Tag Archives: love

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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

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Blessing

Categories: Poems, Tags: , , , ,

 

LaughingRaven / Pixabay

Blessing

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

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Your Turn

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

I Will Never If You Never

Your Turn

Beneath your hands
I’d be content. I know by
your eyes & you touching me
where it hurts.

& I know that your smile
becomes my own, in hours when
I cannot sleep & you are the thought
that gives me peace.

What would you have to lose
by looking into my eyes &
allowing my body to explore
the places of yours.

Loneliness? Pain? Empty hours
of people’s endless complaints?
Shadows too dark to name?

Maybe someone should hold
your heart again, touch you where
it hurts, listen to all the thoughts & wishes
you have no time to share.

Hurry now, & wake up. There
is so much waiting here, so much
desire & passion to envelop you

So many things I long to say
or whisper…

& all pleasure like a warm
fire in winter, to give to you.

-Heather Lenz
February 16, 2016

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Team Uncle

Categories: Poems, Tags: , , , , ,

Hug

Team Uncle

You with your Florida tan
set against blue eyes of secrets.
& your smile, the warmth of your hug,
your kiss on my pale cheek.

I could see so many things
you could not say to those
around you, how you listened

quietly & sometimes shook your head
at the way we all become or think or
revel in our own lost ways.

& I remember when we played
the bean-bag toss that summer day,
how your knees ached & I could see
your difficulty.

I bent down & picked them up for
you…

You said “thank you, darlin” each time &
who knew that would be our first & final
games together.

The last time I saw you was on
your birthday, basking in the sun &
content it wasn’t raining in Seattle.

I leaned down to hug you,
wish you a Happy one.
A kiss on my neck like a sweet

Florida orange. A finality I did not
yet know.

& I heard about those
hurricanes that demolished your
childhood. How angry my inward

fits have been, (knowing all too well
how cradles can fall at various speeds).

I guess I’m just writing this
to tell you, that wherever you
are now…

I’m still on your team.

-Heather Lenz
February 16, 2016

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Rain & Hail

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

 

Unsplash / Pixabay

 

Rain & Hail

It’s pelting against my window- I can’t sleep.
The birds left scars of beauty in sunlight-
I watched them feed & thought of you- your
final flight or descent. And, I know where that
place is- that which holds so much terror you
dare not breathe. Where you are afraid of your
own reflection & the expectations of a world that
knows so little of your soul. The seeds you planted.

The costume you wore for days on end. The way you
smiled while hugging a tree & from what I was told
you’d never raise your voice. You didn’t know your
rarity or heroism. Somewhere down the line after

you tried to settle back in, it all got so clouded &
I did not know you so I could not reach you. But, I
know your kind, am your kind, would have loved you
frequently & with assurance. And my heart collapses

to see your eyes in your father’s eyes & the heart
in him torn asunder, that I can do little about.

I wrote a poem that was inspired by your father’s
love, you know. Just as I am writing this while I hurt
in ways that not be named or openly
discussed. This is what makes me wish you alive

even more- to know that you felt that bad & I,
by some miracle of a god I’m very pissed off at,
might have found you & helped you make the
shadows, moonbeams, birds or
whatever was your favorite country song to sing…
rise up & call us in-  then dance the pain away.

I am sorry for our kind-  for various warriors.

Every great heart that turns inward. Every
thought or tear that rises within the morning
of rain and hail, is filled with you & your father

as he slowly gets out of bed & sees your eyes in his-

then echoes his cries in the shock of you gone.

& the blue skies of
seldom summers, that you

fought so hard to defend.

~Heather Lenz
Dec. 2015

in loving memory and respect for E.D.

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