Resurgences (2 tenWords)

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winter garden

tiny grave beds

(tu)lips are whispering,

“come, spring”

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tracing her scars

like braille, mouthing,

I

lived

to

tell

© 2015 Jennifer Wagner

For dVerse, the tenWord, a form created by Brian Miller.

mercy, please

image © 2015 jennifer wagner

a red blossom, bloodied burqa,

             voice

                        buried

stoning hole shadows

awaiting execution

press my heart,

 

            crush

within me

© 2015 Jennifer Wagner

For dVerse MTB. Bjorn has invited us to do some blackout poetry. I used a book I am currently reading, Stone Crossings, by L.L. Barkat. This particular page/segment from her book brought to mind the the film The Stoning of Soraya M. If you haven't seen it, it's gut-wrenching. Honestly, I couldn't sit through all of the stoning scene.

Eggshells

I won't play your eggshell game.

It's a drag

and you can't hold me hostage

anymore

from who I am,

from who I am meant to be,

from happiness.

Honestly, it's rude,

and you continue to behave childishly,

demanding things

on your own selfish terms.

Meanwhile,

I am making new loves

and they don't require that I tiptoe,

they say,

give it all you got, girl,

go ahead,

crunch.

© 2015 Jennifer Wagner

For Poetry Jam: One Word. My word is “Freedom,” written about obliquely.

Saturday Morning Cartoons (with Oreos and Milk)

A father wakes up

before everybody else

and sets the world whistling.

Except on Saturday,

when he's supposed to get to sleep in,

but you jump on his belly

and pry his eyes open

to watch cartoons with you.

He doesn't mind, though,

because you're his.

© 2015 Jennifer Wagner

For my daddy.

Dad, remember Oreos and milk for breakfast with Saturday morning cartoons? I do. Good times. :)

And for Poets United: The Poetry Pantry

Animus

morgueFile

Snowflakes pressed in indigo,

spit-shined

for a coming new year.

I know you will read this.

I know you will not understand.

But, the sky is ready.

Snowflakes pressed in violet,

warming up

for a coming new year.

Haven't you gotten

your pound of flesh,

and then some?

                                                             yellow

                          violet                                                              blush-burst

indigo                                                                                                                      magenta

The sun

has arrived

but you don't see

the new year,

the melt,

the new day.

You're too blindly busy

thinking of

the next

crimson cut.

But,

the sky is ready,

trade your warfare

for wings,

come fly with me.

© 2015 Jennifer Wagner

“What the new year brings to you will depend a great deal on what you bring to the new year.” - Vern McLellan

For the challenge at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads