Ellen Conserva
Sad JoyI have gathered
Those colored pieces Of you and laid them into Myself Like pressing flowers In a book. You are there. You always will be. Pressed into me. The sad joy comes When I flip my Pages And a fragile flower, Saved long ago, Slides down Into my lap. Gingerly I cup it in my Hands And marvel at how beautiful It remains. Preserved in Me. You In Me. Still beautiful. The Daunted
All heads down
Heels clicking and scratching dirt. Waiting for danger To leave unrequited. They face the cold winter Huddled in their woolen wraps And never slant an eye Toward the frosted pane or The dunes of door snow. The unbrave shivers when The wind blows hot and Drips sweat during winter storms. The weak of knee press on As their hearts keep a steady beat Neither rising or falling Nor racing or missing. They count their steps and refuse To forward on if there are Corners or dark hallways. Cowards choose to stunt themselves And never grow And stay the same And live life safe. They are like leaves That turn yellow and then Fall to the ground Before letting their Beauty complete by turning Red fire. While the courageous and The unafraid Bravely go forth And die glorious deaths. Again and again. Anchors
Though my table be laden
With all heart things That slake and fill One gust will Cause crash and flings. Smooth stones On corners four Are the saviors The friends, the victors, Whom I adore. SynthesisEarly Spring
and Early Fall Come together And make warm days Full of color And aromas And the need to Lift the head And feel the breeze Through the hair And to the bones You and I Are thus And when we come Together Our seasons Melt and Embrace Into our own Time. And it feels Like The Perfect Day. Fall FashionThe sentinels of the wood
Have put on their party clothes In defiance to the damp And the wind that is Wandering and howling Limbs raised To the heavens As their costumes are hoisted And shred from their fingers. The parlaying back and forth The leaning and the loosening Cloaks cascading and falling To the rotting blanket below Naked to the blows of winter Proud and poised Spindly and worn Waiting For the runway show From the Spring Seamstress Already at work in their veins. Spinning A new set of splendor. |
Water
Your banks are dry and brittle
Deep grooves in the bed Sticks and stones Dusty alone Lifeless leaves spread Your wind is hot and yellow It blows from east to west Cloud and dirt You sting, you hurt In skin you press Your vessel fallen on its side Nothing there to slake Hollow and hard. Throat charred Thirsty ache In my flowing tears Surging spring My rain, my wet Sweet sweat. Fullness I bring I fill your cracks Your deep grooves And empty spaces. In all those places I meander and move I fill your clouds And breath And wind With mist. And kiss Your death I empty myself To fill you up I take your shame and shape Redeem the rape Become the cup When I am present Your wind is gentle rain Your chalice full Ripe for a pull Your self I will sustain. Invite the water Beseech the swell That pours you over. No seeking cover Drown in my well. Found WantingCome closer
I’ll push you Away, say I’m pretty Your honey is lovely But sweetness is pity. Say whisper words Ones that can heal I will hold them In my hands But refuse To fist capture And own them Their softness Their silk threads I see them as binding The raw wounds I have here I’m scared of you finding Me wanting Me lacking Me running away Tell me you love me Then I cannot stay Your lack of all guile And your magnet of draw Cannot hold me You see me The birthplace of flaw I want you I loathe you I love what you say I hate you for feeling For getting to weigh The measure of me The me that you know You only palm half Just the ebb Not the flow Your wind how it wants to Blow open my door But my foot is a stopper The dirt on the floor Of my heart Which is broken In thousands of shards That have wounded And left me with Nothing but scars You placate You stroke You touch me down deep But the pressure Your hands Make my wounds start to weep Come closer Much closer And you will see all Of my heart Of my soul Of my folly My fall. Run while you can Run quickly away I am much more than These beautiful things That you say About me and my inside And me and my hurt But you love me You want me And I cannot turn Into her. Can’t be wanted Or measured Or found to be had For I’m wanting Found wanting So good and So bad.
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Thin IceYou are like
A fickle week in winter Warming up Then freezing out You fortify your pond So I can skate. Then you thaw And crack Under my feet. Warily I walk, Along the slushy surface My eyes cast down As I solicitously step Because you can’t Make up your Mind About me. Will you hold me up? Or will you pull me down? Another day Another change In your temperature. Please, I beg you. Be winter. The Inventor of HugsThe inventor of hugs
Was someone I adore For their bravery Shamelessness Passion galore How did the first hug go? I must wonder Was it awkward Or forced Or all full of blunder ? What words were spoken As arms were entrapping? Imprisonment Panic All in one grappling I am thinking again I feel in my heart That the one who was given The hug He was smart. He had the power To push Hugger away But surely he whispered Stay Stay Stay Hugging takes two The starter is one But the taker The stayer The one who won’t run…. He is the hero The one I admire If he didn’t hug back We wouldn’t have Fire. Blood LinesOne side
Fair and simple Easy lines and tight knit seams Equally divided teams. Open spaces Warm and sheltered Lush green and dark loam Frothy oceans, creamy foam. One side Bitter and jaded Empty jars and broken vases Holding wilted flowers Milk that sours. Closed expressions Squints and furrows Breath held in afraid Lives to trade. One side here and one side there. Be the bridge. Summer GiftsOutside my icy window
Silent snowflakes falling fine Rocky rows which once held cotton Now, just barren angry lines. Summer in the distant future Fields of cloudy cotton dreams Waiting for the hands of harvest Cotton threads and cotton seams. Nature tries to trick my senses Make me think of summer heat When the air smelled fat with honey The growling gin, the handle's beat. That spin in winter morning The swirling, darting snow Wants to take me back to summer And the air all full of tow. I press my nose upon the glass And I shutter with surprise For my winter self awakens And I recognize the lies. Waiting for the blazing sunshine Longing for the smell of rain. I pull my cotton quilt around me Arms across the windowpane. Summer gifts are used in winter August pulling, bags in droves. Balls of fluff that grew unselfish Wrap my shoulders in repose. |
