L.J. Keys

Tag - poetry

rollercoaster Woman

April 19, 2023
Red Lady J
For Readers, Poetry

The Common Language Project is a phenomenal Dallas area poetry competition wherein every writer must use the same 30 words to write a poem no more than 30 lines. While it is a competition, to me, it’s also a very enjoyable challenge. My poem “Divorce” was chosen for inclusion in the anthology in 2022 but my poem, rollercoaster Woman, was not chosen for this year. There are so many incredible talented artists, writers, and poets in this area that I can’t say I’m too upset about the judges having found 30 more local poets whose work I can read and learn from.

… it’s still a little bit of a bummer. But rejection is a huge part of being a writer! And I love my poem enough to stand by it even without a win this year.

Though, I will provide the Wikipedia definition of airtime as used in my poem:

In the context of amusement rides, air time, or airtime, refers to the time during which riders of a roller coaster or other ride experience either frictionless or negative G-forces. The negative g-forces that a rider experiences is what creates the sensation the rider feels of floating out of their seat. With roller coasters, air time is usually achieved when the train travels over a hill at speed.

Wikipedia

The theme

This year, we invite you to connect into networks, analog and digital, microscopic and macro-engineered. From the cells in our bodies to the smart phones in our hands, networks fill our lives with meaning, richness and beauty. Chain letters and congregations share secrets; the weave of textiles can bear witness to the tapestries of our families. Show us the truths of fractals, find the hidden meanings of street maps, trace the untold stories of spiderwebs.

The words

ambition
artery
autonomous
belly
bend
bounded
chart
clicking
compass
drove

dwindle
entire
fitting
guide
hem
identify
joining
ladder
lost
magnetized

means
mercy
mesh
metal
node
received
slant
tangent
unmade
wear

And without further ado

rollercoaster Woman

ambition was a curse.
We drove Ourselves to this ride,
but when We boarded, We lost
the means to identify Our slant.
clicking up, up, up.

an autonomous belly
pleading for mercy
or at least a tangent to distract
from a perfectly unmade hem.
fitting into that dress,
the beautiful fabric bounded
but all We wanted was to make
Our hips smaller.

it’s more palatable to dwindle;
to chart a deadly path
through a carotid artery
rather than use Our feminine compass
to rise above. Up, up, up.
a single metal ladder, Our only
hope of escape. We rode hoping
to mesh with the magnetized,
but ancient wood doesn’t hold charge.

then suddenly, soaring downward
We are received by One Another.
A great joining of Our entire experience, Women
making primal dresses to wear, each
a node, a guide, to a place where
We needn’t kneel, We needn’t bend.
a place where We get to experience
the euphoria of airtime.

Week 3: A Bedtime Poem

November 21, 2020
Red Lady J
For Readers, Poetry
Week 3?! How did this happen?! Only one more week to go on this Horrah journey you’ve embarked on with me. This week, I present to you a little preview from a poetry collection I’m putting together. The full work will be available sometime next year! 2021, I’m ready. In the meantime, here’s a lovely story about a woman who realizes there’s no reason to be afraid of the dark.

A Bedtime Poem

Pajamas on, she gets in bed.
Moving pillows, avoiding dread.
She turns off the light and into the night,
Blankets, sheets, over her head.

She does not see but only feels
A presence that is all too real.
Face it, she must. In herself, she must trust.
She throws off her blankets with zeal.

The demon close, warming her skin,
It sees her soul, the pain within.
Gently it wraps her in a tender grasp.
She’s scared but her fear wears thin.

It’s warmth does not burn like the dead,
Instead it warms like fresh baked bread.
“I will hold thee as long as you need me,”
It growls and sets her in bed.

Her guardian demon hugged her.
She fell asleep in its fur.
When she awoke like a fever that broke,
She welcomed what trouble could stir.

And Yet

January 6, 2020
Red Lady J
Poetry
1 Comment

Ode to Long Distance Friendship

I walk the world alone and yet

Upon the farthest soul, I’d bet.

Joined in some cosmic parallel,

Nebulous but clear as a bell.

Focused, as my soul respires,

Yet still stoking the open fire

Where we warm our hands.

In chorus, within and outside the briar.

An honest walk across the high wire.

We listen to the song as it swells.

Whether dawn or a mourning knell,

Try as I might, I cannot fret.

For I walk the world alone

And yet

The Clouds

November 10, 2019
Red Lady J
Poetry

Cumulus clouds are my favorite. Dollops of whipped cream on a sunbeam. Only blue skies for miles and yet, it’s as if they each hold a memory, taunting that they might spill over and drench the world in nostalgia.

Cumulonimbus, the giant. The great force. Your hair stands on your neck as the earth grows quiet, electricity coursing through your veins. Severity in their height, danger in their breadth. The swirling air bringing nightmares to your bedroom, setting stones on your forehead as you sleep.

Have you ever seen a cloud and felt its weight on your shoulders; known that it was heavy with more than rain? Sensed the tension building in the atmosphere and behind your eyes, your head swimming? Sinking.

Have you ever wondered if dreams fall from the clouds? Is that why the rain births a new world? As if the clouds themselves are full of anger and weep with regret until the flowers are watered and the dirt is washed away. I can hear it. The rain on the roof. Such a comfort, especially at night.

Nimbostratus hovering dark over the horizon. Lying in wait for some poor soul to venture out with a heart full of sunlight only to be doused like a lit candle dropped in a bucket of water. Can you hear the sizzle of the flame? Smell the smoke rising off the water? Can you smell the rain before it starts?

Breathe deep, my dearest. Breathe the earth into your lungs. The moisture thick, almost alive. Down to my lungs it races and awakes something in me. Something in my core.

What if dreams roam the cosmos like some distant planet until they collide with our universe, scattering and bouncing from particle to particle until they find water and stick. Maybe dreams hold to water the same way that life does.

What if we all, what if it all
comes from the clouds?