Broken Hearts and Empty Pockets

Hi, I am new on here. I've been an active LJ user for about 8 years, and I recently started using it again. All of my friends on LJ have either stopped using their journals, or something. I am looking for new friends on here who actively updated! Anyone interested?

I always imagined I would feel different.
That I would feel a connection,
something irrevocable.
I thought I would feel something
but that’s not how things turned out.
While I felt comfortable,
while I laughed,
while I talked and made no sense,
while I left early
so as to save my grace,
I didn’t feel different.
In the end,
I’m still me.

let me into that beautiful mind of yours

Let your blabbering 3 a.m. thoughts fill the void in my ears-
Tell me about your petty irritation of the clock hands ticking,
or your desire for me to leave kisses on your neck w/ my elegant red lips.
Let the rosy-ness fill your cheeks as i compliment you,
tell me about your obsession w/ hazel eyes,
passionately play me your favorite song
as we sing along in our raspy a.m. slurs.
Kiss me goodnight w/ your lingering coffee breath

&

let me into that beautiful mind of yours

what if i'd been

september 2002.

you don't even know, mary. you don't.

i never heard of these people

because i lived in an embroidered shell.

i didn't understand your idiot eye

thrusting into my ego,

repeatedly,

until i couldn't

do my homework

i don't understand

why i couldn't breathe

for one night and go

and go

find the slow punk in a heavy daze

leaving the house

for sunday mass or the SAT

sunk in his doubt

being everything

i would one day want

I guess I've found a place here with all the other fuck-ups,
Those who just don't seem to get it,
And those who think too much,
Us who smoke that wet shit,
and use drinking as a crutch...

...perhaps a bit too much.

heavy-lidded eyes

you were startling when it began and when it began again.
i turned thirteen, fourteen, twenty-two.
you were always there with your heavy-lidded eyes,
first blue, then green, then brown. mostly in photographs.

i watched you like a fastidious mouse. i took everything in.

now it dawns on me that you are time, that the earth spins in the cast of your gaze.
we watch you as you halt, adjust your tie, and whisper secrets to yourself,
secrets simpler than any of our own.

baffling to us in your multiplicity, you live all centuries as male and female
and yet always the same: a potent distillation of some ancient light.
you could have a bit of chub or an overbite. it doesn’t matter.
there are pyramids somewhere devoted to your unwitting glance.

angel-eyed child
we are making forts
out of cotton sheets
our mothers bought us
on the first day of college

and when i kiss
the crook of your arm
you are covered in my warmth
and our skin like so much silk
runs riverlike
through our mouths

and when you're gone
i'm alone there

hushed by the memory
of your lips
pouring over

I recently submitted one of my poems written in 2006 to one of the blogs I read called 'Generation Meh'.
The name of the poem is 'American Daughters', and was written while I was working in DC as a campaign manager at Americans United for Separation of Church and State. I would often be asked to attend conferences and lectures, and while attending a women's rights-oriented event, I was inspired to write this.

Please visit the Generation Meh blog, and check out my poem published today:

http://generationmeh.com/2010/06/1…

This is how we must now be women

Wear a skirt, wear some heels,
shine your face and hair.

Show your legs
but please conceal
and never ever reveal
those secrets they would steal.

Grasp your hips
and breasts and knees,
nevermind the birds and bees,
and lock your heart up, if you please.

This is how
we must now
be women.

Give it all your best,
on top of it, well-dressed.
Smile and never let them see
the truth of your unrest.

Claim your moral politics,
claim your values, too.
Fight for them, your right to them,
behind bedroom doors, shut, too.

And underneath the sheets,
and in the passenger seat of his car,
remember now that asking nicely
has never gotten us far.

And this is how
we must now
be women.

Work around the system,
from within, inside.
Keep your methods to yourself
and keep safe guard of your pride.

They'll take whatever is offered.
They will receive all that you give.
But when the night is over,
ensure you have enough left to live.

(C) Bethany Moore

Dear Friends,

My collaborative partner and I are publishing an anthology of poetry this year which will focus on the theme of human despair, suffering, going through Hell, or hellish experiences, and spiritual and emotional journeys that thrust us into the darkness. This publication will mark the first effort of our new publishing press. The name of our new publishing company will be called 'Heliocentric Press'.

We are accepting submissions for a total of 20 poets, and I am responsible for choosing half of the submissions.

Submission deadline is February 14, 2010.
100 word author bio will be required.
We will publish exactly 10 pages per author.
Please feel free to submit up to 15 pages for consideration.

please send inquiries/submissions with your collection of poems to bethany.aradia at the gmailz.

We are finalizing other business details and will have more formalized information set up in the coming days/weeks.
In the meantime, if you are interested in submitting for this project, or know someone who should, please share this information.

Please email info with 'HELIOCENTRIC PRESS' as subject to:
bethany.aradia@gmail.com

Thank you.

This is a whole poetry book, not long (so you can easily read it), but very very good.  I'm linking this book with permission; I thought I'd share it because GOOD poetry is hard to come by nowadays.  Please read and vote on this book of poems.  This is a very good writer trying to get back on her feet in the writer's world, and her work is truly good.

The book is called Unpainted Canvas.  It is a collection of verses.

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