Poetry

I've been struggling to write anything of worth lately, so these poems have come as a beautiful surprise.

When moonlight is the only light please don't turn off my night light
for that's when the dust settles
and its slow descent into my upset room
mirrors my own life
and being a creature of mild and delicate intelligence
I prefer not to be reminded.

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I held your baby
like he held me
with tender strength and necessity

I kissed his head
like he sucked on me
with improper manners and joy

I love your baby
like I love you
with all of a plain woman's heart.

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The Autumn leaves are still splendid
even when cold in the ignored gutter
even their bronzed veins look magical wedged in the humdrum drain

The girls Garden is still pretty
even when covered with an iced Winter cloth
its virginal blanket laying quietly and asleep waiting for the fresh boy called Spring

The bruised singing woman is still feminine
even with puffed up eyes and cracks
her weak beau failing to dismember the chords of her sweet-scented soul.

The Man lost in the cold of her arms still feels like a man on fire
even when his gentle man ness is shoved away
his good big head and screaming yearning chest
boom noisily
in mighty defiance.



Copyright Angela Norris