Submissions by Alviola
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
They vanish with the virus
There is a clanging to our living,
gongs and chimes accompany us,
a tangle of the said and loud thoughts,
bedlam and babel announce us
as we enter rooms and other people's lives.
But there is no swoosh, no poof, no wake
of rustling, no feathers, no pandemonium
when people vanish with the virus,
he was beside you with the purr and murmur
of fondness and then no longer.
We know them, their names rolled out
of our mouths like beautiful and mama,
their cheeks we have palmed and pinched,
their thoughts we...
gongs and chimes accompany us,
a tangle of the said and loud thoughts,
bedlam and babel announce us
as we enter rooms and other people's lives.
But there is no swoosh, no poof, no wake
of rustling, no feathers, no pandemonium
when people vanish with the virus,
he was beside you with the purr and murmur
of fondness and then no longer.
We know them, their names rolled out
of our mouths like beautiful and mama,
their cheeks we have palmed and pinched,
their thoughts we...
#death
#pandemic
466 reads
11 Comments
Wallflowers
The shy and the sensitive,
that was said of us, the sort
that withers in soirees and dances
between boys and girls' schools.
There were men made for these,
they would go party-hopping
before deciding which combo
they preferred, where to preen all night.
The room would be lined with chairs,
everybody sat with their backs
against the wall -- except these men,
they do not slouch or sit, for they were
comfortable in their swagger,
the room was mapped by popularity:
a forest of the handsome corralling ...
that was said of us, the sort
that withers in soirees and dances
between boys and girls' schools.
There were men made for these,
they would go party-hopping
before deciding which combo
they preferred, where to preen all night.
The room would be lined with chairs,
everybody sat with their backs
against the wall -- except these men,
they do not slouch or sit, for they were
comfortable in their swagger,
the room was mapped by popularity:
a forest of the handsome corralling ...
#school
#dance
707 reads
7 Comments
There's a girl sitting on the floor in a dark room somewhere
It is never really dark,
there in the room where the girl
sobs without sound confiding
in a pillow gripped tight
as a person, she is slumped
against the wall in the dark
that she wishes were darker,
wishing less of the world,
wishing the thunderstorms
climbing up the stairs will walk
past her room and the houselights
will not seep under the door.
You cannot see the face
of the girl in the dark room,
only that it glistens when
she moves, when she hits her head
against the wall as she sits, ...
there in the room where the girl
sobs without sound confiding
in a pillow gripped tight
as a person, she is slumped
against the wall in the dark
that she wishes were darker,
wishing less of the world,
wishing the thunderstorms
climbing up the stairs will walk
past her room and the houselights
will not seep under the door.
You cannot see the face
of the girl in the dark room,
only that it glistens when
she moves, when she hits her head
against the wall as she sits, ...
#sadness
#suicide
#God #despair
#God #despair
419 reads
7 Comments
I call it 'Houseblindness'
Guarding the house is a dark green grass
clambering about, threatening to swallow
the wrought iron gate; thinking it trellis,
there is a mottling on the bedroom wall,
designed by the moisture in the air,
flourishing but only if I look away,
the crack on the red wall of the dining room
is longer or it seems to be longer
when lit by the amber afternoon sun,
At some point in our aging, failures fade,
each one, from sight and from care.
soon enough, and kindly, they disappear.
The...
clambering about, threatening to swallow
the wrought iron gate; thinking it trellis,
there is a mottling on the bedroom wall,
designed by the moisture in the air,
flourishing but only if I look away,
the crack on the red wall of the dining room
is longer or it seems to be longer
when lit by the amber afternoon sun,
At some point in our aging, failures fade,
each one, from sight and from care.
soon enough, and kindly, they disappear.
The...
#aging
294 reads
2 Comments
Preferring Forgettable
I am imagining I am
ensconced at the back of the car
on my way to grapple with the day,
there is a current of air on my knuckles,
the cold reaching into the recesses
between bones, the fingers complain,
the mind is an indecisive bee,
alighting onto this problem and that,
hovering over the nightmare I woke to,
sleep has been like this new style
of swimming, you try to trouble
the surface as little as possible,
you make the smallest of waves,
you do not sink to the dark parts,
never the head above the...
ensconced at the back of the car
on my way to grapple with the day,
there is a current of air on my knuckles,
the cold reaching into the recesses
between bones, the fingers complain,
the mind is an indecisive bee,
alighting onto this problem and that,
hovering over the nightmare I woke to,
sleep has been like this new style
of swimming, you try to trouble
the surface as little as possible,
you make the smallest of waves,
you do not sink to the dark parts,
never the head above the...
#pandemic
409 reads
4 Comments
The God in the Afternoon Sky
I smell your existence in the souls
Of leaves rising from a tiny fire
Kept alive by a neighbor assigned
By ritual to keep a few square feet
Of his corner of the world tidy
I hear you in the warbler hidden
In the mango tree outside my window
One of many providing the leaves
the neighbor sweeps for the little fire
That he stares at every afternoon
I see your thinking as I wallow
In the sun-baked calm, there is
No laughter in the park today
Your sun declares the swing and slides
Untouchable, keeps...
Of leaves rising from a tiny fire
Kept alive by a neighbor assigned
By ritual to keep a few square feet
Of his corner of the world tidy
I hear you in the warbler hidden
In the mango tree outside my window
One of many providing the leaves
the neighbor sweeps for the little fire
That he stares at every afternoon
I see your thinking as I wallow
In the sun-baked calm, there is
No laughter in the park today
Your sun declares the swing and slides
Untouchable, keeps...
#God
344 reads
8 Comments
Living at Home in Covid Climate
There are furrows on the wooden floor
deepening daily running from bed
to bath to breakfast table deeper
where I pivot on my heels to switch
on the desk light and overhead fan
like the furrows of a rice paddy
but on narra wood and deepened daily.
Later I will kneel beside her bed
to wake her but always for a while
I will watch her sleep, her small breathing
the trough on the floor leads and stops where
there is a deeper recess shaped and smoothed
where I kneel to watch her smiling
in her dreams...
deepening daily running from bed
to bath to breakfast table deeper
where I pivot on my heels to switch
on the desk light and overhead fan
like the furrows of a rice paddy
but on narra wood and deepened daily.
Later I will kneel beside her bed
to wake her but always for a while
I will watch her sleep, her small breathing
the trough on the floor leads and stops where
there is a deeper recess shaped and smoothed
where I kneel to watch her smiling
in her dreams...
#love
#pandemic
338 reads
2 Comments
735 reads
11 Comments
508 reads
7 Comments
The Day after the Inauguration
As with all things mighty, this started small
negligible, a shade of blue infected
the horizon in slow, no, sluggish motion
something large happened on the other side
of the world, and the blue bled from behind
the skyline, the day that comes before ours.
This was the day the white, old man was sworn in
the shade of blue at the horizon bloomed
it glistened on wreckage on the highways
gleamed on garbage bin covers, shone on tents
of the homeless of Los Angeles, woke
office workers living cramped in their cars
...
negligible, a shade of blue infected
the horizon in slow, no, sluggish motion
something large happened on the other side
of the world, and the blue bled from behind
the skyline, the day that comes before ours.
This was the day the white, old man was sworn in
the shade of blue at the horizon bloomed
it glistened on wreckage on the highways
gleamed on garbage bin covers, shone on tents
of the homeless of Los Angeles, woke
office workers living cramped in their cars
...
#hope
265 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Alviola