Tallon Fassi

…Send each of your words

like a last letter before execution,

a call carved on a prison wall.

you have no right to lie…

- Blaga Dimitrova, “Ars Poetca”

 

Think of your poem as a beacon.

Shine one word at a time

westward where licorice dolphins

play tag with ships and coral reefs

shimmer under surf.

Growing brighter toward

the oncoming night, let your beam

take note of all the dangers.

With the certainty of being heard

send each of your words.

 

Think of yourself as a keeper

surrounded by water,

watching strands of seaweed pearls

glistening under your searchlight.

Look hard at the creatures that swim,

cling to rocks, float in the ocean;

tomorrow they could be gone.

Make your every image live

for the coming generations

like a last letter before execution.

 

If we are headed for destruction

the sea would hold to the last.

Can you envision the poison?

Every city a landscape of rubble,

every forest smoldering ash.

Then imagine the whole

ocean oil-choked and stagnant,

pelicans shrouded in scum.

Speak!

Make the grief in your soul

a call carved on a prison wall.

 

Shine the beam of your lantern

straight to the core.

Tell it clean – no time to revise;

how the salt marsh breeds life,

how sea urchins pulse,

how a coral reef lives and dies.

If execution looms in the shallows,

record your vision of “now,”

you are posterity’s scribe.

You have no right to lie.

 

 

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Pulling at me,

crimson incubus of pleasure

filling hollows childhood left.

Smiles don’t clean up the mess,

beer bottles, needles and unrest.

Layers of lies webbed in your eyes while

vowing to be where you’ve never been.

Whole or half, fractional math.

You are the rust on my tin.

I don’t have heart strings

within.

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If I should have a daughter…

Instead of mom she is going to call me Point B

because that way she know no matter what happens

At least she can always find her way to me.

And I’m going to paint the solar systems on the backs of her hands

So she has to learn the entire universe before she can say;

“I know that like the back of my hand.”.

And she is going to learn that this life it will hit you, HARD.

In the face, wait for you to get back up

just so it can kick you in the stomach.

But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way

to remind you lungs how much they like the taste of air.

There is hurt..HERE..that can’t be fixed by bandaids or poetry.

So the first times she realizes that Wonder Women isn’t coming

I’ll make sure that she knows

she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself

Because no matter how wide  you stretch your fingers ,

your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to cure

believe me I’ve tried.

“And baby”  I’ll tell her “don’t keep your noise up in the air like that

I’ve know that trick,  I’ve done it a million times,

your just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail

back to the burning house so you can find the boy

who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him

or else !

Find the boy who lit  the fire in the first place

to see if you can change him.

But I know she will anyway

So instead I will always keep an extra supply of

choclate and rain boots near by

because there is no heart break that chocolate can’t fix…

okay there are a few heart breaks that chocalate can’t fix…

But that is what the rainboots are for

because the rain will wash away everything if you let it

I want her to look at the world through

the underside of a glass bottom boat.

To look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist

on the pinpoint of a human mind

because that’s the way my mom taught me

that there will be days like this…there will be days like this

when you open your hands to caught and

whine up with only blisters and bruise.

When you step out of a phone booth and try to fly

and the very people you want to save

are the one standing on your cape.

When your boots fill with rain and

you’ll be standing up to your knees

with disappointment and

Those are the days are the very days

you have all the more reason to say ‘thank you’

Because there is nothing more beautiful then

how the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline,

no matter how many times it is sucked away.

You will put the Win in ‘Win Some’

Lose some..

You will put the ‘star’ in ‘staring over’ and over

and no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute

be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life

And yes on a scale from ’1 to over trusting’

I am pretty damn nieve

But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar

It can crumble so easily

but don’t be afraid stick your toungue out and taste it

baby i’ll tell her..

Remember:

Your momma is a worrier and

your papa is a warrior

And you are the girl with small hands and big eyes

who never stops asking for more.

Remember that

Good things come is threes…

and so do bad things.

And always aplogies when you’ve done something wrong

BUT don’t you ever aplogize for to the way

your eyes refuse to stop shining

Your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing!

And when they finally hand you heartache

When they slip war and hatred under your door

and offer you hand outs on street corners

Of synizim and defeat

You tell them they really ought to meet your mother.

 

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Nikk Farquharson creator of www.randomgotbeautiful.com

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Graphic Artist Zulaikah Anderson as an ongoing love affair with beautiful.

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