Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Rondeau: Sun-Starved and Yearning

Sun-Starved and Yearning

My hands begin to feel smaller, confused
Like plants removed from sun. And I, accused
Of lovelessness, at once begin to droop.
As if we hadn't ever taken root
As one; as if I am not also bruised.

My roots will miss your kiss, your shine. Misused,
I lay my heavy stems in bed. Refused,
I question raising troubled feet; dilute...
My hands begin to feel smaller, confused.

You cruelly rob me! Gentle rays infused
In you and lost to me, I feel abused!
Without your hands in mine, I must recoup,
Must find some other light. Somehow I'll scoop
Myself from pillows--not yet, for I've diffused.
My hands begin to feel smaller, confused.

Justine Bienkowski

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Free Verse in Tercets: Scorn

I usually don't ever preface or apologize for my poetry, but for real, this one is awful. But it is something I had to write to get out of my system. So. Meh.

Scorn

Summer's scorn
Always seems to lay waste
To my heart.

Although I cannot
Seem to live freely in
Blustery months,

And though summer's
Breezes are the ones
I thirst for,

It, too, is the one season
That always wants
To see me deflated.

Summer wilts my petals
That have always
Stood shiny.

Somehow I have
Reached my warm months
With my hands at my throat.

Always somehow I choke
At the thickness of
My bursting tongue

Bursting inside
Fireworks display
Bursting, imploding.

Justine Bienkowski

Ghazal: Unrequited Ghazal

Unrequited Ghazal

The bumbles buzz, the sea is boiling blue
With anger brewed, but I, I'll wait for you

By sandy ruins, holes dug deep, askew
In clay, pressed tight in palms. I'll wait for you

By dunes, burying myself alone, chew
Some grit between my teeth. I'll wait for you

By stormy waves, as Plath I'll walk into
The sea, too far to breath. I'll wait for you

By sunken ships, and losing rosy hues
I'll tumble down to dark. I'll wait for you.

Justine Bienkowski