Sunday, August 23, 2015

Draft Poem

Admitting

Dearest Friend,

I apologize for leaving you
alone for so long,
wondering if my wandering
had anything to do with you.
I'm so sorry. It did.

I admit, I couldn't look
your illness in the face,
the way your lipstick
slinks away now, guiltily
avoiding your medicated breath,
leaving a smear on your upper lip,
as if it skidded in last minute haste.

You see, cancer smells a certain way.
It's not quite like death, but more
like withering. IV be damned.
You'll shrivel, dry, disappear
into unknown at any moment,
quite possibly in front of me
as I hold too tightly
onto your crumbling hand.

You see, I am afraid.

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

More Poetry for the Muse

Muse: the goddess or the power regarded as inspiring a poet, artist, thinker, or the like.

It's when I am half asleep
that the words fall out,
like potatoes from a broken bag.

The plastic can't contain them.
The whites of their eyes stare
at my insignificance compared
to the fervor of your words,

the crazy acts you inspire,
the way you warm me,
making me perfectly edible.  

Copyright 2015 KMG

Thursday, April 02, 2015

Invitation to Muse

I'd invite you
to my garden
to pour pungent
tea and sip
spring with me,


but you're rooted
in her arms,
and I'm alone
with jealous trees.

Wednesday, April 01, 2015

Rotation

I tend to behave
on the phone.
Not when I write. 
Then, Muse
runs my mind,
and I trip,
addict of my
own imagination,
out of control
as a manic day.
Sun rises too quickly.
I spin on my own axis.
I wonder what
you think about,
while you drive
on back home.

Monday, March 30, 2015

Apologies

My muse,
I am sorry
I abused
My privilege
Until you
Disappeared.
I cannot blame you,
You with your
Greater nature.
I am the weakling here,
Eating you empty,
Like too much
Chocolate. Oh
How my stomach
Hurts after, as I
Watch you cringe.

Friday, March 27, 2015

Two Haiku

Turning Lemons

I think I'll open
a lemonade stand in your
honor. Want a glass?

Obsessive

If I didn't write
how would your day be? Naked?
Or would you exhale?





Start of a Poem

The world sits
on my personal axis,
turning in my direction.
And the sun rises.