pearls

Protected: Afterthought 1542—Weekend Snowbird

Posted in nothing special by maggie on 2017/01/12

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Afterthought 1467—Never Will I Be

Posted in terzanelle by maggie on 2016/12/08

I'll never be a friend you want or need
as long as I can't be what you assume
to be the one behind words you misread.

You give freely? I'm wondering, to whom?
Never once will that special one be me
as long as I can't be what you assume.

No matter how I try, I'll never be
a friend you want or need. I'm not —
never once will that special one be me.

What you expect of me I haven't got
nor will I ever get it. I can't do that —
a friend you want or need I'm not.

I can't act like how what you're getting at
when who I'm not is who you say I am,
nor will I ever. Get it? I can't do that.

What an unconscionable unmitigated sham
to be the one behind words you misread
when who I'm not is who you say I am!
I'll never be a friend you want or need.

Afterthought 1444—A Crossing, A Casting, A Calling

Posted in quatrain by maggie on 2016/11/30

		We three will come as were sent
		to bring out through our seeing

		word inspired in visions meant
		for our own each one's freeing.

		We three brought along our dark
		ghosts and demons tossing,

		our magic here to make its mark
		to break light on our crossing.

		We three share a common breath
		our life our love rewinding,

		none harming past all death,
		irrevocably binding.

		We three join to voice moon's rise
		for dancing sunlight's falling,

		bardoi to holy exercise
		in one the others' calling.

		We three recreate the myth,
		true poetry reciting —

		Birth and Death and Beauty with
		our song new legend writing.

		We three times three serve its same
		our blessed covenant lasting,

		in our Muse's sacred name
		according to our casting.

Afterthought 1352—Your Nothings

Posted in nothing special by maggie on 2016/10/30

No nothing is the same as any other.

A mathematician you once thought you knew
tried to explain his unique proof of that to me.
He lost me at the part about different infinities
and about lines and curves in complex space
and about time's role in actuarial equivalences.
Or maybe I lost him in an earlier dream he had,
back when the three of us were first together
with nothing expected and nothing promised,
and neither of those the same as this nothing,
this nothing we've had to make something of.

Set it all equal to nothing.

Like the quadratic equation, he says. Like what?
Oh. Another metaphor. Make it all as a metaphor.
Like a metaphor. As though a metaphor. Same as.
I had to learn it the hard way. I had to be nothing.
His quadratic equation's nothing. Euler's nothing.
Einstein's nothing. Aristotle's nothing. Then yours.
Class remained in session. I walked the empty hall.
Outside the fires of riot were lighting up the streets.
A strange woman was taking your place in his bed.
He got rid of her by explaining his proof of nothings.
Turned out she was just Pilate's grandson in drag.
Truth is nothing. No nothing's same as any other.

Divide nothing into itself. Repeatedly.

I always believe you. You made me. He said so too.
So where was I to fly when you showed what I am
to you? All your brochures, they turn into the world
you wage war against. I believe in you. It's nothing
to me to be nothing to you. The sacred statue goes
back to its ancient home tonight. You'll make it up
to me. He works out who everyone is supposed to
be before our eyes. Bank hard left. Make it all yours.

Afterthought 1279—Two Poets

Posted in nothing special by maggie on 2016/09/25

You turned completely around to kneel
in the passenger seat, curious
about two poetry books I'd purchased.

I tried pretending the volumes
a mutual selection chosen more by my
quiet traveling companion.

You knew better. Both were poets too
obscure, too near the edge
you guessed I would have made it to.

Both were poets too often
ignored. My quiet traveling companion
stared down at the car floor.

You flipped through the pages of both
worn books as if familiar
with the words, the images, the legends.

I'd thought I would never
see you again. The road fading behind us
said I was again near gone.

You returned my sacred treasures to me.
You sat back in your seat.
You said nothing when we were let out.

I will read those two poets
through your eyes, and whenever I do
rain'll fog up the rear window.

Afterthought 1258—Is the Word

Posted in nothing special, sestet by maggie on 2016/09/17

Is the word you wish to hear
one that you yourself can't say
without it beating up your throat
as cries from lovers you betray
kill the word's sound in your ear
to leave you only ill you wrote?

Is the word you wish to know
one that you yourself can't see
as living in the hearts you damned,
replacing love with flattery
of hustlers using you as though
they in turn weren't being scammed?

Is the word you wish to keep
one you yourself consider dead,
barely thought of now and then
as if a brief guest to your bed?
All your words sell on the cheap—
you'll never find true words again.

Afterthought 1084—Heart Hungry

Posted in curtal sonnet, nothing special by maggie on 2016/07/13

Let's rent kayaks, go watch icebergs relax
like lazy thoughts on currents as they melt
into horizons passing storms have blurred.

Mid-morning breezes tease across our backs.
Old island legends' fingers long and svelte
crisscross, composing secret songs unheard.

If we get separated, we'll meet up back here,
corner of Prescott and Military. Adrien felt
the lunches this cafe serves his preferred.
This far north, our days won't disappear,
                      take my word.


Protected: Afterthought 1024—Breakthrough

Posted in nothing special, sapphics by maggie on 2016/06/01

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Afterthought 913—Sonnet -6

Posted in nothing special, sonnet, sonnet cycle by maggie on 2016/02/17
 
Conceived in doubt, whom he loves he must lose
his future to.  Another will come by
to pick it up for him.  He needn't try
convincing her to stay.  Another muse
will speak to his forgotten dream.  Excuse
him his regard for her.  Another sky
will open up on him.  Distrusting why,
whose child he fathers he cannot be whose.
 
My mother's nipple nursed me on his word
until my own kicked in. "Before he left
me stuck with you," she told me once, "He'd hoped
to live to see you cured.  I might've coped
with losing him, but not with your soul's theft.
Go after him. You'll know no other lord."