College 101

Categories: Poems, Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

holdosi / Pixabay

College 101

Modern Dance, bodies in rhythm to Van Morrison, Enigma.
Great in History. Strongly encouraged to publish all the
spilling words, heartaches, confusions, anger, dreams, worries.
A magic wand in a pen. Alleviate destruction. The destructive.

Nursing an infant while writing essays, studying dates & names
& practicing steps in the apartment hallway. Be somebody, be
somebody, be somebody, hear the beats, not beatings.

Assistant manager, tired eyes, how to get away quicker. Forget
Teaching, MFA hopes. 2 year program ought to do it. Dance, dance,
Keep dancing. Forget the yelling. The handed-over paychecks. Crazy, unrepentant eyes.

Perfect score on Case Brief. Great comments. Mock trial won. Who’s
Mocking you now? Only Him, Time. You’re pressing & pressing against it, that red clock on the wall. Mother given 2 years, won’t take meds. Elmo keeps smiling & Pampers keep piling. Storybooks & tears. Night terrors. Gotta leave, gotta go, can’t stay.

An artist paints you. You run into his arms on a rain-washed night.
So, this is what being made love to is. You think he must be unreal.
After some time, you deliver yourself instead to demons. Grandmother scolds you for leaving, running, learning LOVE. No one is glad for HAPPY.
Except your mother who says Yes, Him. Say Yes to him. You watch him drive away, miles upon miles out of your life. Things collapse. You see
an old college friend, beautiful, smiling, working for some firm. You

Imagine she will marry a lawyer, or become one. You keep thinking poetry, da-dum da-dum da-dum. Drumbeats & heartbeats & fuck the world is always spinning too fast or too slow.

Years pass. Plans unraveled. Maybe a 1 year this time. Appreciate Art, Appreciate Music, your son singing Sinatra with you, how you read from Shakespeare together, whom he calls Shakesbeard. Then you homeschool. He chooses Sylvia Plath from the bookshelf, finds a copy of Anne Sexton’s Collected Poems and brings it home to you, so proud to hand it over. He learns about those women- says “Mama, you won’t ever kill yourself, will you?”

Medicine. Boring. No poetry there, but you make the Dean’s List. You hang your certificate like a rag doll on a coat rack. Everything feels out of place. Hours & hours of studying terminology. All you remember now is Sarco means “flesh.” You stare at your arms & think about it. This makes you remember your RX is due for a refill, as is your life.

-Heather Lenz
March 17, 2016



Categories: Poems, Tags: , , , , ,



Here it is:

A girl near the Jungle Gym, alone, hating recess.
Waiting for the bell to ring, so she can stick
Her face back in a book. Her favorite, The Giving Tree.

Mousy brown hair hanging limp, shabby clothes,
never talks. Dark circles under eyes, malnourished,
Doctor says Anemia.

Mother, Schizophrenic, stays in bed, cries a lot. Reaches
out for daughter’s frail arms. Prays to a God she fears,
while garbage men wonder at the lack of trash. Fruit flies

In kitchen numerous, curtains always closed. Scooby Doo
& Popeye & a kind of still Anxiety growing inside each
morning, while mother sleeps.

Carpenter father, forced to sell lakeside home
built by his own hands, after the cost of all the
Nervous Breakdowns.

Grabs his tools & finally bolts. But the fruit
flies, the Anxieties, keep multiplying, growing.

And the Sanity of everyone, even the garbage men,
Becomes questionable.

-Heather Lenz
March 17, 2016



Categories: Poems, Tags: , , , ,


LaughingRaven / Pixabay


She likes the contour
of my eyes,
The milky white
of my silky thighs

She likes the curves
of my swaying hips,
The downward pout
of my scarlet lips

She likes my shy,
quirky smile,
The far-off look
when I think for awhile

She likes how I look
in a bra of black lace,
The weight of my gaze,
the truth in my face

She loves who I am
no matter what mood,
Even when sassy
even when I brood

She takes pleasure in mine
and smiles to know,
that I remain loving
even when low

She’s one of the best
to help me through strife,
A tried and true friend,
a gift to my life.

-Heather Lenz


Too Sweet

Categories: Poems, Tags: , ,


arutina / Pixabay

Too Sweet

I think I’ll go blonde again. Suicide blonde.
Start wearing nothing but black clothing,
get tatted up & always wear boots

to tread through all the bullshit.

I’ll cut my hair in one of those feisty
forward bobs, wear silver crosses to
ward off demons

around me & in my head.

I’ll be some sort of defiant angel,
keep my eyes averted from love
or attraction,

& worry about my own fucking heart
for a change.

-Heather Lenz


Clever You

Categories: Poems, Tags: , ,


Clever You

Did you think you could hide
your misogynistic ways in those lines
all because you’re

more educated,
supposedly refined,
own your own home?

How laughable.

O clever you.

Is it the shackles of marriage
that bring such distaste for all
those buoyant women reaching
toward their dreams, reaching
their hands around a cock

that’s not yours? Or jealousy
that you’re not one of them?

Perhaps she gained a few pounds. Or,
perhaps she’s the Trophy type but
denies you or bitches too much; spends
too much time on

the Home Shopping Network.

I wonder if there is a trout pond near the place
where you live; if visiting it reminds you of
the wetness now cold, once so warm & inviting,

A place that real men cherish, inhaling the
scent as heaven sings to them.

Pussy smells great until a man defiles it
with white, hot hatred.

It is a perfume for the body & soul,
A place where all darkness is calmed,
where life & love are born,

& where a misogynist makes jokes
or places blame.

Too many monsters like you, O clever one,

O pompous disgrace.

-Heather Lenz

1 2 3 4 5 15 16

Copyright © 2017 All Rights Reserved.  WordPress Plugins