Sunday, June 1, 2014

Linda M. Crate- Three Poems

if you could open me up
scratch beneath the surface
i bet you wouldn't
understand a word of me;
i am canary yellow,
and all that is happy and calm
peaceful and serene
every moon dancing lilac or
lily promenading on the clouds
of sunsets;
you are every ounce of desire
every night scripted without moon or star
a deep depression of mahogany
pomegranates etched deep
within the recesses of your soul—
you are betrayal,
and i would say peter for even
he could repent;
but you killed me so i'll call you
you took away part of my innocence,
a part of me i can never hope
of winning back;
my mistake was i loved you more than God
i wanted you to love me just as much
so i compromised my convictions and values simply
to fill the void of your unending lust—
i have always been one that's rather passionate,
always loving where people cannot love me;
but i thought our love was a forever
love one that would never die,
and you just kept stringing me along so you 
could ascertain all the white pearls
of my soul—
who are you that you should have every piece
of my heaven?
i'm so glad that you cut me free because
you would have led me into ruin;
i've repented of my sin,
and God has forgiven me i wonder if you realize
you've done wrong, too?
or do you still believe (wrongly) that
you are the white knight
upon his fiery stead purging the world of evil?
perhaps, when you look in the mirror
that's all the further you need to
go, but i am not to judge
you have to find that answer yourself.


i love you more
than when you were
oh, baby,
you will always be the moon and stars
in the night of my sky—
just kidding
don't delude yourself into thinking
you're anything more
than a distant
etched on my subconscious
now i can have fun
as cyndi lauper says all girls want;
it's true, we do!
you were never much
always insisting on being a home
body when i wanted to
go, go, go!
brooding when i was a bouncy bundle
of hyperactive fluff,
and i wish i could have seen you through my
mother's eyes from the start
she said she never thought you were good
enough for me,
and she was right;
i guess mother really does know best—
you were just a mess,
and that's the way you left my heart;
but i picked up my
pieces and moved on because
i decided i'd be happy and i wasn't going to be
that dismal lightening bolt of sadness
of you crashing through
a sunny sky,
i was going to be the one dancing in
the sunshine—
i fare thee well, pomegranate man,
drown in the dismal bitterness of your purple stain.

staggering confusion

the birds sing
not because they have a song,
but to say what's on their
mind and so i write
this poem to tell you how
confused and tormented you left
me behind in this suitcase
of memories;
i wanted so much to make you smile
to be the juliet to your romeo,
but i should have known
the second i compared us to ill fated
star crossed lovers we
were doomed—
tragedy is nothing new to me
i've faced it time and time again but you
ripped me in such a way that i thought
the stars would never be put
back to their right light
flashed you a glimpse into the nakedness
of my soul and every time i bared
a truth you hid further inside
your shell of introspection and wouldn't let me
dig you out;
sometimes i'm still confused—
i don't know how something so beautiful
turned out so twisted and sordid
was i sarah falling in love with the goblin king?
are you jareth, the owl, spinning
your globes for another sarah to catch?
oh, i don't know
there are too many possibilities
you seem a rare fog
that overtook and eclipsed me as the sun does the
but fret not, my once lover,
i'm all right now—
although i'm certain you don't remember
or care about me now,
i'm just a piece of your ancient history;
you convinced you were the white knight when you
were really the black dragon—
not all dragons are bad,
but you certainly are not good;
and i hope one day
when she slays you, you think about my confusion
let you stain you in all it's vibrant hues.

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