The Poetry Hut

why are you standing still
on the weak legs of stale hope,
dragging your thoughts into a past
that can’t be changed or fixed?
then looking back, you fail to see the
wonder that spreads its welcome mat,
inviting you inside.

there is music in the distance, not
a song of loss or regret, but a
lush prelude that only you can complete.

there. do you see them?
secret dreams dance in the air,
waiting for you to take the lead.

©ep

the empty desert stretched wide below, as far as i can see
every shade of red and earth, the glorious bleed of land.
i can almost see the dust clouds form as i sit afloat in air
and i, in turn, adrift and alone, dust the corners of my soul.

there, in the darkest farthest side, are the words i never said
the thousand songs and letters that i failed to bring to life.
they sit in silence, bound and gagged, unable to break free
their only crime was being true, or revealing too much of me.

and to their right sit sullen forms of dreams i left for dead,
hushed and stiff and rusted still from misuse and neglect
pale and thin for lack of light, they watch with empty eyes
as i wipe them clean for one more look, then set them back again.

as i stand and wait for the dust to clear, i marvel at what i’ve become
custodian of abandoned hopes in a glorious bleed of regret
a hoarder of chests of could-have-beens that have lost their precious worth,
unwilling to level the shapeless dunes that scar my dust-clogged soul.

©ep

i have become a night flower, a lonely queen
coming to life in the secrecy of darkness
the heady perfume of yearning and regret
wafting through my not-so-hidden palace
its lingering scent giving birth to insistent questions,
demanding answers where words have no place.

how did i get to this forsaken place?
where is the way out?

thoughts of escape and alternate endings
feed the shackled stems of my bleeding vines
as i creep, slowly, cautiously, to the window
bathed in the moonlight that sees my plight
and shakes its head with reluctant pity, unwilling to set me free

or perhaps it is disapproval, for I am dama de noche,
born to command wonder, wield enchantment,
not this feeble impostor reduced to shifty movements,
always looking for signs of that terrible gardener
who comes with his sharpened machete to cut me down
and tie me instead to his oppressive stakes,
their deceit of support choking breath from these petals,
whose desperate wish is to bask once more in the evening air
and spread their honeyed spice as far as they can,
unhindered by the walls of this trellis of disaster,
the prison pretending to be home, but it isn’t.
i can feel the barbed chains surrounding me.

be still now. close your eyes. feel the plucked flowers
under your feet, and breathe me in.
do you smell that scent of unwilling surrender?

that is dama de noche.

i have become a night flower, a queen caged and bound.
and the selfish, mocking moon will not set me free.

©ep

there are words that spill out of me at the strangest moments,
rushing from my mind to my tongue without pause,
with no regard for the casualties left in their wake

they flow in a silent rhythm, in full stealth,
sneaking up on me for maximum effect
then hang there, posing in all their glorious splendor,
as if to say, “look at us – we are more powerful than you”

they come from deep recesses I don’t want to tread alone,
where yearning and regret and lost loves linger,
where wishful thinking dares to keep breathing,
where, unrestrained and out of reach,
dance the dreams I have no right to dream

they say nothing unusual, nothing new,
nothing so controversial to merit your attention
just the same thing over and over again,
a hundred times a day, a hundred times too much
and a hundred times too inadequate to explain my love,
my regret, and the feeling that I have lost you,
even though you’re still there.

©ep

i wanted to tell you this,
before my words are forgotten, and
this cancer in my heart fills its space.

not that you are an illness,
or some rot that spreads in my flesh.
but death is death all the same, and
i fear you will be mine.

so here it is:

i have known you forever, you were
superman to a precocious child.
you are a different kind of hero now,
with only one power left:
you are everything, everywhere, every day
like flash, or mystic. impersonating god.

you live inside me
in the hollow of my stomach, and the
dense loneliness of my chest.
but you wander out quite freely,
touching all i see and taste and feel.
and want.

i still want you the most.

you will always be my superman.
i ask you to come. fix me. heal my heart.
but your hands are tied, your cape grounded.
how can you save my life now?

death is death all the same, and
i fear you will be mine.

©ep

this august night is full of your sound;
the crickets know your name more than i do.
they say it over and over again, in a
hundred different tones – a chorused chant,
as if repetition can summon you here.

as the blackness of sky overtakes my ragged
urban desert, i know somewhere, you are
hiding. somewhere underneath the drapery
of this dreary land, your comely feet are
waiting to be discovered. let me wait with you.

the lonely streetlight bows its iron head,
perhaps in apology for losing you. how can i
find you in the dim yellow glow of this
incandescent night? where are you, and do
you wish to be found? let me be lost with you.

somewhere. i will find you. or perhaps you
are already here. maybe the cricket chant is
magic, and i will turn to suddenly see you
there, no longer concealed by ten thousand miles.
maybe the drapes will be thrown open, as
you step out of the shadows to take your bow.

or maybe i stand here alone, applauding for
no one.

©ep

as you lay beside me, your breath laden
with the dense sweetness of tequila,
i watch your heaving chest and soft belly,
rising and falling like undulating hills of
a forgotten land. your eyelids twitch
as though they hide sparkling stars behind
their loose flesh, and i think:
aren’t most of heaven’s adornment
mere remnants of dead light, reminders of
past brightness gone extinct?

i write with a thief’s caution, watching
for your slightest stir. i am stealing my
own words, reclaiming my voice. i want
my tongue back, i scream silently. but i sneak
around still, searching for everything else
that i’ve lost. i want to leave nothing behind.

and when you stir from your agave dreams,
half-sober, still dazed and half-you,
you will reach for me and find me there,
shining beside you, and call me
your star. will you know when my light died,
or when our love went extinct?

©ep