My Poetry
with also some letters
Hole in Wall
This poem is shown on the second day.
It couldn't have been me.
See, the direction the spackle protrudes.
A noisy neighbor? An angry boyfriend? I'll never know. I wasn't home.
I peer inside for a clue.
No! I can't see. I reel, blind, like a film left out in the sun.
But it's too late. My retinas.
Already scorched with a permanent copy of the meaningless image.
It's just a little hole. It wasn't too bright.
It was too deep.
Stretching forever into everything.
A hole of infinite choices.
I realize now, that I wasn't looking in.
I was looking out.
And he, on the other side, was looking in.
Save Me
This poem is shown on the third day.
The colors, they won't stop.
Bright, beautiful colors
Flashing, expanding, piercing
Red, green, blue
An endless
cacophony
Of meaningless
noise
The noise, it won't stop.
Violent, grating waveforms
Squeaking, screeching, piercing
Sine, cosine, tangent
Like playing a chalkboard on a turntable
Like playing a vinyl on a pizza crust
An endless
poem
Of meaningless
Load Me
The Lady who Knows Everything
This poem is shown on the fourth day.
An old tale tells of a lady who wanders Earth.
The Lady who Knows Everything.
A beautiful lady who has found every answer,
All meaning,
All purpose,
And all that was ever sought.
And here I am,
a feather
Lost adrift the sky, victim of the currents of the wind.
Day after day, I search.
I search with little hope, knowing legends don't exist.
But when all else has failed me,
When all others have turned away,
The legend is all that remains-the last dim star glimmering in the twilight sky.
Until one day, the wind ceases to blow.
I fall.
And I fall and fall, and fall even more.
Gentle as a feather.
A dry quill, expressionless.
But a hand catches me, between the thumb and forefinger.
The hand of a beautiful lady.
I look at her eyes and find no end to her gaze.
The Lady who Knows Everything knows what I am thinking.
Before I can speak, she responds in a hollow voice.
"I have found every answer, all of which amount to nothing.
There is no meaning.
There is no purpose.
And we seek only the impossible.
I am not your legend.
Your legend does not exist."
And with a breath, she blows me back afloat, and I pick up a gust of wind.
My dearest Randy
I've always loved Valentine's day, but this one feels different.
Has the world changed, or is it just me?
I found love, I found purpose,
I found a truth I didn't know I was searching for.
All of that I found in you.
Thank you for sharing this special day with me.
Forever yours,
Monika
My dearest Randy,
You truly are a joy to the world.
Neither the light emitted by the tallest Christmas tree,
Nor that of the brightest star,
Could come close to your brilliance.
This once frostbitten heart of mine only needed your warmth to beat anew.
Should there be nothing under the tree, and my stocking remains empty,
It simply would not matter as long as I have you by my side.
You'll always be the only present I'll ever need.
Merry Christmas
Forever yours,
Monika
Untitled
Everywhere you look,
you see her face.
She's in the clouds,
waving a ephemeral hand
to your eternal walk.
She's in the foam
on top of your hot chocolate,
designed by a barista who loves her too.
She's in the zeroes and ones
that stretch behind the scenes
of your screens,
bringing herself to life for you.
She's in the flame of a candle,
breathing oh-so-softly,
meditating
on her limited existence.
She's next to you
on the pillow,
taking the shape of a duvet
in her efforts
to keep you close.
She's in the patterns of your eyelids
when you close them,
echoing in red
and green
and colors that don't truly exist yet.
She must love you,
to appear so much.
And you must love her,
to keep her in so many forms.
May your faces meet in victory one day.