Ken's stanzas are left-aligned, Nolcha's are right-aligned
Names
We capture
what we name.
We name
where we are
when we
are here
and out of
reach
to find
ourselves again.
We name things
that are out of reach
and in doing so
lose a part of ourselves
We lose
our names,
we lose
ourselves.
Face it,
we are lost.
I wonder if there's a name for
that.
It shall
remain nameless.
And free.
I come to a door
I open it
not because it's easy
or because I'm curious
or because I'm bored
but because it is the only one
that will open
I take weak little steps
not because I am unsure
but because I am tired
I follow the same path
not because it is worn
But because all paths are the same
The
only door that opens
is
to dirty dishes, unmade beds,
laundry
someone left behind.
By
the time I clean this house
I’ll
be too weak
to
find a pathway out of here.
So I walk through the door
do the dishes and laundry,
clean the house.
I pay a few bills to keep the lights on
hoping to brighten the path,
that someone may find me.
I
close the door
and
turn off the lights
so
that no one can find me.
Maybe
they’ll stop
sending
bills.
Return to sender:
Recipient no longer at this address.
Trees
hide
my
plans for the future.
Leaves
cover memory
of
where I began.
I
cannot go forward,
I
cannot return.
Branches
block moonlight
and
shroud me in shadows.
I’m
lost to myself
and
the ghosts that I love.
Gray bark covers the scars,
shading my brittle skin
from the heat of the sun.
Lost are the memories
of where we all began.
I cannot go forward,
I cannot return.
Love is lost in the trees,
ghosts hiding in the moonlight.
My
skin is scarred
and
brittle
from
love lost
in
the trees.
The
sun melts
paths
to past regrets.
The
shadows
shroud
the future.
Past and future,
like the branches of a tree
lead to different paths,
sometimes the same regrets.
If you
want it bad enough
it’s your
toothpaste.
Get up
every day
and brush
your teeth.
It's your coffee.
Drink a cup or two
and let the subtle roast
work its magic.
Give up
everything
you want
for Lent.
Except
coffee.
Never give
up coffee.
Or just
give up.
Just kidding!
Just making sure you're awake.
If you want it bad enough,
never give up,
unless you're treading water
in the middle of the ocean
miles away from land.
All the coffee in the world
won't help.
My alarm
dog
won’t
bring coffee.
I don’t
know if she swims.
Don’t go
in the ocean.
And don’t
give up caffeine.
Screw it, just give up!
Sink to the ocean bottom.
invite the fish
for a cup of coffee.
Don't worry about the alarm…
the dog will get it.
Nolcha Fox - Nolcha’s poems have been published
in Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Alien Buddha Zine, Medusa’s Kitchen, and others.
Her poetry books are available on Amazon. Nominee for 2023 Best of The Net.
Editor for Open Arts Forum. Accidental interviewer/reviewer. Faker of fake
news.
Website: https://bit.ly/3bT9tYu
Ken Tomaro is a writer living in
Cleveland Ohio whose work reflects everyday life with depression. His poetry
has appeared in several online and print journals and explores the common
themes we all experience in life. Sometimes blunt, often dark but always
grounded in reality. He has 4 full-length collections of poetry, most recently,
Potholes and Perogies available on Amazon.
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