HOUSE WINE
I throw my body around the room
Attempting to sweat out a decade
Of harm I’ll keep inflicting
Who am I to disrupt a pattern
Predictability is an element of trust
Control is like cruelty
It operates on a gradient
Now my body stands in
For a discarded hard drive
And I am allowed to hate anyone
Who pinches my cheeks
As much as I might hate my own
Routine piety
And catered reasoning
Elevator chatter about office floor plans
It’s futile to perform civility
Anywhere in this century
Like the rictus on a billboard hung
Where no cars are going
A traffic light blinking
On an unpaved road
Contradiction rescues me
From the tyranny of choice
It is possible to be full of sex
Without having any
That’s where miracles come from
Any object can become a terrarium
If nature is allowed to take over
Just as anything can be fermented
And consume the tastes
Of a born consumer
That’s how I never fail to notice
Churchill Downs on the airwaves
The colts streak wetly by
And I relate to the sloppy track
FIELD NOTES
It’s rained every day in July
In a precarious city
Where the act of looking up
To admire the architecture
Contains the act of imagining
Future ruins
Slow violence
Lifting everything to beauty
A beauty that contains the terror
Of its own ending
Like a Russian doll
Wherein the smallest doll has the largest appetite
The contents of the earth
Will devour the earth
Suspended in a calamity so incremental
I can’t feel anything but wonder
At the census of the birds
Nesting earlier to keep pace
With the warming world
Wonder at the whale that will not let go
Of her dead calf
Nosing it around the Pacific
For seventeen days
Of Lazarus longing
Wonder
At the water found on Mars
Would you drink it?
I would
I would drink it and go straight to bed
Waste not
Want not
I don’t know about that
I don’t know about this colonial tendency
To project one planet onto another
As if Earth is just a lobby for the next Earth
Leech the sun from a flower
And find a new field
Somewhere grasses aren’t yellowing down
My fellow Americans
Here’s to my sense of adventure
Flapping at half mast
To my anger
Billowing aimlessly against its lid
To my dependency
Gridlocked with wonder
At whether I or it ends first
BLONDE AMBITION
Think of the planet
The ends you serve
People have labored here
To put their feet up at ends of days
I’ve braided my hair
And gone to work at a machine
What is the sound of the expectation
That a woman takes it all on the chin
Cold calls from out of town
Job site as erogenous zone
Smart women finish rich
Have more fun
Chest out
Shoulders back
A feeling is a fact
I have one foot in this dimension
And the other out the wherever
I’m tired of the sleeplessness
That comes
When the only sound is
The world-historical drumbeat
Of work without end
War after war
Amen
MATURE FORM
When the gel
In the back of my eye
Gets thin
A peripheral flash
The shape of a bivalve
Tells me
I am no longer young
I am softly touching
The soft expanse
Of my ear
Cartilage dipping
Imperceptibly deeper
Toward the velvet
Floor of a year
Undimpled
Unmuscled
Anti-retinol sag
Signal
To spread seafoam
Over a hormonal gasp
My face should be
Foreskin
Skimmed milk
Pond in which no stone sinks
Beauty in the eye
Of the sum
Mollusk serum
Toner blender eraser
Anti-death hag
SPF SPF SPF
Field Notes : You blew me away!
Your intuitive writing is both thought provoking reality & current.
[…] At The Nervous Breakdown, new poetry from Sarah Jean Grimm. […]
These poems are engaging and smart and surprising. Kudos.
“The colts streak wetly by/ And I relate to the sloppy track.” Wow. These are really really good. Thank you.
If you are a student, I want to intrigue you and tell you that I have a great offer for you. I would like to suggest that you make your student life easier and use the papernow.org service, which is happy to complete your homework.
A quatrain is a four-line poem in poetry. Because they work with a variety of rhyme schemes and rhythmic patterns, quatrains are popular in poetry.
games.lol/geometry-dash-lite/
Great poems, I like them all, but what I really like the most is the second one. The lines are deep and I know that it came from the heart. These poems would be perfect on our Transcend Recovery Community gathering.
Have you bowed down before the here and powerful Oz? No, I’m not referring to the fictional wizard from Dorothy’s magical land. I’m talking about mass-marketed medical guru and Oprah protégé, Dr. Oz. And while he may be powerful, the scientific community is not convinced that his recommendations are all that great.