Sunday, July 6, 2025

Essays at Twilight-Free Poetry by Devi Nina Bingham



Forward from the Author

As children, we instinctively recognized our flaws. This was before the superhuman complex set in. We knew our friends were flawed. But we had decided to love it all. Before we complicated life, making it unnecessarily burdensome and perfectionistic, a day was lived one moment at a time, and we did not look so closely, which is why time seemed to stretch on forever. Imagination constructed our reality, and we were awed by nature's secrets. We allowed ourselves to be lost so we could be found and tossed so we could laugh. We still risked and reached, stumbled, and easily forgave. We became pirates who braved the sea on our bikes and scouts who moved through the brush easily using our machete hands. Like Sherlock Holmes, we sought out friends who were hiding. We lived in solitary, unmarred worlds. Our bubble would touch another kid's bubble and pop for a second, then the delicate membrane would close around us as it was supposed to so we could move unmarred, our innocence preserved.

When the bubble that was meant to safely enclose us was broken, we no longer could feel ourselves, for we were made to carry adult imperfections that burdened us with sorrow. How can trauma not fundamentally change us? But family and society insist that we not be changed, that we be happy! Only because they do not want to remember when their bubble burst and the disenchantment it brought. As adulthood set in, we could see through the grown-up mask of comedy and tragedy: adults who were no more than bubble-breakers and troublemakers, who bowed like unbending mannequins, refusing to reveal the severity of their inner devastation.

I have spent lifetimes looking for the superhuman in myself and in others and have concluded that there is only one way to apprehend beauty, and that is to find it in ourselves or in nature. The trees, the flowers, the thunder, and the rainbow simply are, letting the seasons flow and ebb away. Yet, the tree never stops doing its thing: growing tall, blooming, and bearing fruit. A simple recipe for living. It is like the adage, "Stop and smell the roses." The apple has always hung like a gift from the same ragged tree. It is our decision to open our eyes and see it. That is all. We don’t have to grow trees, or buds, or apples. We only need to appreciate the beauty that is there in ourselves and in the natural world. As a mercy, in old age our childhood comes around again.

Twilight is an auspicious time. It heralds the finish of one day and the start of the next. It is the curtain falling after a play, the sunset quieting itself after a Summer scorcher. It is a time for reflection and slow moments. It is an opportunity for a cool drink in a sweaty glass or a modest splash of red wine in an orbed goblet. It is that instance, the very moment when sighs over the day’s trivialities and grunts over the day’s gravity grab a seat and let their hair down. Twilight affords us the good fortune of taking stock of our day before darkness creeps in and drags away the light. We say of seniors, “They are in their twilight years.” Having traveled our whole lifetimes in the sun, twilight is the shadow that has accompanied our every turn.

These poems attempt to describe life lived in the twilight state of elderhood, where the air is sweeter, silence is the preferred language spoken, and the world seems to move in a slow and unhurried dance, unapologetically. In twilight the final chapter comes on slowly and exits quietly. This collection reminisces like the elderly who prefer to recall not the high and mighty things accomplished in life, but common, everyday realities we share and know so well: what’s for dinner, our childhoods, and our failures. In retrospect, failures look less like shame and more like courage. Mistakes are, at the end of every story, only hard lessons we learned. Some of these poems reveal the darker shades of my life because the character of twilight has one foot firmly planted in darkness while the other foot struggles to remain in the light. These poems map twilight’s dichotomy, a representation of our shadow selves. I hope they will speak to you, revealing the beauty inherent in every mistake and the elegance of every line etched on your indomitable face.

Devi Nina Bingham


All I Didn’t Do

I try not to think of you,

for memories too close impair me.

Just a song about how you flew

or a butterfly on my knee

 

and the pain spurts like regret

for all I didn't do.

Can't forget as of yet

a hole my conscience chewed.

 

Your note said I did my part

but all I see is my refusal to

be present for your bleeding heart

too busy with my can-dos.

 

How I wish for the melody

of your voice hounding me. 


Alone

Alone in cells of isolation

experiencing a deafening silence

still we soldier on

in battle with ourselves

like cells in our bodies

of a particular duration.

 

Alone with cruel thoughts

cells contain what cannot be shared

so afraid of touching others

in a world of miscalculations

we withdraw into ourselves.

 

Inviting others to our party,

soon they have come and gone

in solidarity to preservation

cells are bleeding on.

 

Cells multiplying generate new life,

we are meant to grow.

Isolation sweeps away connection 

as we face the sun

in our morning cup

the day is done.

 

A heart, the tribal drumbeat

cells understand the dance of inclusion

alone until they meet themselves.

We have become estranged from our tribe

isolation was the sentence of the damned

living as ancient outcasts.

 

Are we living the best way

in secure and impenetrable fortresses,

isolation the unintended outcome,

cells we have made of ourselves.

We were severed from the natural way

alone for too long, we stopped reaching.

 

Alone, the defense of desperation

we took shelter in.

Cells have we made of ourselves.


Ancient Abyss

To let you go I'm moving on

will find another to welcome this kiss.

Art was the muse I threw my passion upon.

Why are you so hard to dismiss?

 

I see your smile but it's for her now.

It's high time I fixed the holes in my heart.

How easy you left when I didn't know how.

This time I'll play the vanishing part.

 

The past is gone, so face the truth.

But the memories spilled out everywhere.

We met in a time of carefree youth

seizing a torrid love affair.

 

Why are you so hard to dismiss?

I must rescue myself from this ancient abyss.


A New Frontier

Dreamt I of how the world will end,

of robotic aliens with guns.

Alone was I, without a friend,

waiting for the morning sun. 

Why didn't you come?

 

If you had been there by my side

no fear could grip my heart and soul.

My last breath would be glorious,

even if I died.

 

When Saint Michael cracks the seal

that makes our deeds vainglorious,

when it is dangerous,

will you be courageous?

 

Distance cannot part kin souls

no matter what we say or do.

In the end, we have severed wholes;

one was rent into two.

Tell me it's not true.


Time has made a fool of me

waiting for you to awaken

as the earth trembles furiously

it has left me shaken.

 

Seems my heart was gravely mistaken,

I shall watch the metallic sunset from here.

A new frontier

as I shed a tear.

 

A Thousand Years

You're tucked in my heart

far into the future that none can see,

a picture of your dear face

time frozen in joy, pain, and ecstacy;

a precious treasure chest of such tender magnitude.

Unyielding my heart's picture, it's no platitude.

 

I can't let go, though time marches on and the sun keeps rising high.

No matter what you say, I will believe in us until the day I die.

Your fine face and smile are locked in here for a thousand years.

A thousand blind hopes will bring my love as time flies.

Then be soothed, and dream of the wild time when we loved without tears.


Breathing Through Words

Without my work, what am I?
Suntan lotion and dance music,
a thick, bloody steak and a margarita devoid of meaning.
 
Words unlock a world locked in chaos.
Writing is the clean air I breathe.
Must I “get away” from that which defines me?
 
Without my art I have no explanation, no justification, no border, no definition.
I AM my art. I AM my words. I AM the thinking man on vacation.
 
I will do what I love and let others call it work
because I know it as breathing through words. 


Chemistry

Passion, where have you gone

lingering in thought

of sweet memories fond

forbidden, yet sought.

 

Will I never again taste

thrilling pleasures fine?

Tender moments gone to waste

like a soured glass of wine.

 

To distant heights

we did fly, yea, soar!

Two souls like tangled kites

never wanting for more.

 

My heart closed like a book

slammed shut by a wandering eye

and promises forsook

there's naught to do but cry.

 

Yet, once the heart has entertained

the heights of fiery seduction

no less than this will keep me sane

than your carnal instruction.

 

Chemistry is primary 

to sweep me off my feet,

all else is secondary.

You and I should turn up the heat. 


Child’s Play

We externalized our angst and fantasies and spoke not

the language of cruelty.

Blood was spilled the day we stopped playing.

Instead of cooperation and inclusion, we spoke aggression.

Instead of creation and sharing, we spoke war.

 

In old age we are children hugging the grave

as helplessness returns.

Then we will remember  

we are all the same,

and laugh easily at life and death

for birth could not stop our arrival

and death will but free us.

 

There is nothing at all to dread

for what scraped us in this dream

was not as steely as our spirits.

And the terror of life was only the evidence of child's play

missing in ourselves.

 

Consolation Will Never Be!

Lost I my sweetheart on that bitter day

roving soulless with half a heart

Devoid of romance and in decay

with a single kiss my gloom would depart.

 

Roving soulless like half a heart

consolation will never be!

With a single kiss my gloom would depart

yet love, it flees from me.

 

Consolation will never be!

Like a broken glass of many hues

yet love, it flees from me

dispassionate suitors I refuse.

 

A broken glass of many hues

I hope will be reclaimed

dispassionate suitors I refuse

while masculine company is entertained.

 

I hope to be reclaimed

though affection is no game

masculine company is entertained

rapture set aflame.

 

Though affection is no game

the rouge who will win my affection

rapture set aflame

is one who can ease my tensions.

 

The rouge who can win my affection

not the handsomest, but the clever

is one who can ease my tensions

becoming my cherished treasure.

 

Until then, consolation will never be!


Death Comes Creeping

There is a grace as age descends

twas given to men, a gift of the Gods

that death comes creeping as a friend.

 

With softest steps it condescends

with shuffling feet, it plods.

There is a grace as age descends.

 

So sneaky death though it offends

doth whisper sweet until the end

for death comes creeping as a friend.

 

And thinking you are on the mend

the vulcher swoops and caws.

There is a grace as age descends.

 

The preacher sounds the final lament

and we welcome the wormy sod.

For death comes creeping as a friend.

 

Destruction need not repent

for gently untying the knots.

There is a grace as age descends

when death comes creeping as a friend.


Do-It-Yourself

The biggest moment, and so few knew

I did this thing all by myself.

Family and friends hadn't a clue

so, I set my degree upon a shelf.

Most of my life is a do-it-yourself.


It's my own choice to live this way.

Ever since my hair turned grey

the only one I care to impress

is my dog, on a good day.

I'm a reluctant, reclusive success. 


Eclipse

In a world of sound, disturbance and noise

you walked in as on a silent, white cloud

and I went deaf at your wordless, glad poise

as you shouted over the din of the crowd.

 

From different worlds, like day and night

my sun did shine as your moon did set

I held the moon ever so tightly

afraid that I hadn’t captured it yet.

 

But the moon only shines when darkness has fallen

when it is hushed, unbound, and forever free

so you fled from me as the sun was setting

and I still rise for you, though you don’t see.

 

Our best day together

was an eclipse in the weather.


Everything Happens for a Reason

Everything happens for a reason

the blind bat finds its way

in dark, light, or any season.

 

Religious parents call it high treason

and reject the child who is gay

yet everything happens for a reason.

 

The single mother knows nothing but depletion

and silently begins to pray

in dark, light, or any season.

 

The divorcee who feels uneven

alone, cold, and grey

everything happens for a reason.

 

A bird whose wing is broken

doth sing anyway

in dark, light, or any season.

 

Pain and trials force our completion

and test our strength alway

everything happens for a reason

in dark, light, or any season. 


Everything to Gain

Mexican breeze rustles the palm trees

an ocean of blue and green

windchimes humming like bees

golden sunshine that must be seen.

 

Persistent coo of the doves

pelicans flying in formation

spicey dishes that I love

Aquarius is tonight's constellation.

 

Mariachi music is always playing

shells in my pocket and sand in my shoes

you can bet that I am staying

everything to gain and nothing to lose.


Exotic Pets

He called me his girlfriend

before I knew what it would mean.

I knew I belonged to him

as friends do belong to one another

yet something else was expected

that I couldn't decipher. 

 

He was a handsome Mexican boy,

a mustache of peach fuzz

and a serious, rough demeaner

that drew me in.

I was magnetized, a pattern to be repeated later in life.

Curious to touch his scuffed, mocha-brown skin and thick hair,

I yearned to caress him, but kept my eyes low,

green eyes that flashed giggles, 

and Irish freckles dappling ivory white skin.

Skin of white silk pressed against the wild deep, dark, and dangerous.

Sun-kissed hair flying straight and strawberry blond.

 

His broken English intrigued me, spicy hot words

spoken like a bullet train I had to catch.

I was quiet

as his temper could flare like water thrown on hot grease. Temper, temper!

This intrigued me.

Volatile and passionate,

fuel for his rocket of adolescent rage.

 

After school he would take me by the hand and lead me

to a dark, dank, cool place smelling of wet earth and dust

beneath a foreign house

and kiss me as we locked eyes sternly.

I tingled all over with excitement, guilt, and worry.

What would he do to me, the passionate Jose?

 

He always pulled out his magazine of naked ladies

and would explain like a doctor, anatomically

as if they were his,

like I was his for giving him pleasure.

I would look, then turn away,

only there to kiss and plunder the depths

of his angry Latin eyes. 

 

Riding bikes through a field, he grabbed my wrist

and marched me into the canopy where trees slumbered and stooped.

"Lay down," he commanded in broken English. 

I didn't want to lay down among the marshy, pointed reeds. 

I protested as he pushed me down and laid heavy on top of me.

We kissed until I got worried about snakes hiding in the grass.

 

Jumping up, I bolted for my bike, but he was fast.

In a field of gold we were yelling.

Jose's fist sailed through the air, landing hard.

When I awoke, he was stooped over me. 

"I didn't mean to." All Jose's say that. 

Revenge was coiled up in me and ready to strike.

Crunch, crack! He flew back when my punch landed straight and true.

Jose laughed, although his nose was bloody. "We are even now,"

he conceded. "You are strong for a girl." 

 

I knew I would never trust him again.

I wouldn't be controlled.

Suddenly his darkness didn't attract me.

Jose was a dangerous jungle animal 

whose stripes had hypnotized me.

Be careful, 

I said to myself,

with exotic pets. 


Golden Opportunity

Just like the wind I move at will

and never stay too long, lest I

become a statue standing still

I’m a wanderer that prefers to fly.

 

Don't tie me down for I am a wheel

who longs to see more of the earth.

So tag along and bring your zeal,

the earth is ours and made of mirth.

 

Why be a tree when you can soar

above life's trivialities?

Besides all this, you're just a bore

espousing your sagacity.

The highest of humanity

are known to indulge their fantasies. 

 

Cast your cares and doubt aside

and be a fool who plays with me.

Leave your phone and come outside

where your soul can finally breathe.


Remember, there's a child inside

who would rather play in the salty sea,

who would rather roam the countryside

than play grown-up and have high tea.

 

We all decide which "us" to be:

a rolling stone or a steady rock.

Our hearts decide who will hold the key.


Be free for eternity

for this is your golden opportunity. 

 

Heart of Gold

Lonely is this heart of gold

though I refuse the best of lovers.

Longing that our story be told.

 

Helpless as a hostage in blindfold. 

Waiting for you, refusing all others.

Lonely is this heart of gold.

 

And even while our romance is old

the thought of you sends my heart a-flutter.

Longing that our story be told.

 

I can't understand a heart so cold,

your indifference makes me shutter.

Lonely is this heart of gold.

 

You may think my declaration bold

but like a storm that roars with thunder

I'm longing that our story be told.

 

Until the day you pass my threshold

I'll dream of you in disquieted slumber.

Lonely is this heart of gold.

Longing that our story be told.

 

How Many Loves

How many loves can one heart hold?

And when broken, do the cracks ever mend?

At this age should I be so bold?

How many loves can one heart hold?

Starting again leaves me cold.

Can we begin this romance as friends?

How many loves can one heart hold,

and can I follow this road to the end?


I Hardly Know How to Be

I hardly know how to be

words fail me every time.

Mountains we did climb

when it was you and me.

 

You struggled to be free

and wouldn't last a lifetime.

It drove me to my knees

where I stayed for a long time.

 

I'm living near the sea

where your ashes are full time

sparkling in the sunshine

at least you're living carefree. 

 

I hardly know how to be.

Words fail me every time. 


Joy and Sorrow

I came to clear my head

jammed with worry as it ever is,

the kind of worry that resurrects the past

like a compulsive grave robber.

The kind of fondness that drives me to replay

time-worn scenes,

the kind of fondness that had me dancing

like a showgirl puppet

gowned in matrimonial taffeta

on a soggy, sacrosanct day.

The kind of worry that made me plead

on my knees when death snatched her.

A mishmash of ragtag memories crowd my days.

Label me a retrospective character, 

for it fits, and I wear it with pride

as an artist and a woman. 

 

Today the sea is cranky, withdrawn, baring its' jagged teeth. 

I walk until my legs ache, but I've sorted out my problems.

Of different natures, they grow like flowers in my garden.

 

Like wildflowers, disputes are colorful and unruly, 

hard to contain.

They do ramble and travel

in tight circles that repeat themselves.

Like red roses are my joys, neatly arranged

against a backdrop of lace, finery, and romance. 

 

What stands out is the realness of my problems

and the falsehood of my joys.

Misery is truth

while joy is fleeting; a blissful bird taking wing. 

Yet, I would sell my earthly soul to do one bright day over.

 

Joys will alight on my shoulder in the Winter days to come. 

Like a babe, I will suckle and take strength.

From the blemishes and wreckage

I can only hope to do better,

lesson after bitter lesson.

 

If all my desires were met

I would long for a vigorous challenge

for life is a game of opposites. 

 

Having assured myself that my problems aren't extraordinary,

nor can any joy last,

I turn back to the sweet, salty sea 

who has so many moods; she is like me.

I had forgotten the fresh air

and restless waves that hurry in to carry me home.

My head is clear; there is room

for both joy and sorrow here. 


Mercury

Fly away with wings on your feet

like Mercury the swift.

Run away from the ghost that haunts you,

these red lips that you kissed.

 

Only the Gods fly fast enough.

Once upon a time I held you up.

My interest was rebuffed,

we spilled the adoring cup.

 

Winged sandals' grace your feet

and wings do grace your hat.

Running after lovers you did meet

that deceive like the thunderclap.

 

Who dons God's wings yet won’t trust himself,

he dashes from my arms?

Like slipperiest silver his heart on a shelf

is his irresistible charm.

 

Daring, shiny, and quick as a flash

was my beloved, blameless boy.

To escape the shackles of love he dashed

making of love a sportive toy.

 

Lady of Troy, daughter of Zeus

would have known him very well.

Captured by her alluring charms

he thought he could break the spell.

 

He failed to see he could not outrun

the heart that beat within.

Wherever he goes he comes undone,

trapped in Mercury's skin.

 

A tale of caution

to listen to the heart

when love is destined to be.

Even the Gods do not keep souls apart,

not even mercurial Mercury.


Monsoon of Passion (Haiku)

The wind blew my heart wide open

standing still and waiting

for a wild monsoon of passion. 


Mortality

Monstrous is mortality

which stalks the soul until it dies

then free it is of stubborn pride,

brutality, carnality.

We mustn't cry.

 

If we had known the hardships then

would we have volunteered to come

and march like soldiers to the drum

and seen it to the bitter end?

A lion's den.

 

Bruised upon the wheel of fate

crushed is every tender heart

like puppets we are torn apart.

Fools we were to take the bait.

A sinless brave heart.

 

Better is the next bright star

than deception we are drowning in.

Where beauty dwells, and our own kin.

No battle scars or ruthless Czars.

We, sovereign.

 

Were we a cloud, pond, or tree

wouldn't we be much improved?

Even if we hardly moved

or were the tumultuous, romantic sea,

mortality removed.

 

Worlds beyond now out of reach

we will cradle in glorious hands,

rule with care and give commands,

simple species we will teach

as was planned.

 

But today we are like childish fools

who dream of Heaven and a God sublime.

Praying away our heinous crimes,

stuck here in this hellish school

we bide our time.


My Last Fond Wish

I long to be a mermaid

true blue as sky and sea

for when I am cruelly betrayed

I'll be as cold as a fish can be.

 

And sailors will tell stories 

when I sing my siren song

how they lost their wits and jumped to be

fish food for my killing spree.

 

And artists will paint my portrait

murals grand on beach house walls

and in the night, I'll come to see

my likeness even if I must crawl.

 

So now you know my last fond wish

is to be a mermaid, that cunning fish. 


No Man’s Land

The silence is too silent, a weight to bear

like the cloak of darkness of the longest night

we keep our distance in the pale moonlight

and play solitaire. 

 

But we had plans as lovers do

to see each other to the end.

But now you want to call me friend

and other loves pursue.

 

Yet, I will smile and shake your hand

as if we had never tasted passion.

I am stuck out here in no man's land

as falsehood's all the fashion.

 

But tell me, won't you, what happens when

our eyes meet and time stands still

swept up in timeless love again

against our will.

 

What drags us back to yesteryear

no matter what we say or do?

How many cycles we've passed through

yet youthful we appear.

 

Oh, how the heart remembers love

the lucky two of fates star-crossed.

But foolish youth, opportunity lost.

A beloved now we're bereft of.

 

So here I sit in no man's land

because there is no turning back.

I hope, I pray I cut me some slack

with my feet stuck in the sand. 


Ocean View (Haiku)

I abandoned life devoid of you

and called it happiness, for I had to keep smiling

because I had the ocean view. 


O Mexico!

O Mexico! With sweet sounds of traditions old 

on accordion, guitar, trumpet, and tuba

and spicy tastes of cumin, cloves, and Menudo

a proud heritage not my own, despite your lack.

 

The fields upon your backs and children running barefoot,

the maids and housekeepers make it nice for me,

for the white money, their smug savior

tossing pesos like pennies at the eager car parks

with reserved smiles and lowered eyes saying, "Gracias, senor."

 

Sunshine always graces the beaches filled with white dough bodies

as an ever-present desert wind whips up 

just in time for fresh fruit margaritas

and giant shrimp cocktails, and tacos of carnitas 

with white creme, green chilis, and red tomatoes.

 

The white of your flag stands for the Catholic Church who converted you,

religions of the indigenous ancestors 

buried now but stand indominable 

in ruins where blood ran like rivers of sacrifice.

And green for independence from the Americanos

who buy your goods as you say, "Bienvenido," which means welcome to our country.

 

Red for the blood of the Mexican heroes,

refusing to become our slaves, resisting even the Spanish 

who weaponized smallpox to destroy all and every

vestige of your civilization. O Mexico!

 

You have made peace with your tormentors.

For your many talents,

peace-loving is what I would call you, and survivors. 

You forgot the past so you could have a future.

Who can blame you?

 

Hold on, and keep holding on

to your pride as you bow respectfully to the Europeans 

as your children dress in designer everything

made in America.

 

The traditional sarapes and sombreros

are sold to the tourists while your children ask for

Nike tennis shoes that China manufactured. 

Swapping fashion for the Mayan and Aztec ways,

technology is conquering history.

Every nation has traded its heritage in some form 

for survival, convenience, and progress. 

Rolling forward in step with humanity,

not to be left behind in the swift march of technology. 

Adaptable, always adaptable, this American admires who you are,

O Mexico!


Planet Earth’s Door

When I was a child, I lived forever free,

imagining the world to be mine.

And like the bird I knew how to sing.

To my innocent will, the cosmos consigned.

 

But as I grew my wings did fall off:

the rain and years did wear me thin. 

The injustice of love made me scoff

I can scarcely recall the child I've been.

 

For life's bright magic fades away

with time, trials, and injuries deep.

No soul escaping its judgement day,

the adult within begins to weep.

 

Had I the choice to live once more

I would withdraw my hand from planet earth's door.


Poseidon

The ocean marked me. A jagged bottle beneath

branded my foot as blood gushed, a sandy sacrifice.

Payment for the joy the sea would give me all my life. 

 

Racing to the hospital in Dad's rusty pickup

a drunk driver swerved into our lane.

We flew into a ditch in funky Santa Cruz.

Ten stitches as I screamed, held by nurses with Novocain.

And the nice, familiar farmer who appeared on the scene

and vanished. An angel could have been?

I was branded at a young age by Poseidon of the Pacific. 

 

I learned to bodyboard, 

both terrible and glorious,

trusting instinctively that God would never harm me. 

Until I drowned in the muddy Russian river, or nearly.

Watching my arms floating freely in the dark deep.

Death was foreign, yet strangely comforting.

Saying, "But I was so young!" as my short movie played.

And then a man's arm as fast as a freight train,

as big as a redwood 

fished me out, infusing life into my corpse of a body.


I pull on my neoprene skin and look like a seal.

A senior who still plays like a child because she was branded. 

This is my domain as much as any sharks, so we must share.

I hold my breath as the stinging cold water tumbles me.

Laughter bubbles up and gets lost among the seafoam.

Salty lips as I swallow a wave that forces itself. 

Salt in every crevice stinging my frozen nose. 

Age has stolen my stamina, damnina.

 

The day I stop playing with Poseidon he can have me. 

Take my body and lay it beside the crystal sea where He 

will brand me with his golden trident.

No blood or pain, old age, nor death will beckon. 

This life is but a shadow of better things to come. 


Ripe and Ridiculous

Ridiculous circumstances are bound to come

like ripe fruit that rots.

Plucked from our sweetness by an angry sun.

The trees drop their heavy sacks

for the insects to feast and the birds to smack.

Never wasted, a Kerouac.

 

Expecting life should make more sense,

maintaining decorum and order.

Events are at random

and humans are deranged and disordered.

 

Nothing makes sense coos the coocoo bird,

do not push so hard.

You’ll be ripe and delicious

once you are in the worm-hacked graveyard.

 

If animals can feast on you,

then you

are ripe and ridiculous, too.


The Clandestine Years

The clandestine years crept up on me

wagging its chin, and with ogre ears

speak louder for I can't hear

wrinkly skin like an elephant be.

 

My senior friends come round for tea

I call them gently, "my dears"

for the clandestine years snuck up on me

wagging its chin, and with ogre ears.

 

At the end, barely able to see

then my mind will be crowded with fears!

As sundown comes and the darkness nears.

 

Yet in my heart a child runs free

though the clandestine years crept up on me. 


The Heart is Fickle

The heart is ever fickle

running after pretty eyes

then we're in a pickle

making excuses and telling lies.

 

Or looking back to a love gone by

yesterday seems finer

what we want we have already tried

it's like eating at the same old diner.

 

To satisfy the heart with now

is a trick we haven't mastered. 

Today has gotten lost somehow

for my heart's a fickle bastard.

 

O my heart, look within

to look without is a mortal sin. 


The She Inside

 I wish to be

the she inside,

to scale the mount

and brave the tide.

 

Yet, I and me

won't dare to dream

the way she does

with starry eyes.

Dancing in magnetic moon beams,

while I keep my heart disguised.

 

Of we two, I am half her size.

If only we could meet between!


Tragic Figure

 She was a tragic figure,

evoking quiet rebuke or pity.

Some peered through her warped glass as though they could see through her,

while to others she was as impervious as a veiled threat.

But her internal struggle could be seen by anyone who cared to look

which is why they all stayed missing.

 

The exterior of her life was painted in broad strokes

of red on a white canvas

and left to run.

Her insides quiet as a mausoleum on a dead day,

which is why she failed to invite anyone.

And only whispers were left where once the shape of a daughter stood.

 

She cared only for the naked truth,

a camel who carried her through the desert of death

where she would laugh at mirages.

No longer thirsty for her needs had been packed away.

A chiseled scowl darkened her brow

for the elements had whipped and cracked her spirit

as her world had once cracked.

A suspicious mouth, crooked as a fault line ran in an impossible slant

so her jagged smile cut like unapologetic razor blades.

Her countenance said: “If you even whisper, I shall shatter.”


Suitors admire from a safe distance

for there is no mercy and no middle road

for tragic figures like Lauren Bacall

and Lucille Ball,

and other dames who determined their fates,

whose gloved hands could only castrate.

 

Tragic figures are women, all

with a demented story to tell

of survival among society’s males,

but don’t you dare tell, 

no, dont you dare yell. 


Trilogy of Crashing Stars

Before the starry-eyed curtain falls,

before the last treasured memory fades

I look back to see we three standing tall

unaware that the grim reaper was bringing his blade.

 

I have asked myself a million times, why we?

Why take one so young, and tear a marriage asunder?

A shitstorm that ripped the branches from the tree

scattered like clouds we were running from thunder. 

 

Like a trilogy of crashing stars

each one concealing their hidden, private pain.

The two of us left standing carry the scars

and I think about the two of you every time it rains.

 

Don't forget me, and remember 

when you flew overhead

and we were crashing stars 

in the universe's bed. 


True Love Lost

When you think back on what could have been

when you are alone, your fortunes in review

when the years have delivered their half-hearted wins

for the guarded heart you safely withdrew

 

then will you admit when no soul can hear

then will you wail to know all that was tossed

then though the bell tolls in destiny's ear

your one chance at true love was lost.

 

No going back, nothing as severe

no time left for the star-crossed.

 

Despite divine decree you ignored the signs

month after month and year after year

until you became the tempest-tossed

and your true love died one thousand times.


What’s For Dinner

I fancy the same things for dinner.

I used to grocery shop and cook to impress.

Now it is all tomato sauce, pasta, frozen meatballs, and parmesan.

My well-rounded entrée.

More than liking Italian, a bowl of spaghetti is the comfort of sameness, of predictability. 

No major decisions at the end of the day. I know what I am getting, whereas life has been one big meatball of insecurity: a tangled ball of angst from appetizer to dessert.

Trying new food was once exciting, like trying women instead of men. Because I fell somewhere in the middle, I developed a taste for both. Curious, but now I don’t care much for either. I will stick with the sure and guaranteed.

Pass the cheese.


Tame

My home, my nest, my sweet, spicey abode.

Where my heart's at rest, my heart's at rest.

Safely tucked in a pocket that the sea bestowed

where I have been blessed, I have been blessed.

 

I don't have to see my mother, the sea,

to hear her voice roar in the morning.

Just to know she waits; she waits for me

and can rush right in, sometimes without warning.

 

There is a danger in every blossomed rose

when you pick a flower without a thought.

I have come to respect the sea's highs and lows

and to watch my fingers around the lobster pot. 

 

A lover’s never seized me, unreliable.

While nature's won my heart, justifiable.


Nina's Books: www.amazon.com/author/ninabingham

 

              

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 


 

 

 

 

 

 



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