Biography of Simona Terron
I write for a living and yet its been a while since I wrote something that was just for myself. I feel awkward putting these private thoughts on the world wide web and yet, deep inside the heart of every poet, isn't there the need to be read?
To be understood?
To see another nodding their head
Saying, 'Yep, that's exactly how I feel
and how I'd say it, if I could.'
So here goes...
Simona Terron Poems
No, We’re Not Friends Anymore
My freshly washed hair is still damp against my scalp Bound by a plastic jaw with a squeaky hinge In a knot that’s so tight it feels my ears are pulled back.
Oh Fie! Office! ! !
I'm getting used to how it feels to be a cog in the wheels of efficiency where friendship is the garb of choice and preferred medium to convey the static noise of officialese, to cloak politics and veil jibes
The Taste Of Your Skin
The rain comes And I stand there drenched Till my bones, outlined in silk The colour of the sullen sky,
A sliver of pain hanging in the midnight ink Don’t be silly, that’s the moon he says As his lips nuzzle my ear Sending zillions of pleasure pulses racing to my synapses
Rise Up Baby
I try and rise above the fear-induced fog in my mind Above the lemon-rind bitterness that loving and leaving Leaves behind, residual regret resounds off the walls Of my aching but throbbingly alive consciousness
Bumper Sticker Advice
The world is a small place, life is short, live in the moment, be a sport… The only thing that grates more than a pithy homily Is all-purpose, bumper sticker, catch-phrase advice.
Regret? You Bet
Who says I’m counting out the days And the minutes and the hours since you took your love away Who says I miss your smile, your warmth, your eyes And the look of sheer surprise when you realized you loved me
The stairwell reeks of stale smoke That curls upwards toward the ceiling And hangs suspended in the barely moving heat As controlled air meets warm currents that force
grey... my brain, my life, my mood, the rain falling softly unlike my pain that's hammering it's way
10 Piggy Protest Parade
I wore my sneakers to class today Ten little piggies protested loudly Preferring the grimy freedom Of straw chappals and roadside sandals
Eyeing the quarry over Martini glass rims at a bar Backing up on one another on a crowded dance floor Courtesy in a supermarket checkout line Gallantry with a late night cab on a lonely street
Coffee And Cat
Warm and furry, soft and sharp,
Red strawberries, brown sugar, one hour
Bumper Sticker Advice
The world is a small place, life is short,
live in the moment, be a sport…
The only thing that grates more than a pithy homily
Is all-purpose, bumper sticker, catch-phrase advice.
Why are there no lines.