Holly Jamestone Poems

His name is Ed
And he is dead
But we’re still here ‘cause
We’ve chosen life
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Can you tell me why we’re here
Where we’re going, why there’s fear

Where we soar to when life ends
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I folded the large white paper again and again
Until it was a perfect rectangle with neatly smooth edges
As I began cutting random angles and quickly turning
The sharp scissors away from my ring finger
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I live each day as though the hour
May be the penultimate tick of the clock
Or the last chance I may have to say something
That should have never gone unsaid
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The autumn leaves again adrift
Sailing, flying, burning gift
Seasons beckoned to change hands
Soft wind eyeing where leaf lands
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You’re just a little too rough around the edges for my taste
And your skin feels as rough to me as mine appears soft
With your eye-popping rage emerging at the most unexpected times
And my foot catawampus in my mouth if I forget to buckle up in preparation
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Just in case I don't live
For as many years as planned
If we should part without the time
To take each other's hand
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As tears are to melancholy memories
As marshmallows are to open flame
As bare feet are to scorching asphalt
As land is to hovering rain clouds
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Dominate, intimidate
These things both rhyme with hate
Beware that any cutting words
May open up a gate
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I didn’t get a Valentine and yet I thought I didn’t care
About such a hyped-up, silly day where men are fools
And women, with hands on their hips,
Have unrealistic expectations from men
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