the poetry nugget

the drone of micromanagement, in quarter-hour installments, each created to contradict, they layer them, a cake, to celebrate. doubt becomes belief, own the fault, the pieces of the puzzle fall into a pattern, a plan, mean-spirited, worthy of a Scottish wife, with a complement of false concern. a blight of human kindness.

No words to express my sadness because he is gone too early; before all our tales told, before all our adventures shared, before all our poetry reworked in the confines of my car. I whisper to him inbetween the  hours,  when the sky is bruised  black&blue, to him,  on the other side...  

ultranervously,            in panic, ran away.       The demoralized young man         held on waiting,           biting his nails. chest, shoulders drooped.                 turned away walked off through the gate into the nearest bar,                    for a long time lost                                           

x, y intercepts the lines cross into infinity, transverse the tattoo, scar the wrist, vulnerable scabs newly formed, hot,  itch to be broken,  the blade slender, pinpricks of crimson  against porcelain, sweet pain

Poetry brought us together, friendship grew, side by side. I miss a turn or two,  among all our words,  there'll be more, next time. At the end of the evening, he extends his hand to mine, warmth to warmth, good night . He flicks the outside light, I beep in reply, our ritual complete, superstition satisfied, I drive away, believing he is safe inside. Beguiled by this foolery, I would not see him again.

10 pm The eyes of most young men glaze over her, yet tonight, he takes her in, he flirts with her. He is Stanley calling out Stella's name, Catullus stalking Lesbia in a lusty poem. It's crazy-sexy feeling... 11 pm Should she lie with this man and lie to her mate? Flesh pressed against flesh in the deep dark of night, but in the harsh bright of dawn? He tempts her with his heat, should she open herself to him? 12 am Too much alcohol, too many words without listening. Tales tumble, rough sex and women past. Romance&mystery drain, the chemistry distills. A hook-up? He doesn't deserve an answer. 

photo by author I  have written poetry on and off since high school.  I began to post poems on my fashion blog in 2013 and finally separated the poetry in 2015.   It was a strange path through my passion for fashion to my commitment to poetry, but I'm proud to say I am a poet.  I am a member of the James River Writers and the River City Poets, both based in Richmond, Virginia. I've chosen two of my poems to share with you and am open to your comments.  Big thanks to Tina for this opportunity. Sincerely, Judy