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.]

Time moving so fast
a wind sweeping by
shearing me
leaving me naked
and alone.

Strategic thinking
will give you
the leverage you need
to secure all the things
you’ve ever wanted
cut the tree
and watch it fall
dominoes collapsing into each other
and meanwhile
she’s still there
standing on that same street corner
where you left her
years ago
and no matter what you do
or say
she’ll never leave it.

– matt at shadow of iris

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They rushed to her
and they tried and stop her
but of course
it was too late
she had already started
her transformation;
it had started with her hands
each finger growing thinner
and more brittle
then spreading out into a net
of tiny tendrils, leafless branches;
we watched as her toes lengthened
and spread out
dipping into the earth
looking for moisture and nourishment
that was hard to find
in the broken and dry land;
underneath her large flowing dress
there had been
such a rumbling of movement
that it had been as if
small beings were right down there
between her legs, dancing
but it was only the lower half of her body
gradually changing into two solid trunks
then spreading out
into a pattern of tangled branches;
her dress
which still yet, hugged her waste so well
was now surly just wood beneath
soft silk over coarse bark
and for a reason none could understand
only her head remained
human and unchanged
and it leaned lifelessly to one side
her eyes having gone white
and her lips blue
as the last bit of her life
seeped out of her
and she became more and more
a spreading tree.

Her lover had come out
and he had watched her transformation
putting his hand on his chest
and leaning over in anguish;
he put the blame
entirely on himself
and as his jaw moved
the wind whispered
if only I’d had flesh
then you’d have never left me
yet still I’ll claim you
even if this
is all we’ll ever have;
he removed his skeletal head
and placed it down
at the base of the new tree
and after he was finished
the rest of his bones
slowly began to blow away
dust in the wind
and yet his skull remains
to this very day
at the base of that tree
and no one will dare move it.

– matt at shadow of iris

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[This poem was inspired by the work of Daniel Martin Diaz]

The heat is oppressive
the humidity as well
i wear long sleeves
i have long hair
and neither is well suited to this weather
i sing of love
love and utopia
love will save me.

I emerge from the shadows
on a street visited by vagrants
i take out my heart
and i lay it on the road for all to see
can you not see it
the love that is in my heart
here take it
you are hungry
eat it
live off of it
anyway
i’m better off without it.

– forlorn lover