Melinda Foshat

Poetry, Prose, Photography


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

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Eternal Roots

(One of the first poems I wrote. Thought I would post for fun.)

With every last breath
Hidden secrets mount in flight
Unnoticed by your sight
Spat down by your conscious mind

With each fallen year
Truths spring forth in search of light
Reaching for the sun
Jailed by your ignorant thoughts

Eternal roots kept buried
Diverged from your view
The senseless witnesses of withering
Spring forth sentencers of youth

To grow old is not to die
But to grow up one more time

When our leaves gently fall
Amidst the dead chill of fall
Then we blend into the ground
Where we wait until we mount

Like the seeds of fallen fruit
Born within eternal root
Our flesh is merely but a lie
To seal man’s soul from man’s eye

© Copyright – All rights reserved – Melindafoshat.wordpress.com – January 27, 2014


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Enemies

Her faultless nectar courses through
The faults and the routes of my scars.
Reminding me that what once was mine
Is now forever ours.

Her view from the top sprouts fruits of knowledge,
While my ignorant roots keep buried in carnage.
Though her fall embarks from higher plain,
Our pain be still one and the same.

Fruit and Root bound by lover’s hip,
Taste the same on liar’s lip.
Passions ignited by clashing degrees,
Extinguish the same on wounded knees.

Alas, barren ashes exhale all spark,
Yet still re-volt against the dark.
Still, she and I both bear the mark,
The bite of his burnt, black, bark.

© Copyright – All rights reserved – Melindafoshat.wordpress.com – February 25, 2013


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To Maggie

Within the depths of his plastic pot,
Her peaked petunias bleakly rot;
Erection stemmed from bouquets of knot,
Yesterday rooted; today forgot. 

Severed roots by pointed pricks,
Lye beneath man’s molten sticks;
Adam’s temple falls ruin to Brick’s,
Morning relics; midnight rustics. 

Fear not the thorn of thy breast,
Without which life would cease progress;
For beneath the teat of thy chest,
Eternal treasure you possess. 

© Copyright – All rights reserved – Melindafoshat.wordpress.com – February 7, 2013