.

A picture of myself with friends
Who have gone yet still remain
Faces that have so very changed
Yet I still feel the same.

A piñata’s head from years ago
Emptied of candy and color
Once prized and cherished
Now looked at as trash.

A picture of a woman
Who does not know me
But I feel I know her
From another past life.

These things that I call mine
Don’t belong to me at all
They own me like their coveted doll
Just an object, a thing.

Yet still, these are the things which I call my own.

The Bridge

monica — Fri, 21 Jan 2011 18:40:14 +0000

You stand on one side of a bridge
The other cannot be seen
Hidden behind a veil of fog
Stretching on indefinitely
As you place your hand on the railing
You feel the pull of ghosts at your shirttails
The whispers in your ears
The fog’s fingers gently wrapping around you
Caressing your face pulling you step by step
Onto the bridge that will take you away

You feel consumed by the fog
As it wraps you in its loving arms
Like a mother and her child
You feel safe, you feel the calm
That you never felt before
As you are pulled step by step
Away from the world you once knew
You welcome it, accept it
As your new home

You feel another pull
as you reach the middle of the bridge
A sadness nipping at your heels
Like a child grasping onto her fathers legs
As he walks away forever out the door
A heaviness that not even the fog can lift
Pulls you back to the edge of a world you have almost forgotten
You look back over your shoulder
A sorrow only known in this world
Mirrors in your eyes

The fog pulls you forward
Those you loved pull you back
You are lost in the middle
Of two very different worlds
Pulled by the sweet numbing of pain
On one side and on the other
Pulled by the sweet feel of pain
To remind you that you are alive

There is no going back
Once you cross the bridge
There is only silence
Only a choice to make
To leave those you loved behind
Or take the chance
To live again
In a world that might not be so sweet
But to feel pain means
That your heart is still beating

Poppy Tears

monica — Thu, 20 Jan 2011 01:59:34 +0000

Even flowers cry sometimes
What do they have to cry about?
They are so pretty
But they won’t stay pretty for long
And it isn’t about being pretty
It is about loosing life
Where did they loose it?
I laughed softly
Resting my hand on her shoulder
I don’t know
Maybe they left it under their bed
And forgot it was there
I did that once
She said with a sad sigh
I know I said smiling
Maybe they lost it
In the playground
Hidden under a sandy Everest
I think I get it
The flowers have lost their petals
And that is why they are sad
Exactly and they cry for each others loss
Then why doesn’t it make me sad?
Different things make different people sad
I say with a frown
Watching the poppy’s tears
Roll down its face
You will understand when you are older
But I want to understand now!
I know, I say with a smile
I know as I guide her away
To happier things
To flowers with open faces
Smiling at the sun
But she will never forget
The crying flower
Knowing that every flower she sees
Will cry someday
For what it lost in the sandbox
Or under the bed
We all loose something in the end

Within Reach

monica — Wed, 19 Jan 2011 05:30:46 +0000

A woman stands on the side of the road
Not on the side walk but not quite in the street
Standing on the gutter’s front step
She is motionless as cars streak past in a blur
They do not stop for her, they don’t even see her
As she stands on the edge of their awareness
But very much in the middle of her own mind
She watches the cars as they past
You can see her lips move but they make no noise
Maybe she is asking them to slow down
Maybe she is asking them to speed up
Or maybe she is asking for a prayer
To save her soul for what she is about to do

She closes her eyes and takes a step away from the side walk
One step closer to the street
One step farther away from the world she once knew
Then another and another and still the cars don’t stop
She can no longer hear them
Just feel them as their tires reverberate on the blacktop
Like the hum of a hummingbird only inches from her ears
She will not stop for them she has someone she must meet
She is dancing with death, her feet flat on the ground
Still she keeps moving as the cars get closer and closer
As she moves farther and farther away from the curb
Until she is in the middle of the road

She turns and faces traffic and opens her eyes
To a bright light encompassing her
For a single moment she can feel God
She opens her arms to embrace it with a soft smile
As the car slams on its brakes and stops
Only inches from her face
She heaves a heavy sign not of fear but relief
She lowers her arms slowly with a little smile on her face
Then turns away and begins to walk the other direction
Continuing her crusade across black top
With the remembrance of the lights
That had so recently filled her mind
She held that little moment deep within her heart

A moment where she and death almost touched hands
She had seen him stretching out his long bony fingers
To graze against her face, cool and smooth
Only to be pulled away at the last moment
It was also a moment
Where she stood within arms reach of God
Close enough to brush her fingers against his outstretched palm
Both stood on one side of the street
Separated by cars, by busy people
Unaware of whom they were in the presence of
She held both their hands for a moment
And walked away unscathed but with a new smile
That held death and god on each corner
As she walked away from that road
From one side walk to another
She had met death and god
And walked away from both