Would you believe it?

This poem was once attached to the previous... a now, very ex-boyfriend convinced my stubborn mind to release my clutches on their union... oh, the foreshadowing! Well done! He is given this one small credit, and that is all. The poems gave birth all on their own... across time... across experiences.

Honestly, sometimes, I do not know where credit is due. The unveiling of each poem from my fingertips... the amazing connections that unravel... surely, I cannot be the only force guiding its sails to shore... I know this notion is ridiculous to most, but I swear, only when I write poetry and more recently, when I play music, do I know of something other worldly. It's enough to give me faith... in myself... in something larger than my tiny perspective on the world. Enough ranting. Poetry.

Green Room

A haunted rocking chair paces the attic,

Restless, breathless,

Vacant and filled with regret, for

Change and unspent energy,

Creaking the joists below.

When will I ever be, ever be, ever be

When will I ever be in the green room?

The cleaved stalk of an Indian paintbrush,

Mangled, shredding;

Vibrant blossom dipped in reds, pinks, oranges,

Rooted on interstate median,

Flailing in gusts of exhaust.

When will I ever be, ever be, ever be

When will I ever be in the green room?

A coat rack waits stoically, biding its time,

Elegant, refined.

Porcelain hands, reaching, delicately painted

Lavender, loyally longing to simply hold…

Your layered guise.

When will I ever be, ever be, ever be

When will I ever be in the green room?

Imagine finite pleasure and transgress…

Too translucent desire,

Vision of a whisper chance.

Orchestra spark rhythm! Ferment

Green noise-

See lime.

Where I will ever be, ever be, ever be

Where I will ever be in the green room.

©Copyright June 6, 2011 Joanna Brown