Poetry || Submissions

-Baggage-

These things have traveled with me
the books & songs, the truths & the sadness
These things that do not leave me
the knowing, the searching, the madness
These things that are me and mine
so much of everything, so much nothing
too much to let go, let die, leave behind

I see a child at the window
becoming acquainted with the stars
the someday woman, the tender discoveries,
the flesh of the heart not yet burdened by scars

I see a love so genuine it remains
untouched and undamaged by time
The hopes of the young, the dreams,
the mysteries still live like the stars that shine

These things have traveled with me
the books & songs, the truths & the memories
These things that do not leave me
the trusting, the finding, the extremes
These things that are me and mine
so much of everything, so much nothing
too much to let go, let die, leave behind

-continents-

You put the world between us

not just an ocean or sea
not a mere culture
not an endearing and timely inbetween

a universe

a great and grand uncompromise
a lack of response
a bitter unspoken unquiet demise

and unresolved

like your darkening heart perhaps
like mine, for certain
like time at its worst, bitter with never hads

but less subtle

left to count for nothing, it seems
left for pasts unreal
left in the wicked wanderings of a dream

You put the world between

-Shades of Blue (or Combien de temps?)-

How much love would it take you
to feed your need, to bleed and to break you?
How much joy would it cost you
to start your heart, to part from the lost you?
How much thought would expend you
to find your mind, to bind and amend you?
How much time could I hand you
to lose your blues, to soothe and understand you?

How many? How much?
Count the shades of blue
What you ask of me
What I ask of you

How many pains could you deal me
to slow my soul, to know of the real me?
How many words could you leave me
to bruise my truths, to use and believe me?
How many tears could you cry me
to curb my urge, to purge and deny me?
How many days would you bet me
to kill my will, and still... to forget me?

How much? How many?
Count the drops in the sea
What I ask of you
What you ask of me

-ours-

your
world away
your
life unknown
your
want to stay
your
need to roam

my
safe abode
my
skies to fly
my
need to know
my
will to try

our
tangled wires
our
tributary
our
life of lies
our
temporary

Tasha Jones from tasha@starfishy.com is Editor of online 'zine, Calliope ( http://www.starfishy.com/calliope and dedicated to promoting the works of the artistic online community. Published in print since 1984, lover of all things creative, currently working on a novel- just a happy all-around cheerful sort of gal with a shameless love affair with words and expression.