Melinda Foshat

Poetry, Prose, Photography


2 Comments

Relic

Kids in a museum
Are volcanoes just the Earth sighing?

We bend to our delusions
So we might touch the marble statues

A universe on display
And I am in awe to witness their cackle

This spectacle is prehistoric

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

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14 Comments

Downtime

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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


8 Comments

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


23 Comments

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
As the ant drowned out the rain

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


26 Comments

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
Carrying her to the open window

She feels light
As the music from long ago

And the rain, it jolts to a beat
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 atop a bag 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


5 Comments

The Waking

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Somber
The scurry
Of dreams
Against the night air

Dawn slides down
Sky’s back
Peaking through
A garden’s gate

Her every breath
A burst of orange
And their feet on flames

© Copyright – All rights reserved – Melindafoshat.wordpress.com – September 15, 2014