AN SIXTH
GRADE BOY’S CONCERTO
It
takes genius to get a girl to unbutton her blouse.
You
must be like Mozart. You must be like Beethoven.
You
must have an artist flare for the symphony of words.
Gifted
with words that roll off the tongue.
Gifted
with words like a flute player with his notes
You
must be a pied piper of words.
The
more prudish the better
There
is no conquest in fast girls
They
are like peacocks
Fanning
their feathers for all to see.
Take
the religionist homely girl
Who
is curious just itching to be
You
see how with each button loosen
She
breathes a little faster.
She
wants to know what it is like.
She
wants to be felt up.
You
must be like lighting
Using
words that cast a spell
A
minor suggestion nothing fancy
Just
something sincere enough to tickle the ears
It
takes genius to get a girl to unbutton her blouse.
You
must be like Mozart. You must be like Beethoven.
You
must have an artist flare for the symphony of words.
Gifted
with words that rolls off the tongue
Gifted
with words like a flute players to his notes
You
must be a pied piper of words.
SOMEBODY’S
BABY
She
has an audience of one
She
swings her arms wide
Conducting
an invisible class of patrons.
Between
booming words and her cursing
Her
poetry is a burst of illustrative fire
She
wears borrowed clothes
In
the way she dresses the seasons are all mixed up
Her
coat is a dirty patchwork quilt
She
smells like an outhouse wall
Newly
minted with pee.
Her
life fits in a grocery cart
A
mix of trash and mementos left over from her former life
She
dances like a drunken gypsy
To a
thunderous tambourine
No
one but she can hear
She
is who we all look though wrinkle our collective nose at
The
one half see, side step, and hurried away from.
But
consider that she was somebody’s baby
Someone
once held her to their breast
Someone
who watch their child sink deeper
Into
the abyss of madness holding on to her for dear life
Till
in them there was no more life
No
one left to light a candle to lead her out from the storm
No
one left to take her by the hand guide her home
As
she wanders these streets
Always
searching, lost, but never found
Left
to be hungry, nameless, and alone.
A
LIFE LIKE NORMAL: A LOVE POEM
Like
a cobra I spray my venom
I
spray just in striking distance of your eyes.
I
remember that I love you.
In
that moment
I
suck my venom back down my throat.
I
explode with a strain sweetness
A
hurtful sugar that powders your face.
Through
it all you say it’s the illness talking.
You
say, come to bed.
I
want then to obey
I
want then to sizzler into your arms
I
want more to break out
From
underneath my nightgown and skin
I
want to chase myself into the night after the night.
You
restrain me at the door.
I
know my manic hallucinations are hard to love.
I
have been here before between the seasons.
When
in my heart it is just not winter
It
is just not spring and I feel like an early bloom
That
pulls upward against a still frozen earth.
On
nights like these the clock on the wall stands still
I
walk through time.
I
make what is between us a waiting game.
Most
days, I live a life like normal.
Most
nights, I am crumbling against the walls.
You
have been divine, a savior to me.
If
only for a few hours a cure.
You
make this dark tunnel I call my life
Spiral
and shadow towards some kind of light.
A
false hope maybe, you are false sun
But
isn’t that what love is anyway.
Marchell
Dyon is a thirty-nine year old disabled poet. She believes her disability has
inspired her creative spark. Her poetry has been published in Medusa’s Kitchen,
The Stray Branch, Strange Horizons, Mused Bella Online, Convergence Literary
Journal, Silver Blade Magazine, and Torrid Literature Journal.
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