Melinda Foshat

Poetry, Prose, Photography


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Marble Statues

Kids in a museum
Are volcanoes just the Earth sighing?

_____________________

We succumb to our delusions
So we may touch the marble statues

______________________

A universe on display
And I was in awe to witness
Their laughter ascending into curiosity

______________________

Pressure is prehistoric

© Copyright – All rights reserved – Melindafoshat.wordpress.com – September 15, 2016


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Black Eye

Black Eye-1

I love multi-way
Options are a good thing.

Cool new colors
Will have to
COVER-UP.
The FRINGE
Or as we like to call it,
Your little
Secret

Hot dots
Everyone needs
Wild prints.

Easy is the new! Knockout

© Copyright – All rights reserved – Melindafoshat.wordpress.com – June 14, 2016


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Off the Record

You say a lot
I note my luck and keep even my voice
But you’re not listening to me

As long as I am
You’re summing me up
I’ll wait for you to take a breath

I gulp
Give up? I’m counting on that

You blush
That’s really frustrating

So, in plain English
Won’t you tell me?
Or would it be too embarrassing?

Lemonade offhand
I’ll admit to that

© Copyright – All rights reserved – Melindafoshat.wordpress.com – May 06, 2016


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Water Into Wine

I knew a man named Jesus,

He kept a pebble in his shoe to remind himself he was an atom human and a quantum God.

When the girl with the alabaster jar asked if he were good,

Jesus smiled, kicked free his feet and said,

“Yes, girl. For you have reminded me so.”

© Copyright – All rights reserved – Melindafoshat.wordpress.com – July 28, 2015


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Love Song 1

You press your eyes against me
Deep breathes
Spiraling
The open air
We move among the drums
Where children play
They know no rhythm
Still, their music grows the sweeter
The longer we listen
And linger
With pounding hearts

© Copyright – All rights reserved – Melindafoshat.wordpress.com – December 26, 2014


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Downtime

DSC_0202-1

She was never any good at sitting
Restlessness came
When no one did
Refusing to let her forget
The ruin in their eyes

She knew best
How to walk, stumble
From bucket to can
As the wind cut by, wickedly
Unable to lift her strain

When breathing took its toll
She swallowed a penny
It went down smoother
Than the last ounce of hope

Now she sits
And waits
For a quarter

As they toss glances
And tip
Her heavy heart

© Copyright – All rights reserved – Melindafoshat.wordpress.com – November 25, 2014