New Poetry!
My life has shifted in some way the last few months, and I don’t really have long stretches of time to write anymore. That’s what I need to be able to create longer stories like, you know, novels. Lucky for me, I can write poems in minutes. Well, I can think of poems and jot down ideas in minutes, a few words, and come back to it again and again whenever I’m able to, and I don’t lose the thread of it. Sort of like how I can rewatch any TV series and start and stop at any point in any episode and pick it up a few days later without missing anything. No need to watch an entire episode at once. I already know it all by heart.
The next poetry collection I’m publishing is a book of love poems. I’ve got the book title, and maybe fifty poems already, and three different people offered to create my cover for me because I actually left my comfort zone in the past year and networked and made friends who have talents and want to? share them? with me?? It’s wild, y’all.
And most of these poems are a little wild, too. If you think any of them are about you, and you’d like to take preventative action like, say, a restraining order, or posting some disclaimer on social media: I assure you, none of the poems are about you. I’m not obsessed, I’m not murderous or suicidal. I’m simply very good at getting to the heart of things.
And in this case, possibly eating that heart.
Here’s a newer poem, to give you an idea of what you’re in for. Let me know what you think!
Acciaccatura
His girlfriend’s voice grates
like train brakes, the trill of children,
whine of a toddler—spoiled and sure
of her entitlement. She appears, and therefore,
deserves. Her words
pitch and slice—
can only monsters hear that register?
Have I revealed too much, in every flinch,
in every wince
away from her piercing yips? Her treble thins,
the limits of an instrument that warns
before it snaps.
What will my warning be, before I launch
toward that falsetto throat,
humming blade in hand to free
the honest tessitura?
Gravel, growl, a revving crescendo
only cooling blood can soothe.
He can’t hear my heart over hers.
But I’m a virtuoso
in the art of supplanting.