Categotry Archives: Poems


The Dream Slips

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011/365: Back on the motorway.

Inside the palace of winter
I wished for your hands to touch my face,
Inside the wall of stone
I begged for the feel of the open space

Where we could run from kings
from governments and lords,
With savage bodies free
not wounded by their swords

To live in the passions of wild love
and sleep in the infinite birth,
Of warm and vibrant seeds
sifting within the earth

Where the night is welcomed by fires within,
and the rain brings a tender gust,
To leave behind the merciless gates
That flood with blood and dust

All this I dreamed within my dream
but woke inside a cage,
Where golden sun and silver chains
had choked my heart with rage

And saw your eyes all cruel and sad
and sexist in their way,
And cursed the world that made you mad
And damned the dawning day.

~Heather Lenz



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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



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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

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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

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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

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