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OFFICE PARTIES
at office parties, the characters dress
in stylish bullshit, speak in retailed tongues.
in stylish bullshit, speak in retailed tongues.
you stand by yourself, a drink in one hand,
and your conscience fidgets in the other.
you try to crossover and speak to them –
they listen, but your sentence is half-heard.
you stand by yourself, a drink in one hand,
and your conscience fidgets in the other.
your conversation wanders in the crowd –
its words get stepped on by the upscale noise.
you stand by yourself, a drink in one hand,
and your conscience fidgets in the other.
you observe the show and deep in your mind,
you say to yourself, "why am I still here?"
Patricia Carragon
New York, NY
Copyright ©2011 Patricia Carragon
ROLLER COASTER TRAIN
We were approaching the last stop,
Coney Island – Stillwell Avenue,
but the N train didn’t stop –
it continued upwards on tracks
that rose above the station
until it made that sudden descent
and plunged into the ocean
where the real mermaids waited
over an hour to get on.
Patricia Carragon
New York, NY
Copyright ©2011 Patricia Carragon
WHEN FRIENDLY PEOPLE CUT OFF
when friendly people cut off
two–thirds of your name
identity theft
Patricia Carragon
New York, NY
Copyright ©2011 Patricia Carragon
GOLDFISH EAT SUSHI
goldfish eat sushi
play bongos with chopsticks
Darwin does take-out
Patricia Carragon
New York, NY
Copyright ©2011 Patricia Carragon
SINGLE WOMEN
single women
not sleeping alone
bedbugs
Patricia Carragon
New York, NY
Copyright ©2011 Patricia Carragon
GOD PUBLISHED MANKIND
God published Mankind
Adam forgot to edit
Lilith wrote The Truth
Patricia Carragon
New York, NY
Copyright ©2011 Patricia Carragon
5-7-5
5-7-5
too tough when done in English
thanks Jack Kerouac
Patricia Carragon
New York, NY
Copyright ©2011 Patricia Carragon
THE CORNEAL GATES
You keep my image
Behind corneal gates.
I look closer,
See an hourglass
Where sand becomes
An endless beach––
Where a shell lies
Like a castaway.
I pick it up,
Hear thoughts sing,
Watch notes rise
Like fire’s breath.
I ask the wind
To send this song
To where dreams live
And wait for his eyes
To open the gates.
Patricia Carragon
New York, NY
Copyright ©2011 Patricia Carragon
THE SHABBAT EVE
The sun exits
the auburn sky.
The lamb seasoned
for the ritual.
A miracle wrapped in a towel
born from yeast, flour and eggs.
Aromatherapy
born from yeast, flour and eggs.
Aromatherapy
dances around a table
set for one.
set for one.
She covers her head
with her mother's scarf
made from Vilna's
tattered lace.
She covers her eyes
and prays over the candles
She visualizes
what could have been
what could have been
and wishes life were different.
Patricia Carragon
New York, NY
Copyright ©2011 Patricia Carragon
PICTURE OF LIFE
A painting’s still in progress –
A painting’s still in progress –
Parisian life’s numbered for color.
People sit at an outdoor café,
Sip wine between conversations.
A man delivers his wares
In an ancient
But sturdy wagon
As long as his horse
Can be of service.
But the artist
Didn’t finish her piece.
Instead,
She allowed age
To paint the edges –
Kept some areas devoid of color.
Inside her dented box,
Dried capsules
Have lost their oil.
Brushes lie unwashed –
Too brittle for use.
In the dust,
Inertia lives.
I wonder why,
But the artist isn’t here
To answer.
Patricia Carragon
New York, NY
Copyright ©2011 Patricia CarragonX
My name's a chromosome, all female,
Lacking the "Y" to open doors.
Yet my name's the unknown,
Asking to be conquered,
Not by others, but by herself.
I'm part of an equation licensed to travel
Many times into endless prospects,
Galaxies for creative formula -
A seeker searching for solutions
To problems that keep doors closed.
My name's simple, but it's at the crossroads
Where I'm the point between two pyramids
In which earth and sky become my universe.
My name's "X," I sign it with pride.
Patricia Carragon
New York, NY
Copyright ©2011 Patricia Carragon
AVANT-GARDE
Iron-wrought façades,
Cobblestones set in asphalt -
She walks along Mercer,
Past Broome -
A Queens princess,
Slightly worn at the tips
Like her Macy's shoes.
Her hair’s
Fashionably straight,
But her course roots
Prefer crooked streets.
She can dress in retail fantasy
But the truth forbids her
To be an actress 24/7.
Women,
Imitations of art,
Pass her.
Their pedigree bitches
Sniff shit
Like the mutts in Queens.
She stops by a boutique –
The coiffured mannequin
Wears an avant-garde uniform –
Too expensive
And out of her class.
She has dreams
Two sizes too large.
She clenches a binder from Staples,
Heavy with dog-eared pages
Stained in wine
And tension.
Her computerized script
Rides the nightmare
Of city life.
The coiffured mannequin
Wears an avant-garde uniform –
Still too expensive
And out of her class.
Should she wait for a sale
Or use her credit card?
The dress is not for sale,
Nor is she.
She heads for the subway
At Prince
And Broadway -
A Queens princess,
Slightly worn at the tips
Like her Macy's shoes.
Patricia Carragon
New York, NY
Copyright ©2011 Patricia Carragon
RAGE
Betrayal stabs you in the heart,
Trinitarian walls condense your worth
Leaves little space to breathe.
Smoke filters past air ducts,
Rises to your head,
Smashes the window of your third eye.
You can't find your way out
And life walks by
Wearing blinders and earplugs.
You're a caged animal on fire -
Your isosceles world is imperfection.
Then your heart implodes,
Forms a cloud of ash,
Attacks the sunshine
In a crash of thunder.
Patricia Carragon
New York, NY
Copyright ©2011 Patricia Carragon
THE BRIDE WORE BLACK
The bride had no choice but to wear black on her wedding day -
Why wear white when it will show the dirt of a four letter word?
She walked down an aisle that was non-existent,
Carrying not a flower or even a weed as her bridal bouquet.
No guests were present to watch the solemn event,
Nor was there a groom to welcome her heart.
Even God was not around to witness her vow-
Solitude presided over the ceremony.
She said, "I do," blowing a kiss to herself,
Untouched by the consummation
Symbolized by a circle of gold.
The single woman was now married to herself,
For better for worse, for richer for poorer,
In sickness and in health, to love and to cherish,
Till death . . .
Patricia Carragon
New York, NY
Copyright ©2011 Patricia Carragon
INNOCENCE
Innocence came out to play
and saw storm clouds instead.
The fluffy days of childhood
played tag with problems,
but never could get the stains out
as new problems settled in.
We still wash our dirty laundry
in water and detergent,
not expecting it to look
squeaky clean.
The more we scrub,
the darker the stains
after each rinse.
We dry our clothes inside,
never hang our history
on a clothesline.
It would only clash against
the pretty greenery
next door
and the neighbors
would complain.
Patricia Carragon
New York, NY
Copyright ©2011 Patricia Carragon
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| Photo Credit: George Wallace |
Photo Credit: G Emil Ruetter
