Never to Dream of Spiders by Audre Lorde

Time collapses between the lips of strangers

my days collapse into a hollow tube

soon implodes against now

like an iron wall

my eyes are blocked with rubble

a smear of perspectives

blurring each horizon

in the breathless precision of silence

one word is made.

Once the renegade flesh was gone

fall air lay against my face

sharp and blue as a needle

but the rain fell through October

and death lay a condemnation

within my blood.

The smell of your neck in August

a fine gold wire bejeweling war

all the rest lies

illusive as a farmhouse

on the other side of a valley

vanishing in the afternoon.

Day three day four day ten

the seventh step

a veiled door leading to my golden anniversary

flameproofed free-paper shredded

in the teeth of a pillaging dog

never to dream of spiders

and when they turned the hoses upon me

a burst of light.

Poems are green and Poetry is mean.
-Poetry Beast

Please accept my endless gratitude,
I'm tickled pink,
You're a gift!
Thank you for your time and attention.
It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.


ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Galentine's Day is an unofficial holiday celebrated on February 13, the day before Valentine's Day, to honor and celebrate female friendships. It originated from the TV show "Parks and Recreation," where the character Leslie Knope created the day to gather her female friends for fun and appreciation. -newmodernmom.com

Poems are green and Poetry is mean.
-Poetry Beast

Please accept my endless gratitude,
I'm tickled pink,
You're a gift!
Thank you for your time and attention.
It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.


ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Poetry by Nikki Giovanni

poetry is motion graceful
as a fawn
gentle as a teardrop
strong like the eye
finding peace in a crowded room
we poets tend to think
our words are golden
though emotion speaks too
loudly to be defined
by silence
sometimes after midnight or just before
the dawn
we sit typewriter in hand
pulling loneliness around us
forgetting our lovers or children
who are sleeping
ignoring the weary wariness
of our own logic
to compsoe a poem
no one understands it
it never says 'love me' for poets are
beyond love
it never says 'accept me' for poems seke not
acceptance but controversy
it only says 'i am' and therefore
i concede that you are too

a poem is pure energy
horizontally contained
between the mind
of the poet and the ear of the reader
if it does not sing discard the ear
for poetry is song
if it does not deligh discard
the heart for poetry is joy
if it does not inform then close
off the brain for it is dead
if it cannot heed the insistent message
that life is precious

which is all we poets
wrapped in our loneliness
are trying to say

Poems are green and Poetry is mean.
-Poetry Beast

Please accept my endless gratitude,
I'm tickled pink,
You're a gift!
Thank you for your time and attention.
It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.


ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree