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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The Descent

I find my balance
Atop the mountain
Where fireweed stops growing
And skullcaps run amuck

I follow the path forgotten
Edged from fallen rocks
Laced with Juniper trimming
Uncharted, untamed

At the end, unsettled soil
A most miraculous sight
I raise my foot
Unknowingly, my last step

The vulture swoops down
Looming
Half in the air
Half on the ground

Up the mountain I must travel
But first I’ll perch here for the night
And rest my soul for its impending flight

© Copyright – All rights reserved – Melindafoshat.wordpress.com – January 19, 2015


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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


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In Love

Tomorrow–
In her heavy stupor
Without–burning–violently–
Could finally wrap the heat
For curling into a ball
Small shudders

Full of nothing
But consciousness

Positive–
Gradually
In love–

© Copyright – All rights reserved – Melindafoshat.wordpress.com – October 07, 2014


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Anticipation

The universe spoke today
It was crisp and sound
I lost it almost in the thunder

There was no death
Nor any sight of a thousand herons passing by
Only the fleeting of anticipation

And for the first time, I listened
To the ant drown out the rain

© Copyright – All rights reserved – Melindafoshat.wordpress.com – September 29, 2014


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Songs From The Edge

It was fortunate
The way his voice floated through the cracks on the second story
How could a voice so full of feeling glide so effortlessly on air?

She knew the weight of sorrow
She had carried it through the slums
As they watched in windows with discontent

Even the rain knows misery
Who else breaks rain’s fall?

It pours
As she picks up the violin
She knew once how to play
Before she lost all sensation
In the tips of her being

His voice rises
As it carries her to the open window

For a moment she feels light
For a moment she hears the music
From long ago

And the rain, it beats to a tune
As it strums her blood through the streets

(Dedicated to C, and his voice, which carried me to wonderful places.)
© Copyright – All rights reserved – Melindafoshat.wordpress.com – September 26, 2014


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The Prodigal’s Plight

He was born, only once
His one want, to want not

He learned sorrow in the faces
Hung lopsided on his wall
Of friends and family
And a stranger he knew once

When he died
They threw out his leftovers
With the crystal fragments
Of a chandelier
Which fell from the
Chateau de la Grange

And when his soul
Which had fled long ago
Glanced in passing
It stopped to admire
The picture of a stranger
Lying in a bed of bones

(Dedicated to Jobina, a stranger, who in just a few passing words, inspired me to write.)
© Copyright – All rights reserved – Melindafoshat.wordpress.com – September 26, 2014