Sunday, May 16, 2010

I am from Seattle, WA, living in Chicago. I am twenty years old, studying opera at DePaul's school of music. I write poetry to connect with the world through mutual comfort and understanding.
Thank you and hope to hear from you.
-Alexa Jarvis

Our Friend Grief

As the human core wanders to foreign, infinite galaxies,

she often allows her senses to conform into estranged grooves of hesitation.

Grief erodes her heart

as separation becomes the medicine for her wounds.

To her, the thought of new beginnings is an open sea.

A limitless, daunting body where

exotic creatures lodge in a mystical world and

the surface

is just a concept.

Swimming hearts become puppets dancing on the facade of breath.

And love

is an inconsistent insect fluttering

whichever way she pleases succumbing

to our mind’s influences of outside, inside,

the in-between.

So, we wander into a world similar to those of dreams

where a new energy envelopes affection

and slurps fear’s flesh.

Going On Two Years

You should be driving through the interstate.

Seventy years to go, steer

into your life’s foundation, unanswered.

Where the grapefruits grow

your eyes have everything in common with the sky’s center of a heart

full of water, tainted with citrus.

Ceasing to flood

awaiting your arrival

She sucks you up like a glittery fly

eager for her dinner, or maybe

for her Heaven’s purpose of reinvention to come down, again

an eagle

to watch us through the rust above

as we sit around blocks of worried oak, speaking of you

or perch on the Evergreen outside lover’s windowpane

listening to her dreams of you

and smile when She weeps at the spotting of you.

You would be driving through the interstate.

Anxious to see her pretty hair

imagining her warm, radiating core

laughing with her over your delayed arrival.

She waited while you sang the song about her new city.

The whole world saw

watching with delirious, twinkling eyes

you basked in their praise. As you deserved the sole assurance of breath.

But there are too many ways to stop breathing.

I looked for you in the interstate.

I looked for you on a Great Lake.

I looked for you in the paper

and found your blue eyes

mocked with black ink’s makeshift.

I then looked to the right column to find a head of fine, white hair

on a fellow with an old name: Fred.

Words of other’s survival upon his.

His absent smile was occupied

by the aspiring life next to him drifting

away in Heaven’s rippling waves

as the mother of our Earth depleted an emerging creation

that Sunday.


Spirit Water

A year is gone too quickly to digest life’s wonders of the worlds.

In my heart I am longing

for the lost fragments of a love


in the deep, indigo waters of Powell

surfacing now and then,

my laments resist the water’s submersion

where he lays now

a gentle spirit in concert with the lapping waves

making his music for the other lives’ conclusions.

(A message:

I am feeling, feeling, feeling

lacking clarity, not alive, nor dead).

Haunting whispers from his Angel

remind me to breathe

for I am not the diseased

I am life.

We swim together

with consent to love again

often dreaming

I hold his hands

like a leech’s dire need

for blood as my heart cringes with agony.

Grief deluges

Blue eyes wander

Heaven is idle.

Without him now, but always in the water

His spirit swims through her veins, apart of her.


I Am Free

My battle wounds stick to my arteries like butter.

The cure is foreign

but the fix is given for me to carry.

Take me.

Take my Heart to your penitentiary.

Lock It up, let It marry

the steel in the dark, cold cell’s perries

made by hell’s men

with hearts of bitter spice

curing the meats of those who fight.

Take It away to the lands of dragons.

In a fire

batter It up to free from sins

caused by the bruised hands of a knight

running from his monster

lost, in flight

soaring, the red birds turn to blue

drop dead

unto the ground

falling, falling,

delicate feathers succumb to earth’s revenue.

Freedom rings

from afar the devil sings

calling all evil to kiss the human core

what was once locked up

now, open once more.


May 9

She who gave me life

is the force that enraptured my mind as a little girl

into the days of womanhood, still distracted

by her beauty, her white teeth, her cheeks like mountains

Mama, you give me joy.

A heart as pure as an egget

translucent in the ocean light.

A mind as sharp as a fence pole

protective and dangerous accordingly.

A love like a drenched insect

determined to heal and shelter.

Your lessons are monuments.

They are history.

Generations to come

while we float together above

dancing in the waves.

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