IT DOESN’T SOUND LIKE IT, BUT I FEEL APATHETIC ABOUT IT

Pathetically
on a path,
without etiquette,

without grace.
I thought class would spill
out of you,
like an oversized big-brim
hat spilled over the
ladies in a much more classy
age
than we live in today.

Instead, glass came cutting
out of your mouth
chopping up my insides,
turning respect into
rust,

caking me filthy inside,
eating away at my appetite!

I am hungry, my life is turning the
way my stomach might
if I had starved it of the proper care
it needs.

I am hungry, but for people
and times and things that
are more clear,
and trustworthy,
and innocent,

like a child walking
up to you,
pulling at your sweater
and saying,
“hey, you’re ugly!”

- Margaret Stringham

(featured in the poetry forum 06.10.11)

Split

Split.
Down the middle.
Like a decision.
Similar.
Like a reflection.

Mirrors can be cruel.
Giving two-to-maybe-twenty-two.
Personality splits.

Like a banana.
Peel removed.
Naked.
Uncomfortable.
Like a decision.

Split.
Apart from the insides.
From the guts.
Some have none.

Cowards!

Split.
Like a reflection.
Mirrors are brutally honest.
Or maybe the reflection lies.

A split thought!
A decision.
I’m indifferent.
I’m agreeable.
I’m split.

Down the middle.
Uncomfortable
like decision.
Can’t just climb into decision.
Like climbing into pants.
To cover.
To hide naked skin.
To make comfortable until they rip.

Split.
Open wide to expose.
Raw skin.

Like truth.
Like humility.

- Margaret Stringham

(added 06.10.11)

NOVEMBER IS ALWAYS USELESS

I don’t want to be your confusion.
I don’t want to be heart broken.
It’s hard enough
To hold it together
When the ice
Starts
November over.

We all know about November
And the way
The weather turns
Us against ourselves,
Sending us outwardly seeking
For a way to warm
The spirit.

For a broken one,
These are treacherous
Waters
To wade through!

So, in the moonlight,
In the water,
In a graceful pace
I walk

Away from the solidarity
Of the ground
I keep my feet on.
Slowly, I flow toward you

And death
And ice
And terror
Cannot frighten me
The way that your eyes do.

It’s near impossible
To stop
Looking
In the direction
You have come from,
A road I have not noticed,
A road I thought was closed off.

In an honest fit, I panic

Trying to
Retract
It,
Back into non-existence
And I don’t know how to do that.

I meant to honor
Myself
In November,
In the icy winds
That attempted
To destroy me.

I meant to honor,
But I guess I’m
Just avoiding
Myself...
And
This season,
To seek out something
Missing.

It feels like betrayal.
It’s happened
Before,
When I found myself
Frozen
In time,
In November.

But, should these waters stop
Flowing,
Should moon rays turn to malice,
I find comfort in knowing
that
ice will refreeze these
Waters
making it less likely that I
Drown in them.

- Margaret Stringham

(eatured in the poetry forum 01.05.11)

Alone Ever More

Dancing with Disturbing Doubts
On and Over an Omen
Shuddering through a Shadow’s past
Listening Lethargically
to a Demon’s Dream of Day,
of Love, Loneliness and Life

a Hand to Hold and Haven
Words to Wish and Welt
Speaking Something Selfish and vague
Creating a Cut upon this Cradle
Mercifully Made and Mended
For a Forgetful Face
a Negligent Name
a Heathen’s Heavy Heart…

It is Empty for an Ever Ego
Asseveratively Allowing
Only Openness to One’s self
a Proud Promise
of Devotion to a Desolate
Way of Walking through
Tonight, Tomorrow, and a Tempting rest of my life!

- Margaret Stringham

(eatured in the poetry forum 10.20.10)