I dig old books. ™
Est. 1998
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Terri Guillemets
Archives — 2013
This is the archive of my publicly published writing from 2013 — the good, the bad, the active and the
icicles are daggers of beauty
thrown by winter's sunshine breath
DATE: 2013 Jan 7
In winter, forgive the fallen leaves of your past.
TITLE: Leaving behind
DATE: 2013 Nov 7
October is fresh-faced April beautifully aged to wisdom.
DATE: 2013 Oct 19
If beer tastes too much of cheer,
well then it borders on porter.
SOURCE: beer tasting journal
DATE: 2013 Mar 1
Satire is merely pointing out that roses have thorns, and that we can't avoid pricks.
DATE: 2013 Aug 5
Aging—
grayer shores
calmer deeper waters
TITLE: Pearl grey
DATE: 2013 Oct 4
Age composes poems
upon our faces —
with more meaning
and fewer rhymes
every passing year
DATE: 2013 Oct 5
Old Father Time fox-trots
across my golden locks!
DATE: 2013 Dec 6
AGE: forty
Whenever you lose a loved one,
even though your heart feels empty,
always remember that it is still full —
of love and thankfulness and memories.
DATE: 2013 Sep 21
Don't feed your heart anxiety — it's only hungry for love.
DATE: 2013 Jan 19
Don't let misery settle into your heart — welcome only love.
DATE: 2013 Jan 19
In a garden of clutter, nothing would grow
There would be no butterflies, only clutterflies
And heaps of disarray, every which way
No nourishment anywhere, not anything pruned
Just lots of useless stuff, everywhere strewn
DATE: 2013 Jan 9
Stuff, more stuff, and even more stuff —
modern life says hey be a bigger stuffer
we stash, we store, expand and puffer
acquiring, collecting more stuff every day
sorting, organizing our stuffed lives away.
TITLE: Stuffed
DATE: 2013 Jan 9
memories of long ago
burst into dust...
DATE: 2013 Jan 19
the thunder is in our veins
the lightning in our very souls
TITLE: Storms of self
DATE: 2013 Jan 9
When I'm drinking the world makes so much sense, but as soon as I sober up it returns to chaos and confusion.
SOURCE: happy hour journal
DATE: 2013 Jun 17
Awake is vertical, asleep horizontal, and drunk is dizzyingly diagonal.
DATE: 2013 Jun 21
STATUS: tipsy
I am diseased
with civilization —
I rot, ripped
apart from the land —
The lightning in my soul
and thunder in my veins
will never be enough
if I can’t be rocked
by a real rumble so fierce
it realigns me to the core
actual flashes so bright
that I become the night —
I am a speck of dust
invented by the earth
and skies —
born of the stars
but living
because of the soil —
If we run from the
truth of our existence
we become a lie —
our lives so covered
with the hard plastic
shell of fakeness
that the realness
suffocates —
we cannot breathe
our lungs are dying
without the trees —
Our souls are dying —
our flesh needs
to feel the world
on our knees
with our naked feet
face first in the dirt —
wade and splash
and submerge
ourselves in water
that is alive
not sterilized, not sanitized
not dead of being nothing —
Forests and sunbeams
true breaths of silence
long to envelop us
but we run into the
nearest retail store —
an anesthetic, expensive
layer of hell
we pay dearly for —
Run! run across
the fields
for no reason
but that you
feel like running —
hear the birds
not [f*@%¡ng] airplanes —
our dollar bills are
so much less valuable
than leaves, no matter
how high we count —
The fire in our hearts
the fireplace that warms us
the wildfire that burns —
necessary flames —
the extinguished
world is naught —
sparks are how
we survive —
We all have a story — or several
but the once upon a time
the happily ever after
and everything in between
is food, water, shelter, freedom
it’s the only plot there is —
gourmet coffee, magazines
knick-knacks, cars, tv
all just disposable words —
Anger is nothing — just air
hunger’s a hole in the plot
ideas are space —
the birds that fly
over us are smarter
than every single one of us —
the waters that are deep
and the streams and the rills
all have a different story of life
but all turn to rain in the end
they give green to the hills
and blue to the sky
and red to our beating hearts
and the yellow sun glistens
each ripple and wave —
To read a book
in the sun
is glorious
but to read
ourselves and the sky
in a sunset is
the fiery light
of life itself —
The ocean at night
waves pounding
against our hearts
sounding ancient beats
spraying the meaning
of life against our shores —
the universal dream
of all our sleep —
Seagulls fly
past my heart
squawking the passage
of time in harsh tones
with smooth soaring wings —
If Time is trying
not to be found
he is excellent
and terrible at it —
the days hide him so well —
in our faces he is buried
but not concealed
he marks his territory
as any wolf would —
barking his orders
obedient not even to death —
Birds peck out snacks
from patches of crystalline snow —
the music of pure white clouds
fills the sky with sun-lined notes
drifting into beauty so vast
the blue never ends —
Snow-capped mountains
have something to say
melting ice to water —
a trickling story
of patience and life —
We stand atop
mother earth
raise our arms
in victory
at every breath
at every beat —
we are alive
in all our being
but just for now
with not a thought
of next or last
before or after —
we barely know
anything else —
Storms on storms
surging, raging
electricity, thunder
primal, essential
unstoppable
fierce! calling
all our cells
to attention —
roaring, wailing
unabashedly smashing —
the first ingredient
of calm —
Life is about trying
not to get hurt
and it’s risking
ourselves to hurt —
we need a measure of pain —
Wildfire and deluge
kill and be killed
eat and be eaten —
blink and it’s over too soon —
Water cuts rock and
nature makes glass —
but the earth
it does not shatter —
Some lives are
roaring river
deep blue ocean
bubbling streams —
and some fade
into a dry patch
of nothing —
We scream
with our voices
or our pain
our bodies scream
in disease
our emotions scream
in tears, in fists, in love —
and if we don’t scream
we explode —
scalding steam
needs a vent —
Fangs and bites
we bleed
snapping jowls
fierce sharp howls —
guilt, pain, anger, fear —
tears flow
like blood
emotions tear
like flesh —
The sweetness of life
the bitter —
we taste it on birth
on death
we taste it in
every breath —
one can live not
without the other —
the taste of life
is wild
like freedom
spicy and raw
honey and sting
it tastes of fresh air
of danger and time —
I breathe it into my lungs
with each meandering breeze —
Wild horses run
for nothing but freedom
striking beauty
with every hoof
across the golden plains —
the simple beauty of
flowing manes
undulating with motion —
the dance of movement
wilding and free
is no mystery
to any breed —
but you and I
cannot run like that
or, maybe we just don’t —
We must go
into the wild
to discover
our own wilderness —
Yes, we are all
just hitching a ride
on the wind —
but when we grip
we fall apart
we hold on to
everything too tight —
say no, say yes
flow, run, dance
close your eyes
let go and fly —
Fallen, dropped
wounded, healed —
we fall into the raging
river of life
and are swept away
or survive —
Sooner or later
later comes too soon —
we gray out
colors fade
the great adventure
is ending
but many little ones
live on —
it’s bumps and
sliding from here
with loose rocks
dust and bruised butts
hoping to land gently
in the abyss —
TITLE: Life is eternal — not ours but its
DATE: 2013 Oct 8
NOTES: revised
...the swirling autumn leaves of a poet's dying words...
DATE: 2013 Oct 26
Autumn binds poetry in its own withered leaves.
TITLE: Folio, foliage, fall
DATE: 2013 Oct 27
Swooping death flies off with its prey
Silently, but for the rustle of wings —
A feather drifts down from the empty sky
For left-behind hearts to remember by
TITLE: Afterfeather
DATE: 2013 Nov 6
the numbers of our pages
and chapters of our books —
we fly quickly through ages
losing youth in crannies & nooks
DATE: 2013 Oct 13
AGE: thirty-nine
NOTES: revised
MisFORTunes
DiscomFORT
FORTunate
EfFORT
FORTitutde!
TITLE: The FORTies
DATE: 2013 Oct 26
Sometimes a strong wind needs to whip through all the trees and tear down what's not strong enough or what's not meant to stay up. Sometimes a storm needs to come to our seas and rock our boats and toss us around and make sure we're determined enough not to drown.
TITLE: Turbulent
DATE: 2013 Oct 8
Addiction is an anchor that won't break out.
TITLE: Sinking
DATE: 2013 Nov 4
Letting go isn't just essential to life, it is life.
TITLE: Confusion wild
DATE: 2013 Sep 26
to be remembered on one's birthday
is a thrill — to know others are saying
with cakes, cards, and good wishes
thanks for being born into our lives!
TITLE: Keepsake
DATE: 2013 Oct 26
it's hard to make a poem
when the sky is so clear
TITLE: Sam Adams borrowed my pen
DATE: 2013 Nov 3
two hearts
breaking —
pulling apart —
a final tug —
one shatters
TITLE: Silence across
DATE: 2013 Nov 8
NOTES: revised
I'd like a refund
on our relationship please
I'm not satisfied
TITLE: No guarantees
DATE: 2013 Nov 8
The devil plays a dry, scorching tune and its name is Arizona Summer.
TITLE: Devilish heat
DATE: 2013 Jul 14
LOCATION: PҺoenᎥᶍ ArᎥɀønα
Nature pardons death with rebirth.
TITLE: Blindingly spring
DATE: 2013 Mar 22
He wrote victories with the national pen.
DATE: 2013 Nov 2
To me pecans taste like childhood,
They fell from the family tree.
Sticky leaves, crackling branch wood
Hulling and cracking, we three—
Siblings, nuts in varied degree.
DATE: 2013 Oct 27
Terri Guillemets
Archives — 2013
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