BLUE CHEESE
Meanwhile,
we while away
hours,
mine and yours
eyes
closed, clothed in fumbles
lives
crumbling like blue cheese
on
soggy cracker dust –
couple
swallows of water
an
absolute must, rust
wringing
like toggled bells
inside
a bourbon heart,
in
this manner we pass our days,
in
this way we stick like glue
together, crumble apart
PEBBLES
we
used to climb trees
there
were rules on it
only
in cemeteries
only
in spring
apple
blossoms
mulled
wine after
in
a room filled with colours
of
fall
she
carried pebbles
in
her pockets, each night
she
would pull them out
her
hands were small and silent
I
liked to call them birds
copper
in tone, so peaceful
when
the bells in the chapel played
we
made love in the cooling sand
outside
the villa, southern exposure
another
rule
her
breasts so small and firm
like
pomegranates ripening
under solace of nurturing suns
SHATTERED
like
skeleton
of
baby bird
crushed
by the heel
smothered
in
the blue mud
of
emotion
orphaned
like
an egg
cold
in forgotten nest
I
stand humble under
full
moon, short
of
breath, blind
I
ask a lonely crow
so
high in night’s sky
to
forgive me
the
impurity
of
the forlorn
love I feel
STEVEN SIBRA has been creating poetry and short stories for over 40 years. His work has appeared in many journals, newspapers, magazines, a couple of broadsides, and no doubt on more than one outhouse wall. A native of Big Sandy, Montana, a town of less than 1000 people and the most eclectic little burg in America (check it out on Wikipedia), Steven resides in Seattle. His book of poetry, SHOES FOR BABY, was published in 2022 by Swallow Publishing.
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