"Zipped Lips" by Aaron Blair

Your Locked-Shut Lips

by

Aaron Blair

You close your mouth and it's
the closing of a door, or the lid
of a coffin, so that no words will
ever pass between us again.

Your tongue won't be trapped
in between my biting teeth.

Tell me, how do things die?
Is it because they are left
untended, and to their own
hapless devices? Were we
such irresponsible lovers?
Did we never think of
a way to see it through?

I won't stop wanting you.
You'll be in me until you're
an abstract, an idea not
attached to a person, until
even your face is gone
and all I have is the poems
to remind me why I still care.

I'll dream your mouth, and
it will open, say "I love you,"
before I slide my waiting
tongue into its home.

Loud and Clear - by Janine Euladia

loud and clear

by

Janine Euladia

My optimistic belief that...
we could last,
scares me

So pessimism sits on the other side
to catch me
when I fall

In the end
I am always very dissappointed
I don't trust myself

Though, usually it's I who ends it, I have to
I know my limitations,
I can not accept

mental deficiencies, weaknesses
such as a bad temper or the dreaded...
inability to communicate

I cannot tolerate the dark
when one can simply open their mouth
and shed light

So far you speak loud and clear
Thank you!
Maybe this time...

03/27/2007

Author's Note: The pessimistic optimist

Posted on 03/27/2007

Copyright © 2009 Janine Euladia

Member Comments on this Poem

Posted by Matthew Sharp on 03/27/07 at 12:54 AM nice reality. your view of it is so fine and easy to get a hold of. elegant.

Posted by Hellen Gramling on 03/27/07 at 06:38 AM Wow, I feel like this all the time; I'm always envious of those who can write/speak fluently of happiness and whatnot. Wonderful expression and clarity. I loved the structure as well. Great write.

Posted by Rhiannon Jones on 03/27/07 at 08:43 PM I like the directness of this. I've got to admit I laughed when I read "dreaded...inability to communicate." I think I would have capitalized that part, or something...

Shy Ones...Stevn Craig

Shy Ones

by

Steven Craig

Shy ones often have small issues in knowing what to say.

They often do better being told what to do.

When the decision is not theirs, they excel and put better energy into everyone’s lives.

Being shy is an interesting feeling.

At once, you feel sheltered from the chaos around you, and at the same time, do desire to be involved in the middle of all that chaos.

When end moment that comes makes you see the chaos desired approach, it is so easy to pull back, retreat to quiet spaces where the mind consoles and the touch of needed safety is perceived.

Perhaps, you are afraid of the dragons lurking just beyond, feeling that you do not have the power to make it though the passage.

Retreat is a place that makes you feel familiar with your hiding, in a way, a lie that things are as they have always been.

Is it that much of a salvation, that great of a relief to have permission to speak, permission to perform, permission to be accepted, when that allowance is given to you by one you perceive as a powerful will of integrity and voice that commands both respect and hands you that needed safe spot in life.

Beckoning hands, moving voices, desires that grow with the moment, the expectation, the need to be allowed the relief of knowing you have done so very well because you did not need to make a choice, a decision, voice the answer that has never been and will never be spoken.

Yes, you can do it. If only with and very quietly with a soft word and a softer touch, permission is a gift granted you in advance that, at the stairs threshold, you will be finally happy and content, not with what you did, but with yourself having done it.

09/03/2009

2nd hand introspection

Encounters [ second-hand introspection ]

by

Sara Regina

Tried to go window shopping the other day--
all I saw in them was my own reflection,
and it wasn't for sale.

I bumped into an angel, but
he didn't recognize me. He said:
"Sorry, girl, forgiveness isn't my department,
but can I buy you
a coffee?"

He put in two creamers, one sugar,
without even asking.
He told me he liked my eyes--
they reminded him of an ocean
or something. He was very matter-of-fact.
"I'd kiss you," he explained,
"but your eyes look like all of earth's waters.
Polluted. Sorry, babe, but it's the truth."

I tried to tell him that
he wasn't as golden as I'd assumed, but
he held up one bright hand to stop me.
"We're so careful, you know, in heaven...!"

And tipping his hat
(but not the waitress)
he disappeared.

Well, backhanded praise isn't going to
break my heart anymore.

I walked away, and avoided
windows and angels, after that.

07/14/2004

Author's Note: don't you hate it when...?

Posted on 07/22/2004
Copyright © 2009 Sara Regina

Member Comments on this Poem

Posted by Summer B Osprey on 07/23/04 at 12:52 AM sara...you blow me away again and again. it's just not fair how easily these impressive little vignettes flow from your keyboard. a pox upon you and your talent.

Posted by Melina Raven Maness Diebold on 11/29/04 at 12:54 PM If Clarence Oddbody got a part-time job at Abercrombie. That's what this made me think of. Very nice. Very nice indeed! Peace...