Feb14
truck stop, next exit
It’s worse when you are home than when you are
gone.
At least we have a conversation, of sorts,
Twice a week,
Brakes hissing and engines running in the background.|
You are usually eating, tired,
but we can fill our allotted 45 with the little business
and the occasional laugh.
I hear your voice and imagine
That I am most important to you
Even though our words are rationed
By the satellite that promised to keep us in sync. Read More | Comments
Jan6
I’ve neglected my promise to post a poem every month. More of a song, this one is. I usually write in free verse, but the simplicity and impact, perhaps even the restriction, of repeated images and rhyming couplets fit the mood that inspired the piece.
west coast lament
Mountains sage and sea
are calling to me
shells pebbles sand
for the hollow of my hand
Leave the words unsaid
the heavy heart and head
mountains sage and sea
are waiting for me Read More | Comments
Sep1
four letter words ©Lisa Golda 2004
If I were to say that life has no meaning
(life, being a little four-letter word that will not
let me go) I would only mean that
all the breaths and births and broken bones that make up
L I F E are a lie; that’s right; take away F and you’re
Left with a lie;
endless numbers in phone books,
bones births breaths brought to naught
an overwhelming onslaught of anonymous information.
Life is a lie.
If I were to tell you that love does not exist, this I think
would be a harder sell;
after all, you might find love in the phone book,
and if you relinquish L you’ve still got
ove, ovuum, egg, conception, product thereof
of Love. Remove E, and there’s still
Lov, luv, lv
cannot be reduced so easily to a lie, though it is a profanity
by construction, and sometimes experience.
Now, love life, or Love life;
the telephone numbers take on new importance.
Take a deep breath before you call her,
hearts are broken like bones,
and even if lov is a lie it is still Love,
a conception of breath and bone
borne by way of a profanity that is often anonymous,
but with which, endless and overwhelming,
we can construe each other
before we let go.
