Tag Archives: emotion

Pictographs

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You wouldn’t know it from the photographs,
moments chosen so they wouldn’t forget,
not to deceive. Corroborative images showing
that they smiled and laughed. Incontestable
evidence that despite assiduous heartache,
joy and hope burrowed in and fought
to regain solid purchase.

NaPoWriMo Day 18

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commuter

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spitting fire
she dropped to the bus seat
surprised the driver stopped
and opened the door
let her enter
the crowded public transportation
covered as she was in flames

no one even gave her
or her inferno
a second glance
she was ready if they did
sharp retort loaded
all she needed was an aim
someone to set ablaze

how could they not see
she was a pyre
cloaked in grey business drab
gripping a paper cup
purse slung like a bandoleer
stiletto heels a calculation
her life completely flammable

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Julie Ayers
NaPoWriMo Day 6

Am

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I am heart on thin, imperfect legs, barely managing to remain upright because of the weight of affection I carry.  I am longing and present and curse and laughter and hurt, exuberance and tenderness, disappointment…solace, reward, price, reckoning, chapter and volume, journey, destination.  I am costly.  Irreplaceable.  Replaced already.  Silenced.  Memory.

I am was.

I am
ever.

 

Julie Ayers
NaPoWriMo Day 23

 

Bath Fixtures and Beethoven

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I’ve been holding back,
carelessly squandering my verve
in a desire to pass,
repressing urges to scribble lines
or take photographs
when a minister hands a jeaned child
a purple iris
and the wisp girl grips it tightly,
petals forming fireworks
above her silk and sand waterfall
of perfectly trimmed bangs.

I didn’t dance in the aisle at Home Depot
Friday morning
when Slung-lo started playing.
SLUNG-LO!,
in Home Depot,
like a pretty message from the gods,
and I tried to pretend like it wasn’t,
and that my heart was not cliff diving
in ecstasy
over one of my happy songs
raining down from rafters
as I assessed a display of shower heads.
I failed to drop my shoulders,
allow my head to shake free,
transform to flow and bliss.

I tried not to show
any of the watching world
the depth of the gash
on my spirit last Thursday,
a veritable internal hemorrhage,
hiding instead behind a poem
about a man
being more than his bland façade
might suggest.
Anemic offerings
when I should have splattered
the room with blood,
let loose my murderous thumbs
on words that cut and skewered,
plumbed pain,
making it both singular and universal.

Beethoven fearlessly
wandered around muttering
things like “I want to seize fate by the throat.”
Sure, he had social problems,
failed romantically over and over
and went deaf,
but he wrote Allegro from Violin Sonata, Op. 24,
playing out his jubilation and his anguish
across sheets,
through notes, and strings,
in parlors and on stages.

Every last one of us
alternately stumbles and destroys,
succeeds and glides,
but few possess the daring
to sincerely share the rawest
turmoil and joy,
channel and elevate
pure emotion to art.

I am grateful for the Beethovens,
the fearless,
for those who have let loose,
uncapping the rage and the love,
refusing to hold back
in hardware stores
or concert halls,
braving full exposure
and judgmental eyes,
to bring us beauty,
loan us,
even if only for moments,
hearts capable of withstanding
unsanitized truth.

 

April 6, 2014
Julie Ayers
NaPoWriMo Day 6

 

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Squeezed

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Back 30 years, when I’d walk for miles across campus to my classes with my head filled with
little kicks, he-men in sun showers, goodbye girls and 2nd floor hotel rooms, flannels for faces, stained notebooks, hearts filled with nails, and black coffee in bed, I felt the calling, and calling, of thoughts and ecstasy and regret joined with trenchant melody.

I’ve wanted to write a poem about how music makes me feel, but know I’d be defeated by any attempt. How can I possibly place nouns and adjectives and verbs in precise lines to express the power the strings of notes and evoked images have over my pulse and respiration? How a song can suddenly fix me in a spot and change everything. How my heart can feel like it is shattering because of how someone intones a list of words or plays a sheet of music. How my horrible day can be transformed in an allegro. I’m buried, still breathing, but in lilacs. I burn. I rend. Exalt. Expire. My skin becomes inadequate to contain all of me and I expand without limit, blur with the person or article next to me. I am tree and grass and ottoman and weeping glass and my best friend and the stranger who is whooping with joy. I shimmer, embody ecstasy. Transcend.

© Julie Ayers
April 2012 – NaPoWriMo 27

Transcendence. Photograph by Julie Ayers