For Her, Today

love's considered leaving
standing at the back
waiting to be noticed
far too many days
and even longer nights

holding her breath
until it hurt, never
knowing she didn’t
trust his next breath

sweeping up after him
the pile ever widening
with random bits of dirt
or grass his soul carried
like mud stuck in his shoes

aching as she empties
weary of perhaps and maybes
spent and lonely
longing for nothing
save her own company

a breath she can trust
her own moment
away from the voices
in his head

he’s never seen her
standing there
in front of him
his thirst exhausting
his need like arms
that bind, offering
little comfort

slipping out the side door
easier than breathing out
expecting something back

October Poem

October 2007/1979

beneath the pearl smile of moon
flung into an inky sea sky
the world seems upside down

suddenly, it's a different night
her porch colder than a wet penny
lips like burning leaves

life lies before her, a
ribbon strewn and shiny

:hrr

What We're Made Of

a pixel you appears
sad, ghostly

alone behind
a lone chair

your soul
flattened like
details at dusk

a haunted firefly,
caught beneath a jar
exhausted at trying
to reach the sky

find the bottom
and crawl out

glass is only sand; we
remain, trapped with
all our permanent illusions

let it slip away

it's easier than you think
and I'll be there to meet you

:hrr

What I'm Hungry For

I have no time for words --

I raid the fridge,
pillage the cabinets,
finding, finally,
that nothing satisfies

they roll from corner to
corner, like pencils
across a desk;

screaming but unwritten
they beckon like an empty
desk, lit, and waiting

Heather Reed 2005

It's Raining, Again

Big surprise. A few days of glorious sun, then the rain. It feels bipolar. Hmmm, there must be a poem in that. Here's today's:

beacons

beacons from a grand opening
send lights across the winter sky
he asks me what they are

I’m pretending they’re angels
I tell him; and say I’ll write a poem
he thinks they’re spirits
but we both agree it’s pretty

my nine-year-old and me
flying through the night sky
guided by spirits or angels
it doesn’t matter which
we smile, happy


2005 Heather Reed

Real Deal

Real Deal

she averts her eyes
walking down the street

the sweetest green
lips like betty
eyes like saucers

black on black
nicotine sepia fingers

she walks fast;
she's nervous
almost marching
her boots warn
don't fuck with me

it's all smoke and mirrors
her heart is pink-stained
from loving the world

she is the coolest
girl I know

:hrr

No More Wilding

No More Wilding--

wicked nights,
lost days filled
with the hilarity
of despair

things so easily awry;
predictable at least in that,
the richochet of
controlled chaos

what's black is forgotten
but etched blue somewhere;
bruised on the inside, unforgiven

:hrr

A place for poetry?

Shall this be where I write it all down? I'll write a poem a day. That should be my practice for the next forty days. Along with legs up the wall (yoga), mantra (breathing in I calm body, mind, and spirit; breathing out I smile), and intention (to unblock), I should write.

So today's poem is:

FRIDAY NIGHT

In bright hats and black clothes
they spill out between alleys
on sunshiney streets devoid
of office drones and clean cars
parked at City meters.

The van pulls in and over
the beer bottle; just one
that will be discarded tonite
as they wage war, make love,
fight, vomit, laugh, and cry.

in between today and tomorrow
I could so easily head out with them,
linked arm in arm with you, comrade.

Our laughter echoing around corners
like temple bells chasing darkness.

Heather R. Reed / May 6, 2005