Posts in poetry
Disappointment

There was a time when

All I held between these two hands

Was soft

 

Did life change or

my hands

 

Now all I touch

crumbles like ashes of a once living thing

 

Are we worms,

turning, consuming, changing the world

back to food for some other life,

hiding from the light,

playing our part in the

cycle.

 

Am I like those two eyes,

bitter, longing,

turning you to stone.

 

Am I like the sour boiling,

fermenting which could

in one way become your

intoxication or your sustenance,

and in another

rotting and filling you with

a smell ripe yet close to death.

31poems, poetryMegan Jones
Blend

To be both and,

all.

To be holding releasing,

generating.

Say this is more than

two variables coming together,

addition like that makes

an absence or

an infinite possibility out of

what was

to make what is or will be,

to make this,

this one.

To be a spiral, holding both no beginning and end,

and all the beginnings and ends.

And you and I together

aren’t one.

And we are.

Touching.

Agreeing, believing we are agreeing

seeing, reflecting.

Becoming part of one,

Our hearts shaping each other, as one.

To be unbound.

Is that the same as free?

poetryMegan Jones
I want movement

I have felt you with all of me.

Now all I want is inside me,

moving.


I want

movement, I want

my own blood, autonomous. I want

To take my breath away, be new.

To feel my gravity,

out from under your gaze.

I want out.

—I want movement.


Everything moves.

I am movement. Remember.

poetryMegan Jones
Do I assume

I woke up before the train came

remembering all the moments

or one in particular

when self advocacy was lost on my lips


dripped down my throat to be

swallowed with the years,

the lifetimes of

living in the shadows, silent.


It was there, too,

as a student being told to

face a standing group of

classmates and teachers

and speak from my heart.


Well, I didn’t. I couldn’t.

And what if I had screamed like

I want to now.

Did you? Could you?


Am I used up on

you.


Do I assume you don’t see me,

or

do I never claim myself in front of you.

I am Mixed, poetryMegan Jones
To Venus

Flowers, round and soft and

running over with

a smell more like a taste, or

 

Have you ever felt a smell?

Let it ring or ripple or wander across

your skin,

part your lips.

And though the fingers you touch with

are themselves endlessly soft, sensitive,

the feeling of

this smell

breaks open everything you thought possible

about softness

about eagerness and the way joy

couldn’t possibly but somehow is

filling each cell of your being.

 

And when my nose left that flower,

the color and quality of light slipping into memory,

the smell

is still with me, even now.

 

That is the kind of beauty that calls me.

That is the kind of beauty

that changes the world.

 

Have you ever felt beauty like that?

poetryMegan Jones
Go

Go, stand in the river where

the water runs clear and swiftly

Where the current is the strongest

and feel it

your own strength.

Bend to let your fingertips be moved

until the rain comes. 

Then walk yourself back home,

How do you stay open like the water

Rooted, not in the earth, but inside every cell of your own being

Held in the air, in the fire.

poetry, notesMegan Jones
When all else fails

When all else fails,

as it does,

go stand in water that moves.

Everything moves.

Be still long enough

and you might feel it.

And if you don’t, know it all feels you waiting.


When in doubt,

as you are,

sit on a seat of stone and

eat strawberries.

Slowly,

lifting the green leafy handle to

hold. Holding your mouth softly

taste whatever you will.

And if you don’t, know that

you are more than your own mouth.


When you are afraid,

look outside yourself

and watch how the small fish swim,

aiming their whole selves.

And where is your whole self,

if not right here.


That is enough.

poetryMegan Jones
Wind behind your heart


There is a wind blowing

behind your heart


The same air

filled these lungs

filled the space between

each movement,

moment, memory.


The same breeze blew

through the hair of your

child, sleeping finally on a bed of earth.


The same air.

This air

spread like wings, rippled like water

around the body of your hate

aimed straight to the heart,

in words just the same as plated lead.


And still the air fills you.

Though your every cell aches

for the end.

This wind, the same one,

fills your heart with blood

and your lungs with life.

poetryMegan Jones
I Am Not Standing

Am I a cloud


Is this what air and water

together feel like


Always moving


Do I ever touch the ground

Or only move her face

as the leaves dance

as the branches bend

as the tears swell at sunset.

 

Like rain

I saw rain drops on your bare branches

like stars

points of light

against the dark of your body.


Quiet

like an empty room

moving through

the shifting of your heartbeat.


And my heart is the rain

my body is the empty room.


Are you dreaming.

I am wide awake.

poetryMegan Jones
Open

I barely slept.

All my walls came down,

I brought them down.

I shattered the tower and

used each brick to plant

a forest in the center of

my heart.

 

 

I asked for your hands

and you gave me your heartbeat,

your tears, your skin shedding layers.

 

 

I’ll give away everything, to you,

anything you ask.

My cup is never empty.

poetryMegan Jones
Flowers fade

When your ripeness fades to

a gauze veil, lace, sun dried—

you are still alive,

even as the flowers fade

fall away from spring.

I have not forgotten.


Can I be Yes

for even this moment.

poetryMegan Jones