February 10th, 2010
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A swing
hangs from a firm branch
over soft calm water
where the only disturbance
is the occasional small fish
that jumps up and out
making a small splattering noise
as it falls back in;
the swing is made of old thin twine
and a worn piece of wood
broken not sawed
and upon it sits
my sweet red haired girl,
she wears the same purple gown
she wore on that first night
I was with her –
how I remember its warm velvet touch
beneath my fingers tips
as I traced her contours
before she reached out
and took my hand in hers
leading me to a secret place
I had never dreamed of –
but now fog covers everything
and though I reach out to you
across the water
there’s an expanse there
that I’ll never get beyond
because you’ve become lost
in thought
distant
and faceless.
– matt at shadow of iris
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[This poem was inspired by the work of Esao Andrews.]
January 30th, 2010
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We don’t understand faces any longer
we don’t understand attraction
back then, time was
when life was harsh
physically
it took a toll
you were out there in it
meshing with it
and the cold hurt
two much smoothness frightened us
but a rough, worn face
a face that could take it all in
and keep it
then still move on
that was a face that reassured
so back then
everyone wanted a face like that
yet now the biggest concern
is knowing when and how to smile
to show you’re not so dumb
and that older face
has gone out of style
everyone’s afraid
they don’t quite fit in
and it shows in their faces.
– matt at shadow of iris
January 14th, 2009
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Your face
holds in it for me
an attraction so strong
it devoirs me
and leaves me void
I am on a train
and I try not to stare
but my God, that face
it’s like a miracle
by the grace of God
let me look
with a glance
I take snapshots
with my eyes
closing them and
pretending
I can burn your image
permanently
onto my retinas
but alas it fades
all too fast
one more look
is all I want
just one more
I promise it’ll
be my last
a brief casual glance
and ah … I’m dying
I’d try to tell others
what I saw
but they’d laugh
as if I’d seen
a UFO
a big foot
a loch ness monster
the train stops
and you are off
and I am left
like a addict
deprived
of his addiction.
– Marya Ophir
