POEMS
by Danica Radisic
TODAY
Today I wear no face
Today I am not here
Today I won’t be anyone
Today I am not me
Today I may hold the high card
But be sure that I won’t win
I’ll be glad to sit at the table
But today don’t deal me in
Today I will not play
Today I won’t hold my own
Today I will not be letting go
Today I will not make a move
Today I will walk the ranks
But I will be stripped of stripes
I will face you like I face myself
Today we light our peace pipes
Today I won’t think or do
Today I could achieve my all
Today is the day, today I say,
Today is the day I won’t rise or fall
Today I will walk alone
And beside myself
I won’t be happy, I won’t be blue
Today is the day I could be you.
HEADFUL OF CLOUDS
It was a walk in the park
And the sky was a deep ash grey.
All effortless and meaningless,
Like any other day.
I saw him sitting on a bench,
He seemed safe and quiet enough.
I sat myself down next to him
With a “How d’ you do?” as I set down my muff.
He nodded kindly and returned to his reading
Of a short biography about Theo van Gogh,
Then set the book down, looked up at the sky
And, within seconds – he made it snow.
I said, “Pardon me, sir,”
With an ingenuous infantile glow.
“I couldn’t help but notice and I’m not quite sure,
But did you just make it snow?”
He replied, “I’m sorry if it bothers you,”
With a voice that could tame a wild young doe
“But the time was right, the reason there,
And I just had to let it go.”
“Oh, no, it doesn’t bother me!”
I said with childish glee.
“I was just… well, wondering
if you could perhaps instruct me?”
He smiled warmly and nodded,
Then asked me to explain.
I refrained for but a moment,
Not knowing where to begin.
“I’ve got a head full of clouds,” I said,
“And there’s not a thing that I can do.”
His eyes shined kindly and knowingly,
As if nothing here were askew.
He leaned in and whispered,
“What you need to do is make it rain.
Make it rain, child, long and hard,
Before you go insane.”
I thanked him kindly, pecked his cheek
And soon enough was on my way.
The snow flakes had all melted now
And it was a warm and sunny day.
Just as I came home and undressed,
A thought and a chill went down my spine.
I closed my eyes and heard light raindrops.
Now I smiled knowingly – this rain was mine.
PORTRAIT
I am the shadow on your wall.
I am the branch that breaks your fall.
The nearly forgotten you’ve tucked away.
When you leave, I am what stays.
You may do as you please,
As I dot your i’s and cross your t’s.
Hear my whisper, look my way -
I am the picture of Dorian Gray
STARGAZER
This warm night breeze cradles me
as the clouds depart, west by south.
I think I’ll pick the stars out of the sky
and put them in my mouth.
I’ll suck on them like candy.
I’ll roll their sweetness on my tongue.
As I hum the assorted light motifs
of songs that will go unsung.
I’ll suck the plasma out of every one
and grind them with my teeth.
I’ll lick my lips when I’m good and done
and sit alone in my luminous sheeth.
If you should look up at a starless sky,
now you can’t help but think of me.
I couldn’t promise you forever
but I’ll be your favorite memory.
A MONSTROUS MIDNIGHT THOUGHT
This place is cruel.
I wish to leave.
I have no more tricks left
up my sleeve.
Incredible, regretable,
the days they drift by;
my truths no longer evident
As I sift through the lies.
Yes, I say My Truths;
exquisitely all mine.
You may offer me yours
but I find I must decline.
I’ve spawned a monstrous creature
here, right behind my eyes.
Now the mirrors to my soul
will reflect everything you chastise.
And before I go,
I shall leave you with this thought:
Of all the things I could be
I am what I am – naught.
CARTHAGE REVISITED
Broken, mangled,
torn at the seams,
dethroned like Carthage
in the Punic Wars,
I’ve been taking pieces
from my own dreams
to patch the irreparable
holes in yours.
I stand before you
wounded, humbled, nude,
sifting through the ashes
where an empress once stood.
POSSESSIVE & PLURAL
I fill the space with space.
I fill the air with air.
And still I am. And still I can.
And yet I cannot bear.
To keep falling in and out of place.
To be the water in the rain.
To breathe you in like Heaven’s mist,
just to breathe you out again.
I fill the extent to my extent.
I mark my margins with great care.
And still I am. And still I can.
And yet I cannot bear.
To have you by my side.
To hold your hand in mine.
To be rid of solutide.
And then have to pay the fine.
ONE THING
I have travelled Holy lands,
Have been to Hell and back.
I have been marooned,
Abandoned, defended, and attacked.
Through all of this, one thing I knew
And one thing kept me sane.
That when all my battles were done and gone,
This one thing would remain.
This I shall carry all my dreadful days.
I knew it when I first drew breath,
I’ve kept it every second since
And will keep it ’til my timely death.
I see it in my eyes at night
And, Lord, it stares right back.
It thumps in my heart and breathes with me
So that I won’t lose my track.
It thinks with me and speaks,
Makes me write these words.
It rides me all my days and nights,
As if I’m being spurred.
And when I quarrel with myself,
It stands ever strong and true,
As it asks me every single day:
“Remind me, stranger – who are you?”
THIRTY-SOMETHING ADOLESCENCE
You crawl into my head
When I’m not there.
You mess with my psyche
And you curl up my hair.
I try to simplify
You dare to confuse.
You plant a mine field
For me to defuse.
Bygone, departed,
Foregone and surpassed
Attempts at affection
Labeled only half-ass.
Cinnamon coffee
In an art deco cup,
Jeans torn at the knees,
Sneakers never laced up,
Music, guitar strings,
Thelonious Monk,
A nicotine ridden
Putrid pulmonary trunk,
Puppies and wolves,
Colorful scarves,
Subatomic hidden messages
We know only elves could have carved,
Sunsets of purple,
Mornings of gray,
Disorienting sentences
“Come here, go away.”,
Paintings of eyes
In bright pink and dark blue,
All of these things
Will still remind me of you.
SOUNDS RETURN
Speak.
Speak what you will,
But speak the Truth.
Speak loudly and to many;
And if you have no Truth to speak
Then hold your tongue
For silence speaks a greater Truth than any.
Tell.
Tell your tales.
Set them into the ether.
Whether made of flesh and bone,
Whether they be filled with fairies,
Tell your tales.
Let them not decay alone.
Whisper.
Whisper from the Heart.
Whisper when you know you shouldn’t.
Whisper everything they cannot say.
Whisper to his soft warm skin.
Send sweet nothings into the night.
Whisper in a brand new day.
Scream.
Scream to the wind,
Disregard its intended direction.
Scream in rage, in love, in fear.
Scream with passion.
Scream away,
Away the ghosts of yesteryear.
Now listen.
Listen after all is said.
Listen hard and make them true.
Listen for the sounds you’ve sent
As they faithfully return to you.
PURPLE BOX
If feelings could be sounds,
And a sound could be an object,
Mine would be a raging scream,
Turned into a purple box,
Burning on a sinking ship,
Somewhere in my core.
SCIENCE OF THE SOUL
I wonder how wide
Is the circumference of a soul?
Is it measured in length?
Could it be measured in gold?
I pray you tell me, fine merchants of life,
how much is it worth as a whole?
I wonder how far
a single breath of mine could go?
And you humanoid annelids,
I wonder, how low?
I measure the eyes of my love;
Multiply them in the stars that oscillate above.
If you’d be willing to wager,
I’d bet the Moon and the Ursa Major
that the circumference
of a steadfast soul
is wider than the boasting distance
between the celestial poles.
MOMENT
It’s the smell of brewed coffee
before you open your eyes,
or the first sound you hear,
or a child’s quiet “goodbye”
that makes a difference
in how you live your day.
It’s the way that he noticed
the ring on your toe,
or when he discovered the freckle
below your left eye
that made you change your mind
and the way you both feel.
It’s waking up too early
or sleeping in too late,
or that one autumn evening
that felt more like a dawn.
It’s the sound and the silence,
the last beat of a heart,
and the shape of the curve
before the line finally goes flat.
PROUD AS I AM
I reminisce on yesterdays,
the tears, the cuts, the lies.
I’d love you more each day,
but time stands still in your eyes.
I write a verse for Death,
another one for Vengeance,
a line or two for Dreams forgotten,
an entire song for Rememberance.
I try to shake the leeches,
forget the vessel they came on.
Yet I grasp for Reality,
knowing it’s all wrong.
And I write another verse.
I hum another song,
with a melody of weakness
and all that makes me strong.
All that keeps me sane.
All that wears me down.
And the broken heart I wear
like Jesus wore his crown.
Wonderful. I stole it.