Heather Lenz

Poet, writer, artist, publisher, editor



Categories: Poems, Tags: , , , ,

Shoe Box

The grass glistens religiously,
a replica of your reflection in the window
where the music whispered
a departure from your lips.

Even now, I keep the wind diluted
in this cup, and recognize the taste of bread
as a smell sifting from the Creek Cafe.

The weight of this rush amuses me.
I organize answers, and waste a box
of memories on your touch.

~Heather Lenz



Categories: Poems, Tags: ,


beat 50

Mother, I have come home from the war
temporarily. Accepting my losses like a good soldier,
picking the scabs from my wounds.

In the field among smoke I murdered
many men for you. The first to go was your
father. I put rose petals in his mouth to cover
the stench of whiskey, then bound his hands with
our tears and poverty.

I cut off the blood circulation to his manhood,
and watched it turn as black as your childhood.
Then I laughed and smoked a cigarette, told God
I could never be like Jesus.

When I go back, I shall have Shakespeare and
Rossetti by my side. They are ancient heroes
and trust no one.

~Heather Lenz

this poem first appeared in Dance to Death and Carcinogenic Poetry


The Regulars

Categories: Poems, Tags: ,



One day these timber walls will burn
and I will proudly say,
“I will no longer sit alone
inside this sad cafe”

For I have seen a head or two
bent down on those tables,
I have seen those sullen lips
drink up all their fables

What has called me to this place
where plates are empty of cheer,
And the rumors turn round and round
changing every year

With every season burning slow
like a ripe old man’s cigar,
Set in a twisted movie script
where everyone is the star

And one creeps up to center stage
to announce their well-earned wounds,
While the rest bang the tables
with empty silver spoons

As the waitress wears a smile
an experienced cover for gloom,
Announcing the daily specials
while she scurries around the room

If I had a match I’d do it myself
for this place should soon be gone,
Then the cobwebbed corners will fall
and the regulars will move on.

~Heather Lenz

this poem first appeared in Poetic Hours


All You Can Get

Categories: Poems, Tags: ,


Your brown eyes are a shame
to the stars and to the heavens.
To everything innocent
inside of me.

Each time-worn glance distills
Itself, retracts old shadows.

The whiskey clouds my mind,
swells my eyes.
I’ve been claimed by the insane
for this exhibition.

Responsibilities you won’t accept
make ripples in my flesh.
And who is to say years from now,
there will be only peace or only war.
It has always been Love/Hate.

These words strangle the hours
like serial killers,
And grin like demons.

This ink is the blood of my heart.
A dagger enters sweetly
And murderous,
Slides in tightly and twists.

I have grown fond of this
Slow death,
And I know you’ve always loved
to hear me scream.

~Heather Lenz


Dinner for One

Categories: Poems, Tags: , , , , ,

Hong Kong Day #1

These July nights are such a drag this year
my value isn’t getting any better,
At work the heat is thick and heavy
but at home it’s still so cold I need a sweater

Not much happens here at all
I light my candle; watch the wax melt away,
And I put a WELCOME mat outside my door
but no one ever really wants to stay

So here I sit with a dinner for one
at a table set for two,
I throw my plate at these same old walls
and somehow make it through

Another night with an empty cup
with a dish of pretty lies,
As I think of those who left too soon
and remember the colors of their eyes

It would be nice to see for once
the shadow of hands so fine,
Or feel the rush of a silken touch
brush these lips of mine

But not much happens here at all
though through this night my song plays softly on,
And when I finally think there’s someone knocking
by the time I get downstairs the person is gone…

~Heather Lenz

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