Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Free Verse in Quatrains: A Moment of Immortality

A Moment of Immortality

We scurried up the coast to colder skies
and thicker nights. A reverse migration,
our hearts soaring ahead in song,
navigating the strings of highways.

We arrived at the cove and drove
in circles, playing peek-a-boo with angry sea winds
that blew spit into the stomachs of sails,
while we skipped through puddles, a pair of elbows.

We found the cores of each other's eyes,
and made circles with our hands against
cold stone, cold skin.
We found the path's end, but saw our lives go on.

We jumped on soft mattresses
and I made you mine,
while discarding blankets stained
with the stories of ghosts.

We found the path's end.

Justine Bienkowski

Free Verse: Bed


It is an eyesore,
looking too carefully made
despite the messy nature of the corners,
each peeking
bitterly out from beneath another,
each layer holding memories.

I remember a time
when sheets tumbled to the ground,
when pillows did not hold their rectangular shape,
when the mattress was askew.
I remember,
and cannot stand the mocking neatness of the bed.
Yet I put it together each day,
like a half-hearted jigsaw puzzle.

Each morning I hope to wake up to mess.

I perform surgery on the bed each time I leave it,
just like when you had left it,
except I drag the sheets up to the chins of the pillows and bears.

The bed seems to me to be the thin covering of scabbing,
a careful clotting put together the day after slicing.
It seems to me to be a pus-filled wound,
begging to be ripped open and rubbed with salt
like a piece of meat to be marinated
or left to dry or fester.

Justine Bienkowski

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Rubaiyat Stanzas: Cliff Walk

Cliff Walk

Such peaks on cliffs I hold dearly.
Clear as day the sea pools nearly
towards the pier, among the boats...
I wish to live by such a sea.

Such a sea as this constantly
sets to my ankles, swishing me
about. Suddenly I feel pokes
to supple flesh from pricks, a plea.

Such pleas for notice branch like trees
to scrape my eyes from sorrow. Sea
foam thirsts for tears and pain. I float
amongst the waves, sighing decrees.

Such decrees I hope forgive me
trespasses against hearts I need
for future life: never a hoax.
I say to the sea: just don't leave.

Justine Bienkowski