May Poetry Showcase from Donna Dallas

photo from pixabay
This Isn't a Riff

Or some placid four-liner
something to move you 
lift you up

This is a blank page
a morning thought
a screw you

It’s your mother’s corsage
our leopard rug
the original M&M’s phone

Not nearly as complex
as the stone chimney
we watched them build
or the construction
of the in-ground pool

This is thick now
perhaps this became infected
when it was left out 
and rain filled it
multiplied by the thousands
tortured us over and over
with nasty little bites
the entire summer

This is never as sad 
as that light gray
box suit – or is it
makeshift herringbone
those awful squares
such an eyesore

This is poker
chips fall everywhere
yet we cannot locate them
when it’s time 
to cash in
when it’s time to
call it a nightcap
our never-ending babble

This was nothing
now it’s everything
this makes me sick
yet it’s my survival

East Coast Tears

We’ve danced this dance ----- you stop talking ----- I shut up into my own
later we’ll have casual conversation in front of the kids
so they won’t suspect     we are as screwed up
as everyone else
yet there was something brilliant ----- that thrived inside us
merged / made beautiful babies / entwined us for twenty-some-odd 
years we had it
you and I            slow decomposition 
happens with time………………..
here we are staring into space      thinking who can we sleep with
to get the other back ----- but really who wants us
now we are more or less middle-aged            we go on
because we have no one else
we can’t quite break through to that old and gold love
we have tried babe ----- I know
last night I had a dream I was married to my former lover and in the end
he said he was just using me for sex
I woke up crushed and loved you madly for a minute 
now gone ----- in the presence of each other
we only feel regret


I just licked the devil
he was smothered in chocolate
spooned my tongue
so effervescent sweet

The way to Hades
tunnels deep
always derailed 
by blind obedience
the taste sugary hurt
and grainy as bent love
shapes the moon I curl under
when I go it alone

Real People

Scrape the lies off your skin 
as I get right back up 
to scrape the blood off my knees
roll your tall tales  
into a tiny ball
place them in my coat pocket
so I carry your burdens 

I am not the cup of promises
I’m the alternate side of the street
a thought no one remembers
the hair in your soup


Beyond me
beyond counting souls I see
a blurred line 
I cross                  engage
wait it out
(I have time)
            centuries perhaps
yesterday evaporates
into a magical mist 
that formed a 
life             and I go on
to the trail
I’m magnified
a thousand times
(considered a candidate?)
I always wondered how it worked - the approval process
          the book
          the gates……are they truly pearl??
am I forgiven……or forgotten
I sinned
(not terribly)
but where is the scale my dear
(in our core?)
If I’m the half-and-half
          weigh me and
see where I lean
         if it’s an exact fifty-fifty
then what??
        do I breathe with angels
        and sleep with devils
I wait 
grayed with mistaken identity
and in the
after life
pushed down to
resurrect and

Bio: Donna Dallas studied creative writing and philosophy at NYU’s Gallatin School and was lucky enough to write under William Packard, founder of the New York Quarterly.  She has appeared in a plethora of journals, most recently The Opiate, Beatnik Cowboy, SpillWords and Phantom Kangaroo.  Donna serves on the editorial team of Red Fez and New York Quarterly.


Poetry Showcase for Donna Dallas

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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