Tag: writing

Magic

by Lindsay, posted in poetry 
Magic flowed a river of printed words

meandering across ivory pages

passing up through grazing finger tips and

pulsing along a bloodstream

traveling deep into lungs and then

as air molecules flowing upward and 
out 
his mouth between full lips.

Magic coursed into the space between us

as a river delta, pouring water into the sea

where I bathed in the warm current of

each magic word 
             
           he read to me.

For My Nephew

by Lindsay, posted in poetry 
You are not my own
Yet I held myself
When I held you.

Stars freckle your sky face
Freckled like your mother
That which I do not share.

Nor do I have
Your turned-up nose.

Your azure eyes
We all have.
Light on a torch
Beaming back.

Your eyes
Your mother's eyes
Your grandmother's eyes
Your great-grandmother's eyes
   (whose I still see so clearly)

The light she carried from others who said
"Bonjour" and "Au demain"
"Ferme la porte!" and "Je t'aime!"

A Cavern of Mirrors / Origami

by Lindsay, posted in poetry 
Thoughts and images fill my head but don't connect 
to the words and phrases that would 
leave my mouth and connect me to you.

So I sit, a cavern of mirrors, 
reflecting my thoughts onto myself, 
and only myself.

My arms fold against my chest and start 
the forever inward folding, 
away from you, away from what I want.

I look like an asshole when the words elude me.
My forged bravery is a sham, and 
I am now all alone in this room.

Spring II

by Lindsay, posted in poetry

I woke up on the right side of the bed this morning
With the sun shining through my eyelids
Before I even knew I was awake
And my ear angled just right
To hear the feather-winged chatter
That I so missed during the months
of wading in drifted snow
     (with my head down,
         looking for something lost,
         though I’d long forgotten what I was searching for)
 
Today I will meet everyone at their eyes
 
Though I know
Spring is a fickle lover
For this moment
I am choosing bliss

The Edges of Your Jeans’ Pocket

by Lindsay, posted in poetry

You stole the shirt
from off my back
when we were seven
(when we were seven)
as we played in the field.
 
You caught a butterfly
and pushed a pin
through its head,
slowly, wings beating.
 
Then tacked it to a mat
to peer at under your
Kmart scientist’s special scope
I had said no.
(I had said no).
 
Dinner called us home at dusk.
I shrugged on my grass-stained shirt
and you crumpled the butterfly
into your jeans’ pocket.
 
Your fingers leaving mud
that dried like blood
and crusted like pus
on the edge’s of your jeans’ pocket.

On the Shores of Infinite Diamonds

by Lindsay, posted in poetry

On the shores of infinite diamonds, we were
all bronzed skin and limbs,
under a late summer sun.

Ever gently a rose glow
caressing our eyes, saturated our world,
as light retreated beyond mountains.

On the shores beneath infinite stars, we were
all tender skin, twisted limbs,
surroundings obscured in the dark.

Seoul

by Lindsay, posted in poetry, travel, writing 
The rain came down on Seoul.
My soul it bathed and seduced.
For a sole wanderer far from home,
Seoul filled my sole soul with youth.

It’s raining today and I don’t want it to be. It’s a cold, dreary January rain and I want nothing more than for it to be snowing. I am deeply craving the quiet that comes with powdery snow, and the even deeper cold that comes with that snow. I am not quite sure why. I have always identified myself as a “summer person.” Despite the fact that I want it to be snowing, the current weather reminded me of this brief poem that I wrote some time ago while reminiscing about living in Korea. I lived there ten years ago.

Summer came early that year in Korea, bringing heat and heaviness to the air. The trademarks of summer that I was used to–blue skies, clear sunshine–were not there. Even on cloudless days, the sun was obscured by haze. It rained a lot in July, and even when the clouds left the sky, the sun was but a blurred glow, having the same effect as viewing a light through a frosted window. In those days I welcomed the rain. For a few years after I returned from Korea, hot and rainy summer days often flooded my mind with memories of my time overseas. All weather talk aside, I loved spending time in Seoul and would go back again in a heartbeat.

Although as I am writing this, it is not hot and humid, and is in fact January, and on top of that I want nothing more than two feet of snow, I still could not resist posting a blurb about summer rain in Seoul.